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We walk slowly around the smooth, white concrete deck to one of the domes where the high-powered telescopes are kept. Adam checks the door to the dome, but it’s locked and we continue on. There’s nothing here but a few telescopes along the balcony, and I’m starting to think that we’ll never find Chris or Ken. We continue around the dome, and then I see it. A hand on the ground. I stop, clutching my stomach, waves of revulsion and fear slamming into me. The hand is attached to an arm, to a shoulder, to a chest and a head with black hair and an entire body. But I can’t process any of that. All I can see is the hand, pale and stiff, fingers outstretched, like they’re reaching for something but were unable to grasp it in time to save them. “Adam,” I whisper, grabbing his arm. My throat clo
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