I pull us into the kitchen so urgently I almost fall on my face. Hope is squeezed in my elbow like a soft toy, shrieking.
Hopey, girl, when mama gets out of here, I swear I’m gonna treat you good. Till then, be patient.
The kitchen tells me they used to cater for a lot of people in this place. It has two industrial ovens, four sinks, massive dishwashers, stainless steel benches on all sides. I’m gasping, twisting, checking behind me, afraid of the walls. I know Ötzi–if that’s what the nano-swarm’s name is–can get through the service window.
I slam it down. Every aperture needs closing. There’s a gap under the door. I jam a tea towel under it. There’s the extractor fan over the deep fryer. I get on top of the bench, rip the grille off the vent, shoved a rolled-up towel in there. The only
