Chapter 12: The TrapIt was starting to get dark. Benson and the others were probably worried. They probably thought we were dead.Margery sat across from me in the old school bus, her knees pulled to her chest. She hadn't spoken in hours. Not since we ran from the supermarket. Not since she saw what that thing did to those men."Any plans?" she finally asked. Her voice was hoarse.I was playing with the flashlight, spinning it round and round. The bus smelled of mold and old death. Graffiti covered the windows—names, dates, messages to loved ones. I didn't read them. I didn't want to know who wrote them or what happened to them."We can't go back," Margery said. Her voice was flat. Terrified. "We can't go into the city either. We would die before reaching the shelter."She was right. But I remembered the raid with Benson and the others."It won't work. Their numbers are too great. We would get overwhelmed and killed. Going back, we might not even run into that thing. It's probably in