Free Year One by Nora Roberts

as she whirled her fingers in the air. “I can’t stop! I just can’t stop! We’re all mad here. All. Mad. Here.”
    She slammed the door.
    â€œCan’t we help her?” Lana asked him.
    Max just took her arm, pulling her to the stairwell. “Keep moving.”
    â€œShe’s one of us, Max.”
    â€œAnd some like us couldn’t handle what turned on inside them. They’ve gone mad, like she has. Immune to the virus, doomed anyway. That’s the reality, Lana. Keep moving.”
    They walked down three floors to the narrow lobby.
    Mail slots gaped open, their doors broken off or hanging out like tongues. Graffiti smeared the walls. She smelled urine, harsh and stale.
    â€œI didn’t know they’d made it into the building.”
    â€œUp to the second floor,” Max told her. “Most of the tenants took off before that. I’m not sure if anyone’s still in the building below the third floor.”
    They stepped out into the winter sunlight and snapping wind. Lana smelled smoke and ash, food gone rotten, and what she knew was death.
    She kept moving, said nothing as they walked quickly through what had been her little world of streets and shops and cafes.
    In its place lay destruction, desolation, and deserted streets scattered with wrecked and abandoned cars. A terrible quiet made their footsteps echo.
    She yearned for the engines, the horns, the voices, the clashing, crashing music of the city. She mourned it as she walked north.
    â€œMax, God, Max, there are bodies in that car.”
    â€œSome were too sick to get out or to the hospital, but tried anyway. I see more every time I come out. We can’t stop, Lana. There’s nothing we can do.”
    â€œIt’s wrong to leave them like this, but everything about this is wrong. Even if they started dispensing a vaccine tomorrow…” She heard it in his silence, as truly as if he had spoken. “You don’t think there’ll be a vaccine.”
    â€œI think there are more dead than reported, and will be more to come. I don’t think they’re close to finding a cure.”
    â€œWe can’t think like that. Max, we can’t—”
    As she spoke, a girl—she couldn’t have been more than fifteen—jumped out of a smashed display window, a bulging knapsack on her back.
    Lana started to speak, reassuring words on her tongue. The girl smiled as she yanked a toothy knife out of her belt.
    â€œHow about you dump the backpacks, the bags, and keep walking? Then I won’t cut you.”
    Shock as much as fear had Lana cringing back. Max shifted in front of her.
    â€œDo us all a favor,” he suggested. “Turn around, walk away.”
    The girl, pale hair spiking out beneath a wool cap, sliced the knife in the air. It whistled in the silence. “Your bitch won’t look so pretty when I put a few holes in her. Dump your shit unless you want to bleed.”
    When the girl lunged, jabbing with the knife, Lana reacted instinctively. She threw up a hand, fear screaming inside her head.
    With pain widening her eyes, the girl jerked back, cried out. Those few seconds gave Max time to pull out the gun on his hip.
    â€œBack off. Walk away.”
    â€œYou’re one of them.” Eyes, full of hate now, narrowed on Lana. “You’re an Uncanny. You did this. You did all this. You’re fucking filth.” She spat at their feet and ran.
    â€œMax, my God—”
    â€œMove! She might have friends.”
    She broke into a jog with him, noting he kept the gun out. “What did she mean by—”
    â€œLater. There, that silver SUV. See it?”
    She saw it, saw its bumper crumpled by a sedan. Just as she saw the bodies sprawled on the street beside them.
    Max shoved the gun back in its holster, gripped her hand. Now she had to sprint to keep up with his longer legs.
    â€œMax. The blood…” It soaked into the