The Rabids have lost all humanity. Three of the four creatures slink silently about their prison cells, eyes darting this way and that, as if trying to find the exit or an opportunity to wreak havoc on the people observing them. What’s left of their dirty clothes hang loosely from their skeletal bodies, their hair laying in mangled clumps atop their heads. The sound emanating from their mouths is something between a snarl and a groan.

Panic claws at my throat, my mouth bone-dry, making it almost impossible to force out words. “Why do we have Rabids on the ship?” I croak, voice shaking.

“Welcome to the Observatory.” Asher spreads his arms wide to encompass the large space.

We stick to the far-left side of the room, edging along the wall with cautious steps. None of us wants to get too close to the glass prisons on the opposite end, where the Rabids’ eyes track our every move.

“Most of our research happens here.” Jamie glances at me, sensing my anxiety. “Don’t worry. Helen and Warren installed and tested all safety features.”

Asher grimaces. “It wasn’t a pleasant sight either. These cages incinerate anything if their integrity drops below five percent. We tried it on a pig corpse.”

“The smell,” Jamie shudders. “I’ve been a vegetarian ever since.”

“That doesn’t help,” I confess, scanning the room and avoiding their gaze.

A door I didn’t notice opens, and Helen steps out. “Asher? Izzy? What are you doing down here?”

Asher gestures to me. “Izzy wants to know more about our friends, so I brought her to the expert.”

Helen brushes off his praise. “I wouldn’t call myself that. But we learn each day.”

She waves us into the small alcove. A table sits against the side of the Observatory, a two-way mirror reaching the ceiling. Helen reclines in her desk chair, adjusting her bifocals and scribbles a note. “Have a seat.” She gestures to the stack of chairs.

Asher walks to the back and hauls three over, settling them in a loose semicircle near Helen’s table. Jamie and I thank him as we take our seats; I perch at the edge, chewing my bottom lip, fidgeting with the zipper on my jacket. Asher quirks a brow at me but doesn’t press. “Dad told me Carlos’ squad brought back a Raver. How did they manage that?”

Helen grins. “I discovered a sedative that works on them. It was tricky since I only had a Rager to test it on. Once I found something that worked on the Ragers, it was mostly guesswork on what it would do to Ravers.”

“Hang on, Helen.” I interrupt. Ravers are the rarest Rabids, and squad members are told to avoid them. “You have a Raver in one of those?”

“Yep! That one,” Helen nods at the Rabid closest to the doors we entered through, its eyes fixed on our group through the glass.

“They seem intelligent. More than the rest, that’s for sure.” Jamie observes, head tilted.

I shiver under the Raver’s icy stare. “I feel like it can still see me.”

Jamie watches, mesmerized, as the Raver’s lips twitch. “I think they’re fascinating.”

Helen purses her lips. “They’re inhumanly strong. We may find even more extreme abilities.”

“Still not helping,” I mumble, hugging myself.

Helen’s smile is warm, reminiscent of my mother’s. My chest tightens as she pats my hand.

Asher rubs his neck. “You’ll be seeing us more often, Mom.”

“Oh?” Helen watches the cages, pausing to jot notes.

Jamie squints at the stacks of notebooks on the table, flipping through the one closest to her, too curious to be interested in the conversation around her.

My cheeks heat. “I might have a bit of a phobia.”

“So that’s why you’re here. Did you know Asher feared them, too?” Helen chuckles. “Exposure’s the best medicine.”

I risk a glance at Asher. Our gazes meet. “No, he didn’t mention it.”

He frowns, turning to watch the Drooler in its cell. It sits with its back to us. In the final stage, the host is basically comatose.

Helen smiles. “We used to only have Droolers. Security wasn’t tight enough for the other stages. I refuse to keep anymore Purgers- they’re too much of a mess.”

I’ve seen a few Purgers. It’s the worst phase- the symptoms start immediately: nausea, vomiting, diarrhea. It also makes it the most traumatizing. I was ten when my dad was bitten. He’d been scouting a convenience store for the group of survivors we were traveling with. I’ll never forget the panic in his stare or the gunshot. My mother’s cries drowned out the ringing in my ears.

I swallow past the lump in my throat. “Let’s hope it can help me.”

“We’ll add this to your training,” Asher decides. “Maybe your combat skills will improve now.”

I slump. The idea of being near Rabids every day feels like torture.

Asher grins.

Editor: Lucy Cafiero