Motel

The motel hallway is bright and creepily silent. Claire stops at Room 231. There is a Do Not Disturb sign on the handle. She knocks.

"Rachel?" she says.

Finally, the door cracks, and Rachel peeks out, blinking at the light. The room is dark behind her. A pistol dangles from her visible hand.

"Wow, you're still sleeping?" Claire says. "Micah's group is already waiting in town."

Rachel doesn't say anything, just turns back into the room. Claire catches the door and comes inside. Even after several weeks, Rachel's room is bare and cold. The bed hasn't been slept in. A blanket lies crumpled in one corner. The room feels ... unhappy. Rachel sets her pistol down on the dresser and picks from a tangle of clean clothes in the top drawer.

"You sleep on the floor? Is that like some kind of soldier--..." Claire trails off, staring at Rachel's bare back. There's a jagged bullet-wound scar on her side, purplish in the middle. Three long, ragged scratches go from under one arm down around to the base of her spine. One old, mottled burn covers her shoulder blade, and another on her left bicep, this one square and sharp-edged. Rachel notices her look in the mirror over the dresser and pulls a t-shirt over her head.

"Not all of us get to be Claire Bennet," she says. "I'm taking a shower."

When she returns a couple minutes later, looking more awake, Claire sets the pistol back down on the dresser quickly.

"Sorry," Claire says. "Ready?"

• "Let's head out," Rachel says...
• "Wait a second," Rachel says...