Over the next few days, Dany comes to know every inch of the two adjoining rooms. In the sleeping area, a metal slab for a bed, covered by a thin foam mattress. A small stainless steel sink – the size of two cupped hands. A metal toilet. So it probably won’t be thirst that kills her.
Dany ticks off the other obvious possibilities. Hunger. The virus.
But then she hears the walls.
The walls in her box should be as silent as gravestones. But leaning her head against one, she feels a quiet thrum. A generator. And if the generator’s fuel runs out – when the fuel runs out – the vents will shut down. Then the room she’s in? It will become a vault.
In science class, they learned about the sealed jars used to kill butterflies. That way, there’s no damage to the delicate wings. But when the
