Survive the Night by Danielle Vega

warehouse, careful to step around the trash littering the floor. I listen for movement or for Shana’s familiar throaty laugh. But I only hear my own ragged breath. The crowbar nearly slips from my sweaty hands.
    The space is smaller than I expected, just one room about the size of a garage. A second door stands ajar at the side wall, sending a sliver of light through the darkness.
    Something shuffles through the trash next to me. Every muscle in my body tightens. I spin around.
    â€œShana?” I whisper. I hold my breath and raise the crowbar. No one answers. I step forward, wiping a sweaty hand on my jeans. Dimly, I remember the screams echoing through Mountainside. Goose bumps rise on my arms.
    A crumpled-up piece of newspaper rustles. I wrap my fingers around the crowbar again. “Shana? Is that you?”
    A second cat appears beneath the newspaper and darts for the door.
    I breathe a sigh of relief. To hell with this place. Shana can live here, for all I care. I lower the crowbar and edge around a pile of blankets.
    The blankets move, and an arm shoots out and grabs my ankle. I scream, and whip my crowbar around. It slips from my hands and clatters to the floor.
    A man with a cracked, ashen face peers out from the nest of blankets. He’s missing an eye, and the skin over the socket looks shiny and raw. It grows mottled around his cheekbone and forehead. Flaps of puckered, blackened flesh jut off his face.
    Fear grips my chest. My heart thuds, and I can’t seem to find my voice. I feel like I’m in a dream where I want to scream but I can’t. Except this isn’t a dream. I glance over at the crowbar, but it’s too far for me to reach.
    â€œYour friend went that way,” the man says in a gravelly voice, nodding at the door. He lets go of my leg and burrows back under the blankets.
    I run for the door.
    I burst into the cool night air and there’s Shana leaning against the alley wall. She takes a puff of her cigarette and blows the smoke out through her teeth. Another homeless man stands next to her. Dirt and grease line his face, but he’s younger than the one-eyed man I saw inside. Thick blond dreadlocks hang down his back, and he has plastic grocery bags knotted around his feet instead of shoes.
    The tension drains from my shoulders, but adrenaline still pounds through my veins, leaving me hot and jittery. My heart beats like crazy. It’s almost like being high.
    â€œI’m going to kill you,” I say, letting the warehouse door slam behind me. Shana flicks her cigarette, sending a shower of ash to the ground.
    â€œThen why are you smiling?” she asks. I bite my lip. It’s that giddy thing again. I can’t get scared without grinning like an idiot.
    Besides, the warehouse was kind of exciting. In a terrifying way.
    â€œI want you to meet my new friend,” Shana says. “Casey, this is Lawrence.”
    The homeless man flashes me a peace sign, quietly humming under his breath. Shana passes him her cigarette, and he takes a deep drag.
    â€œUm, hi,” I say. Lawrence tries to hand the cigarette back to Shana, but she waves him away.
    â€œKeep it,” she says. “Case, you’ll never guess what Lawrence just told me.”
    I raise an eyebrow, waiting.
    â€œLawrence was telling me about this alley a couple of blocks over.” Shana stands on one foot, scratching the back of her leg with her boot. “Get this. The alley was singing.”
    â€œ Humming ,” Lawrence interrupts, his voice deep and melodic. He takes another puff of Shana’s cigarette. “The alley was humming, not singing. There weren’t any words.”
    â€œThat’s right,” Shana says. “Don’t you think that’s crazy, Casey? A humming alley?”
    â€œHumming?” I repeat. Shana gives me a comically slow, intentional wink and something clicks inside my head. “Wait, you mean there was music playing? Under the