RONAN I knelt down and picked up the pistol. It felt heavier than it had just moments ago, like the weight had doubled while it sat on the floor. Rising to my feet took more effort than it should have. My eyes went to the soldier in front of me. Nguyen was already scanning the space, his head moving in small, practiced motions as his gaze searched for movement. “I need to know who I’m looking for,” Nguyen said. “That way we can make sure your family isn’t here and get the hell out.” Under normal circumstances, those words might have helped. They might have given me something solid to hold on to. Some false comfort. Some room to pretend my family was still alive somewhere in this place. This time, the words passed straight through me. Nothing stuck. All that remained was a hollow feeling that spread through my chest and stayed there. My virtual vision came alive as I opened my personal photos. A silent command sent my digital assistant searching. It pulled up a family picture. With a simple flick of my hand, I shared it with Nguyen. The image hovered in my vision for a few seconds. That was all I could manage. Focusing on it hurt too much. Even a brief glimpse sent a sharp pain straight into my heart. “Got it,” Nguyen said. He pointed toward the far right wall. “I’ll take the outer path. You stay on the inner one. That way I can handle anything that comes in from the perimeter doors.” A nod was all I could give as we moved toward the corner closest to the main entrance. A vague memory surfaced. Walking through a home improvement store long ago. Tall shelves on both sides.Endless aisles. Wood stacked so high it blocked everything beyond it. The memory twisted as reality replaced it. This time, the stacks were people. Packed tight. Lined up with care. Every one of them had been searching for safety in the middle of this nightmare humanity had created. Nguyen looked down the aisle I would be taking. A short nod told me he believed it was clear enough. He stepped past the first row of bodies and reached the wall. There, a tower of the dead stood stacked ten high against it. He checked the path ahead, then glanced back at me and nodded again. My stare stayed locked on him. Nguyen leaned in slightly. His eyebrows lifted in a silent question. You good? Another nod answered him. He held my gaze for a second longer, then turned and disappeared down the farthest aisle formed entirely of the dead.The space closed in once he was gone. Looking left and right showed nothing but bodies. They were stacked neatly on both sides of the aisle, rising more than four feet above my head. The smell hit hard. Sweet and rotten. Thick enough to make breathing difficult. The sight of it nearly broke me. Eyes closed. A deep breath followed. Then another. When my eyes opened again, one foot moved forward, then the other. Facial recognition activated through my contacts. The family photo from earlier was fed into the system. Each face I looked at had lost its color. Skin tones were pale and drained. Only slight differences in pigmentation separated one body from the next. Attention stayed focused on the faces to my left. Nguyen should have been checking the right side and the wall. The first stack passed quickly. The second came next.That was when it became clear the plan was flawed. Bodies were placed feet to feet between stacks. Many faces were turned away from me. Backtracking brought me to the start again. The stack I had assumed Nguyen would cover came back into view. Faces turned toward me were checked one by one. Something tugged at the back of my mind. A quiet pressure. It made me turn back toward the first two stacks. Part of me argued against it. Finding my family mattered more than anything else. Getting out mattered more than answers. But meaning mattered too. Understanding mattered. This was not random. Nothing about this place was random. There was a reason these people were dead. There was a reason they were arranged this way. That reason needed to be understood. The first stack drew my focus.Every visible neck showed deep bruising. Dark. Violent. The immediate conclusion was a snapped spine. No blood supported it. Clean. Efficient. The second stack challenged that assumption. A thin line of dried blood ran from top to bottom of the tower. It was focused on the hips of every body. The amount was small. Crime shows had taught me enough to recognize the detail. Injuries like that happened after the heart stopped. Stepping closer brought me to a woman pressed tightly between a large African American man and a young girl who could not have been more than thirteen. “I’m so sorry,” I whispered. My left hand pulled at the woman’s waistband while the pistol stayed ready in my right. Several tugs followed. Each one came with a glance upward, waiting for the pile to collapse and bury me beneath it. The stack held. More force was applied. Pain flared in my ribs. They were still healing from earlier abuse and they made sure I felt every movement. The waistband slid down over her hip. Dried blood blended with dark bruising. Three holes were visible. Perfectly spaced. Formed in a clean triangle. Each one disappeared deep into her body. The young girl came next. Her pants were tight but flexible. They moved easily. The same three holes stared back at me from her hip. The man confirmed it. Same pattern. Same place. Stepping back, my eyes traveled up and down the aisle. Every single one of them had been marked the same way.