I look back over my shoulder. They others look as depressed as me. None of us wants to accept the reality of having lost two of our group, and I can’t help but feel like their deaths are on my shoulders. I look at Ben, hoping that the only other person in the car who may have been witness to their tragic demise will be able to refute the bombshell Molly has just dropped on me.

“Ben was passed out,” Molly shouts. “He didn’t see. But I did. They’re gone, Brooke. We have to save ourselves.”

Emotions threaten to choke me. I feel like I could easily give in to the blackness, to give up the fight.

“Brooke!” Bree cries from the back of the bike. “Listen to Molly. We have to save ourselves.”

The sound of her voice grounds me, brings me back to the moment. We may have lost our friends but we haven’t lost our hope. Now isn’t the time to break down. Like my dad would always say, crying won’t keep you alive. No matter how terrible I feel, I have to do what needs to be done to survive.

I grip the handlebars of the bike hard in my fists and grit my teeth, more determined than ever.

“Let’s go!” I cry.

Without another word, we rev the bikes, driving even faster through the thick smoke. We’re searching for a road, a way out. The slavers got into the crater somehow, and we’ll be able to get out if we find it. But driving through the crater city is dangerous. There are still slavers milling around, not to mention prisoners who are desperate to be liberated. The whole time I’m on a knife edge, feeling like my world could end any second. Bree must feel it too; her clutch on me is so tight it’s painful.

Finally I see a steep incline leading out of the crater. It’s been carved like a road, winding up the crater edge. I pray our bikes can handle such a difficult climb.

“THERE!” I cry to the others.

One by one we start to race up the steep road. I’m gunning the bike, knowing the only thing that will carry me up is speed. As we burst through the cloud of smoke, I know we’re now in plain view of all the slavers below. There’s no hiding on the crater’s edge. We’re completely exposed.

It’s then that I hear someone cry out. Instantly, I recognize the voice as belonging to Ben.

I look back and see that his battered bike is struggling to get up the incline. It has clearly been damaged in all the fighting and is starting to give out. It’s getting slower and slower. Behind him, racing along on their own bikes, are a group of slavers.

“Ryan!” I shout. “You have to go back for Ben.”