The banging continued for hours.
It was a maddening, irregular rhythm. Sometimes it was a frantic drumming of fists. Sometimes it was a slow, heavy impact, like a body being thrown against the glass.
The group huddled in the center of the room, away from the doors.
Lucas sat next to Jax. The ex-con was teaching him how to hold the knife properly—not like a warrior in a movie, but efficiently. "Thumb on the pommel," Jax whispered. "Don't wave it around. Keep it close to your chest. If they get inside, you aim for the soft tissue. Eyes, throat, ears."
Maggie was asleep with her head on Thomas's shoulder. Thomas was awake, staring at the door. He felt a crushing weight of failure. He had brought them here. He had ordered the trip. He had failed to secure the perimeter.
"The sodium," Dr. Aris said suddenly, breaking the silence.
Everyone looked at him.
"The sodium," Aris repeated, tapping his cardboard. "The virus relies on rapid depolarization of the neurons. It requires an immense amount of electrolytes to sustain that speed. Sodium. Potassium. It's burning through their reserves."
"So?" Kofi asked. "They starve?"
"They dehydrate," Aris corrected. "But until they do, they are unstoppable. Unless..."
"Unless what?" Thomas asked.
"Unless we disrupt the electrolyte balance," Aris said. "Salt. Massive amounts of sodium. It would cause a systemic cramp. A neural lock."
"We're in a laundry," Lucas said, his eyes widening. "We use salt for the water softeners."
Lucas stood up and ran to the back of the room, where large sacks of water-softener salt pellets were stacked on a pallet.
Thomas looked at his son. He saw a spark of ingenuity that he hadn't seen in years. The boy wasn't just a gamer. He was a problem solver.
"Start filling bottles," Thomas commanded. "Anything you can find."