Page 73 of Doomsdate

“Mornings are for retrieving survivors, and afternoons are for clearing the dead. We have three clearing patrol groups, each taking a four-hour shift once a day. The shifts naturally get harder and more dangerous as the day progresses, but good behavior and teamwork earns you a spot on the earlier shifts. It just so happens we have an empty spot on our C Crew.” Connor winks at me, as if this is supposed to be exciting news.

I swallow. If the B Crew just started, the last patrol must basically be a death sentence.

“Don’t look so freaked, bro.” Connor punches me hard in the pec, knocking an oof out of me. “It’ll do you good. It’s a fantastic workout. You know axe choppers?” He mimes swinging an axe, his obliques clenching in harmony as his eyes gleam with that innate predisposition toward violence that I saw from time to time in military school. The loose cannons sent to learn discipline, to harness their unhealthy urges productively for the ol’ U.S. of A. I’ve probably known half a dozen Connors in my life, and I figured out early to escape their predatory orbit as soon as possible. He grunts as he swings again. “Just like that, but with resistance.”

My eyebrows rise. “By resistance, you’re referring to decomposing human flesh?”

“Exactly.” Connor narrows his eyes at me as though he’s assessing just how much of a problem I’m going to be. “We’re located in the middle of a residential zone. The nights are mobbed here, and we’re doing our best to secure the area. After the morning’s survivor-retrieval efforts, we’re clearing the apartment building beside us, one patrol at a time. I keep telling these guys we can’t live in the gym forever, am I right?” He laughs, then claps a buff dude on his back, who, despite his size, flinches. “It’s pretty dark in that building, though. Gotta stay on your toes.”

I glance at Maisie to see how she’s taking this, but she’s already walking over to the windows, accepting everything he’s saying in stride.

“What’s your perimeter like?” Maisie asks. “I didn’t see it when we came in.”

“Because we were drugged, honey,” I grit out. “And unconscious? Remember?”

“Naturally,” Connor says. “We had no way of knowing if you’d come peacefully, or whether you were dangerous. Our retrieval patrol follows a very strict protocol to keep everyone here safe. You don’t just automatically receive our trust—that’d be stupid. Right, Ms. Shenandoah?”

“Right,” Maisie says, almost absently. “You were saying about the perimeter, Coach?”

I stare, open-mouthed, at them both.

“I’ll show you.” Connor leads Maisie to the front, and after a second, I follow incredulously along. Outside, tractor tires lie in stacks of three all around the gym, which is situated at the corner of a block. I can just make out the street signs.

My eyes widen. We’re a block away from Gemma’s house.

“Wow, where’d you get all those tires?” Maisie places a hand on the glass, looking out with admiration. “Great use.”

“Thank you,” Connor says, his chest puffing with pleasure. “We have an annual tire-workout competition, so they were in our storeroom. Tire flips. Deadlifts. Farmer’s carry. That kind of thing,” Connor says, eyeing up Maisie’s triceps. “I bet you can do hundreds of tire dips.”

“I can,” Maisie says matter-of-factly. “Where do you all sleep?”

“Ah, my favorite room in the gym! This way.” Again I’m left to trail behind as this weird gym-cult leader gives Maisie the tour. The remaining crewmembers have fallen into a new formation, following us like a highly disciplined troop of hot puppies.

“So,” I ask a nervous-looking woman in the front pairing, “how many of you were ‘retrieved’ from the outside this week?”

Her eyes dart from mine to Connor, whose back is turned as he leads Maisie into a big room at the end of the hall. “Three,” she whispers. “That are left.”

“What?” My eyes grow wide. “Where’d the rest go?”

“C Crew,” the man next to her whispers. “It’s for troublemakers.”

“Mr. Shenandoah!” Connor calls. “Don’t fall behind.”

Unnerved, I step through the doorway to what must have been a group fitness classroom, now lined with thick gymnastics padding. While everything so far has been neat, tidy, and organized to a militant degree, the bedroom is a mess of tangled blankets and pillows, and in the air hangs a certain…smell. An eau de ohh!

“We all sleep together,” Connor explains, grinning suggestively.

For orgies, my brain screams. For nasty gym-rat orgies!

“For safety.” Maisie nods, impressed.

“Sure.” Connor winks. “That, too.”

I can’t get over how close we are to Gemma’s. We probably were being followed yesterday. How else would they have known to ambush us in the White House parking lot?

I grab Maisie by the hand and squeeze tight. “Honey? Can we talk for a second?” I jerk my head to the hallway, safely away from the sex smells. “Over there?”

“Sure.” She turns to Connor. “We’ll be just a minute. Then I want to see your food storage.”