Brianna snatched up her shotgun, snapped off a quick, poorly aimed, one-handed shot in the general direction of Penny—BLAM!—and cupped her hands beneath the emerging head.

“It’s got a snake around its neck!” Brianna cried.

Diana sat up—amazing that she could even think about sitting up—and yelled, “It’s the umbilical cord. It’s around the neck. It’ll choke!”

“Oh, man, I hate slimy stuff,” Brianna moaned. She pushed the baby’s head back a little, which wasn’t easy, because it was really ready to come out, and yelled, “Ewww!” a couple of times as she stretched and wrestled the umbilical cord over the baby’s head, freeing it.

And now in a rush the baby came out. It spilled out with liquid sounds and a hideous translucent sac attached and a pulsating snakelike thing leading to its belly button.

Diana shuddered.

“I am so never doing this,” Brianna said fervently. She shot a look to see if Penny was dead or alive and couldn’t see her at all.

The Brittney body was gone as well, no doubt crawling off to look for its head.

“You have to cut the cord,” Diana said.

“The what?”

“The cord.” Diana gasped. “The snake thing.”

“Ah. The snake thing.”

Brianna took her machete in hand, raised it up, and chopped through the umbilical cord. “It’s bleeding!”

“Tie it off!”

Brianna tore a strip from the waist of her T-shirt, twisted it to make it easier to handle, and tied it around the six-inch stump of the umbilical cord. “Oh, man, oh, it’s all slimy.”

Brianna worked her hands beneath the baby. It was slimy on its back, too. Then she looked down and saw something that made her smile.

“Hey. It’s a girl,” Brianna said.

“Take her,” Diana cried.

“She’s breathing,” Brianna said. “Isn’t she supposed to cry? In a movie it cries.”

She frowned at the baby. Its eyes were closed. Something strange about it. The baby wasn’t crying. She seemed perfectly calm. As if this was all no big thing, being born.

“Take her away from here!” Diana yelled. Her voice was coming from far away.

Brianna lifted the little girl up and oh! Her eyes opened. Little blue eyes. But that couldn’t be, could it?

Brianna stared into those eyes. Just stared. And the tiny little girl stared back, eyes focused so clearly, not the squinty little eyes of a newborn baby but the eyes of a wise child.

“What?” Brianna asked. Because it almost sounded like the baby was saying something. She wanted Brianna to take her over and lay her down in that crib.

Well, of course, who wouldn’t want to lie down in that nice, white crib?

There was a siren going off here at the hospital, an insistent screech that Brianna just ignored. As she laid the baby down and…

But wait. No. That wasn’t a siren.

It was a voice.

Run. Run. Ruuuun! the siren said.

But now Brianna’s breath was short; she was choking because the baby wanted to be put down in that nice crib with the green sheets.

Green? Hadn’t they been white?

Green was a nice color, too.

Brianna was so incredibly weary holding the baby. She must have weighed a million pounds. So tired, and the green sheets, and—Ruuuun! Ruuun! Nooooo!

Brianna blinked. She gulped air.

She looked down and saw the baby lying on rock covered with a sickly green that looked up close like a billion tiny ants.

The green swarmed up onto the baby’s chubby little legs and arms.

“No, Brianna! Noooo!” Diana cried.

Brianna, paralyzed with horror at what she had just done, watched as the seething green mass flowed onto the baby’s arms and legs and belly and then poured like water into her nostrils and mouth.

Penny, holding a rag to the bloody hole in her shoulder, staggered back, laughed, and suddenly collapsed to the ground.

“What did I do?” Brianna cried.

A noise. She spun, ducked, and barely avoided the whip.

She snatched up her shotgun—BLAM!—fired into Drake’s belly. He smiled his shark grin.

Too much. Too much!

Brianna ran.

OUTSIDE

ABANA BAIDOO WAS shaking as she reached her car outside Denny’s. She could barely take a breath.

No. No way she was letting this happen. But if she was going to stop it she had to focus. And not focus on how angry she was at Connie Temple.

Liar!

She pulled out her iPhone and, despite her fumbling, shaking fingers, found the mailing list of families.

First, email.

Everyone! Emergency! They are blowing up the dome. I have solid proof that they are blowing up the dome. All families immediately call your senators and congressmen and the media. Do it now. And if you are close to the area come! The chemical spill story is a lie! Don’t let them stop you!!!!!

Then text. The same message, but shorter.

Nuclear explosive is being used to blow up the anomaly. Call everyone! This is not a joke or a mistake!!!

Then, without delay, she opened her Twitter app.

#PerdidoFamilies. Nuclear explosion planned. Not joke or mistake. Help now. Come if u can!

Facebook app, same message, but a little longer.

There. Too late for anyone to cover up now.

Connie was coming from the restaurant at a run. She raced to her own car, hopped in, started it, and pulled up, tires squealing beside Abana. Abana rolled down her window.

“Hate me later, Abana,” Connie said. “Follow me now. I think I know a dirt road.”