“She’s right,” Zeke replies. “The boat is integral here. We could even head all the way west then row it down the Mississippi.”

“But that would mean going via Chicago,” Ben says. “There’s bound to be an arena there. And that’s not to mention how far we’d have to carry the damn boat in the first place.”

“Do you have a better idea?” Zeke asks.

Ben shrugs. “I don’t know if it’s better or not, but I think we should leave the boat behind. The chances of us finding one at the other end are pretty high, wouldn’t you say? And it would mean we weren’t being slowed down the whole time by carrying the boat.”

I’m about to launch into another argument when I suddenly hear a shrill scream.

“Molly!” I cry.

Jack and Penelope bound off into the darkness, ready to play the heroes again. We stand, prepared to follow them.

“Stay here!” I cry at Bree and Charlie. “Look after Ryan, okay?”

Then we run, Zeke first, then me, then Ben. The metal grating clangs underfoot as we hurry after Jack and Penelope.

“MOLLY?” I cry, but there’s no response.

I’m terrified for my friend. What could have happened to her? Did she fall over one of the balconies and hurt herself? Was she attacked? If so, by who, or what?

I can see Jack and Penelope draw to a halt up ahead, but I can’t see Molly at all. We race toward the dogs and see why they’ve stopped. There’s a large door that’s sealed shut. The dogs scratch at it, whining.

“She must be in there,” I say.

Zeke and Ben start ramming their shoulders against the door. I join in too, and before long, we manage to pry it open just a little.

“Molly?” I shout through the gap. “Where are you?”

Again, there’s no response. We manage to make a gap just big enough for Penelope to get through.

“Please find her,” I tell the one-eyed Chihuahua.

The little dog tips its head to the side as though she understands what I’m asking of her, then disappears through the gap.

“She’ll be okay,” Ben says, wrapping an arm around my shoulder. “Penelope will find her.”

I fold into him, remembering how safe and comforted I feel in his arms.

Finally, we hear Penelope’s familiar yap-yap-yap. She leaps back through the hole, tail wagging, and a moment later, the door creaks open, and there stands Molly.

“Oh God,” I cry, flying into her arms. “I thought something terrible had happened to you.”

But that’s when I realize she’s not moving, not reciprocating the hug. I open my eyes and discover that I’m starting straight down the barrel of a gun.