Emmaline’s whine becomes a growl, and I search the boat, the sky, the water, for any sign, but there is nothing.

“Can you walk?” I ask Wyatt.

He shakes his head. “Maybe in a minute,” he says. “My knee . . .”

His knee does look really bad. Whatever I do next, I’ll have to do it alone.

The barge has started to drift to the side, pushed by current. “I’ll be back!” I holler to Wyatt as I dash back up the steps to deck two, then again to the bridge. Emmaline trots inside after me as I grab the steering wheel—

—as three walkers missile out of the lake. They streak high into the sky, trailing streams of glistening water, and land with gentle precision on the bow near the propane tanks.

Three of them, and the one in the middle is a giant, half again as tall as the others, with a cloak that seems more corporeal than iridescent, in glittering, galaxy blue.

If the Farmers are a hive, this is definitely their queen.

I have no idea what to do. The barge is still at least two hundred yards away from the tower. I have no gun, nowhere to run. Wyatt is lying helplessly on the deck below.

I glance at the road flare lying on the console, the one I’m supposed to use to ignite the lighter fluid.

It’s too soon. I’m not close enough.

But if I don’t, those walkers will kill us for sure.

“Emmaline, stay.” I grab the flare, skip down the steps, leap over the railing of the second deck, and land hard on the first.

As I sprint toward the coal troughs, I pop off the top of the flare. It streams fire.

The walkers begin to glide forward.

Tanq and Trey appear on the other side of the tower and jet toward us, but I wave the flare high to signal what I’m about to do. Tanq wisely veers wide, but she continues her approach at a more diagonal vector.

I reach the edge of the barge and hesitate. The walkers hesitate too. If Manny’s theory holds true, they can’t quite pinpoint my location. Maybe I have time to reach the tower.

But they start moving forward again. The dragonfly that was chasing Tanq and Trey veers away, heading toward me instead. The queen raises her arms. Her black nails are longer than eagle talons, but they’re not as terrifying as the silvery, cylindrical object she holds—just like the one in the bunker.

Sure enough, the dragonfly bears toward me as though summoned, and I have no choice; I toss the flare into the nearest flatboat, right on top of the mountain of coal.