Chapter 1

Samira's voice cut through the hum of the convenience store's flickering lights. She grabbed her brother Amir's wrist, pulling him away from the cooler where he'd been reaching for a bottle of water. The street outside was empty, except for a single abandoned car with its driver's door hanging open. The engine was still running, a low rumble that felt wrong in the silence.

"Sam, what's happening?" Amir's hand was cold in hers. He was only thirteen, still had a baby face that made him look younger.

"I don't know. But we're not staying here."

They'd been walking home from school when the first scream ripped through the afternoon. A woman two blocks over had collapsed in the middle of the crosswalk, her skin blistering like she'd been doused in acid. Then more screams. Then the sirens. Samira had pulled Amir into the first open door she saw—a gas station with a convenience store attached. The cashier was gone.

She pushed open the glass door, keeping Amir behind her. The air smelled of burnt sugar and something metallic. A body lay crumpled on the sidewalk, a man in a business suit, his face covered in weeping sores. He wasn't moving.

"Don't look," Samira said, her own stomach lurching.

They ran. Down the main street, past a tipped-over mailbox, past a car that had crashed into a lamppost. The sky was a strange yellow, like a bruise that hadn't formed yet. People were everywhere and nowhere. Some ran screaming. Others stood frozen, staring at nothing.

A girl with blonde pigtails stumbled out of an alley, clutching a silver cross necklace. Her green eyes were wide, her pastel dress smudged with dirt. "Please," she gasped. "Please, you have to help me."

Samira slowed. "Who are you?"

"Chloe. Chloe Dubois. It's the Rapture. It's the end of the world."

Samira blinked. "What?"

"The Rapture. From the Bible. The faithful are taken, and the rest are left behind to suffer the plagues." Chloe's voice trembled, but she spoke with a strange certainty. "I saw it. People vanishing into thin air. And then the boils started."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Samira said. "I never read the Bible."

"Me neither," Amir added, his voice small.

Chloe looked at them as if they'd spoken a foreign language. "But it's happening. It's all happening."

A low growl came from the alley behind Chloe. Samira's blood went cold. A figure emerged from the shadows—a man, or what used to be a man. His limbs were twisted at unnatural angles, his mouth stretched into a grin that showed too many teeth. He moved like an insect, scuttling sideways.

"Run!" Samira shouted.

They ran. Amir held her hand so tight it hurt. Chloe was right behind them, her cross swinging. The creature let out a shriek that sounded like tearing metal.

They turned a corner and saw a door—a steel door, bolted, leading into what looked like a warehouse. Samira slammed against it. Locked.

"Let us in!" she screamed.

The door creaked open a crack. A sharp blue eye peered out. Then the door swung wide, and a wiry boy with a scar above his eyebrow yanked them inside. He slammed the door shut and threw a heavy bolt across.

The creature slammed against the steel, once, twice, then fell silent.

The boy—older, maybe eighteen, wearing a worn leather jacket—pointed a crowbar at them. "Who the hell are you?"

"We're just kids," Samira said, stepping in front of Amir and Chloe. "We got separated from—"

"There's no 'we' here. You're either with me or you're dead. Got it?"

Samira met his gaze. Her heart pounded, but she didn't look away. "What's your name?"

"Liam. And you just made a lot of noise. If that thing brought friends, we're all dead."

Chloe started to cry softly. Amir pressed close to Samira. The warehouse was dark, filled with stacked crates and the smell of dust.

Samira looked at Liam. Then at the door. Then at the two scared kids she now had to keep alive.

"We stick together," she said, her voice steadier than she felt. "There's no other way."

Liam snorted, but he didn't argue. The silence stretched. And then, from somewhere outside, a new sound began—a low, rhythmic hum, like a thousand voices chanting in unison.