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“Shit, Dean, wake up.” I shake his shoulder and he blinks up at me twice before his eyes snap open.

“Get up, everybody up and to the boats!” Thompson’s shout is louder now, and Dean sits bolt upright. My heart pounds against my chest, adrenaline shaking off any lingering sleepiness.

“Fuck.” Dean crouches, the blanket dragging into the sand as he throws open the tent flap. “Get your shoes on. We need to get to the boat. We need to get out of here.”

“What about Pierce and Charlie?”

“Fucking Pierce. Their boat left hours ago, right after you crashed.” Dean throws on his t-shirt, a twin one to my patriotic cat.

Under normal circumstances it would’ve made me laugh.

These are anything but normal circumstances.

“They left,” I echo.

A box of ammo peeks out from a zippered pocket of the backpack Dean slides into. He straps a rifle to himself. The glass scope glints in the moonlight.

“We have to worry about ourselves right now. We can’t help anyone if we get mowed down in a firefight.”

Dropping my corner of the blanket, I grab a second backpack, following Dean’s lead.

Sure enough, the low rumble of ATV engines follows Thompson’s cries to get to the boats.

Heart in my throat, pulse racing, I open up the black backpack. Ammo, a pistol, more shotgun shells. A grenade? I tilt my head, considering it. Maybe the overprepared Ken Dolls are onto something.

It sure seems like they had the right idea with being overprepared.

“How long?” Dean asks.

“We’ve got three minutes or less.” Thorne bites off the words, emerging from the neighboring tent, shouldering a pack of his own.

I look around, somehow dazed, fear so tight and high that I can’t quite process what is happening.

Food, check, water, check. Soap.

We need the soap. Just in case. Can I fit the blanket in my backpack?

“June, let’s go. Come on, princess, we don’t have time to waste.”

The rumble of the ATVs grow louder and my stomach knots, Dean’s words forgotten.

“We gotta go, Dean.” Thorne slips down the sand bank, catching himself as he runs towards the shore, backpack clipped across his chest. A wave catches him at the hips, and he dives into the surf like a dolphin. Or a Marine, more likely an ex-Marine.

I laugh, a choked, high sound.

“Princess, breathe.”

This is it. This is it. They’ll take me again, they’ll put me in a musty closet. Shut me up in it and I’ll never see the sun again.

“Dr. June Legarde.” Dean’s hand fits around my wrist, forcing my arms through the straps of the backpack. “Snap out of it.”

He clicks the strap across my chest and I suck in a breath as though he slapped me.

“Okay.”

“Okay.” He bends his head down, assessing my face. “Okay.”

He tugs at my wrist and I follow behind him, sliding down the sandy dune. He hauls me past the embers of the fire, still glowing. It couldn’t have been more than a few hours since I fell asleep.