Van's hand shot out, clamping down on Jane's shoulder just as she pulled his ear protection off.

  "Quiet," he breathed, the word barely a whisper.

  He'd heard it too, from behind the metal door. Not a Rotter's moan. A human sob.

  "Ammo first. Cover this door," he ordered, pulling her back.

  They scavenged in tense silence, grabbing boxes of 12-gauge and .308 Win. Van loaded the Benelli M4 as Jane scanned the darkness, her Remington a steady extension of her will.

  The sobbing behind the door was a constant, fraying thread of sound.

  Back at the door, they shared a look. No choice.

  Jane eased it open a crack. A choked cry spilled out: "Please... no more!"

  Jane ducked her head in, then pulled back, her face pale in the gloom.

  "Six inside. Five dead, gunshots. One girl, bound." She met Van's eyes. "Watch the store. I'll go."

  Van covered the main floor as Jane slipped inside. He heard her hushed commands. "Quiet! We're not them!"

  The girl's terrified whispers leaked out—talk of "neighbors," "eight of them," and a crazed sermon about "Heaven's Punishment" and "cleansing the sinners."

  The story was a broken jumble of panic: a police station overrun, a sheriff killed, fanatics hunting for a "Divine Revelation."

  A "sacrifice." That word stuck.

  Jane shot Van a pleading look just as headlights sliced through the grimy front windows.

  Van saw it first. A rusted Ford pickup, rolling to a stop right beside their armored Express.

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  Men spilled out of the cab and bed. Eight of them. They circled the truck, curious, predatory.

  "Company," Van hissed. "We hide. Now."

  Jane locked eyes with the bound girl. "We'll come back. But you stay silent. Silent."

  The girl's pleading whimper was cut off as Van pulled the fire door shut. No time for guilt.

  They fled up the stairs to the second-floor showroom, a glass-walled space overlooking the sales floor.

  Van took position covering the stairwell. Jane crawled to the edge, finding a sightline.

  The men swaggered in, a chorus of loud Spanish and laughter.

  Van didn't need a translator. The tone was clear: conquerors in their new kingdom.

  Then the fire door burst open. The girl was dragged out, shrieking.

  "You should be honored!" a heavily accented voice boomed in English. "You will be given to the Messenger!"

  The girl's eyes, wide with terror, swept the empty showroom. Then she screamed it: "HELP ME!"

  Van and Jane flattened themselves against the floor. It was over.

  "I knew it!" the same voice roared. "The truck outside! You hide, but the sun god Tonatiuh sees all! You will be offerings!"

  BANG.

  A single, thunderous gunshot. The girl's cries ceased.

  "Fools! You brought the Rotters!" Jane whispered, horrified.

  Through the glass, she saw the horde converging, drawn by the earlier shouts and now the gunfire.

  "Then become the offering!"

  SPLAT.

  A wet, tearing sound. Jane gagged as a fist-sized, dripping mass of red muscle sailed through the air and landed just inside the shattered front door.

  A heart.

  The men shouted in triumph, then retreated, slamming and locking the fire door behind them.

  "They've sealed themselves in! We're trapped up here!" Jane scrambled to her feet.

  "Roof. Now." Van pointed to a square metal hatch in the ceiling, four meters up.

  They worked fast, desperation overriding fear. Van boosted Jane up.

  She shoved the hatch open, heaved herself through, then turned, reaching down. "Van! NOW!"

  Below, the Rotters reached the doorway. The one who snatched up the heart devoured it in two wet bites.

  Then dozens of milky eyes locked onto the fresh, open carcass a few yards away...

  And the living man standing beneath the hole in the ceiling.

  Van tossed the shotgun and pack up to Jane.

  He backed up, took two running steps, and launched himself off the toppled chair.

  His fingers caught Jane's wrists just as the chair clattered across the floor.

  CLATTER.

  The sound was a dinner gong. Every Rotter in the entrance turned as one.

  A low, hungry groan filled the space as they abandoned the corpse and charged.

  A wave of rotting fury, directly toward Van's dangling legs.

  Jane screamed, her grip the only thing between him and the tide of teeth.