He typed in a rapid sequence.

The soft green glow of the screen illuminated his tense, lined face.

With a heavy, mechanical thud, the lock disengaged.

Giovanni threw the door open and pulled me inside.

Dr. Sullivan scrambled in behind us, gasping for breath.

Giovanni slammed the heavy door shut and spun a massive chrome wheel in the center.

The sound of the deadbolts sliding into place felt like a physical relief.

“Are we safe?” Dr. Sullivan asked, leaning against the cold wall.

“For now,” Giovanni said.

He flipped a switch on the wall, and dim fluorescent lights flickered to life overhead.

The panic room was small, square, and built entirely of reinforced concrete.

A steel table sat in the center, surrounded by three metal chairs.

Along the back wall, shelves were stacked with bottled water, medical supplies, and MREs.

A bank of flat-screen monitors hung on the left wall, showing static.

I laid Luca down on the metal table, immediately unwrapping his blanket.

His cheeks were flushed a deep, angry crimson.

“He’s burning up, Doctor,” I said, my voice cracking.