I clutch the phone to my ear, the 911 call still active.

“Death Mob.” My voice is hoarse. “Navy Pier.” It shakes as I recite details to the operator asking me question after question in her stupid, calm voice.

A man screams from inside the pit. It’s pleading, terror-ridden, and slices through my core.

I drop the phone and cover my mouth, silencing my own cries. Somewhere in the center of the attack, that man clings to life as dozens of fists pummel him. And there is no one nearby who can help—not a local or tourist or police officer.

The ship with its captain and crew drifts from the dock, its ropes dangling off the sides. The vendors have disappeared with their carts as if they were never here. Everyone’s gone. Fled. Escaping the horror at the end of the pier, where a man is being beaten to death.

And I’m trapped on the other side.

One guy with oversized sunglasses and a faded gray jacket laughs—a high-pitched cackle—like he’s enjoying it. He shoves a guy in a black knit hat next to him. Black Hat sprawls on the concrete. His sunglasses fall from his face. His jeans rip at the knee. But he doesn’t give up. He stands and bounces on his toes like a boxer. Then he charges Gray Jacket, tackling him around the waist, bringing them both down. They punch and kick. Every couple of hits, one of them smiles as if the whole thing is some kind of sick and twisted game.

I imagine my dad in the center of the attack and press my fingertips against my eyelids, burying the thought that threatens to paralyze me. I refuse to let that happen and make myself an easy target.

Grabbing my phone, I hold it just above the back of the bench, using the wooden slats to steady it and hit record. All around the outer edge of the attack, the Swarm turns on each other, a massive out-of-control brawl. I snap shots. Rapid fire. Ten. Twenty. Until the shake in my arm and the burning in my lungs become too intense.

I dig through my bag for my inhaler and my keys. Wind whips my stringy blonde hair across my face, making it impossible to see. Yanking my black rubber band from my wrist, I throw my hair into a ponytail, frustrated to be wasting time on silly details.

It’s only a matter of time before they see me. The Swarm usually takes one victim, but there have been plenty of cases where someone gets attacked for being too close. And I’m too close.