Danica nodded quickly—and even as she did, she heard footsteps somewhere behind them, running, scrambling this way.

“Stay in it,” Dryden whispered, “and stay ahead of me. Now go!”

She pushed off from the tree and ran.

Immediately the sensation felt all wrong: running on dark ground, choosing dark ground, where every landed footstep felt like a guess.

She could feel Dryden right at her back, sometimes almost pushing her forward. They had covered no more than ten yards when another bullet ripped through the trees close by. Then she heard Dryden turn in place right behind her—and fire.

Four shots in fast succession—yet they sounded deliberate, careful. They sounded aimed.

Far back in the darkness, a man screamed and went sprawling in the dry soil.

Danica kept running. The surrounding forest was at last growing dim again, with distance from the burning Explorer and tree. Still it was only dim—not half dark enough to conceal them.

Behind them, the voices were shouting now, either in alarm or anger, or both. Then came a volley of their gunfire, more shots than Danica could count. She heard the buzzing-insect sound again, so close to her right ear that she cried out and almost lost her balance.

Dryden turned again and opened fire—not as carefully this time, maybe not aiming at all, though it halted the gunfire that was coming their way.

“Keep going,” he whispered. “Fast as you can move.”

Farther into the dark now—the shadow of the big tree was no longer even discernible against the space around it.

Yet the running footsteps were still there behind them. The crashing of bodies through small branches and undergrowth.

“Dammit,” Dryden hissed.

Danica took her eyes off the ground in front of her and glanced back at him.

He was looking at the pistol in his hand, holding it up to the light as he ran.

The slide was locked open. Danica had never owned a firearm, but she knew what that meant: the weapon was empty.

She faced forward again, scrutinizing her route through the trunks and low boughs. Behind her, she heard Dryden stuff the gun back into his waistband and draw the other.

Then Danica’s foot hooked on something—a root jutting up farther than it had appeared to. Her breath rushed out and her arms pinwheeled, and for a second she was certain she was going down.

Then the snared foot came free and she threw it forward, jammed it hard into the soil in front of her, the movement just enough to let her catch her balance while she kept running.

“Jesus Christ,” she hissed.

“I know, I know. This is no good.”

He could obviously see the same thing she could: the darkness wasn’t enough to hide them yet, but it was more than enough to conceal the next jutting obstacle on the ground.