A figure on all fours ran into the beam of my flashlight and looked in my direction. It had white, scraggly hair, broad shoulders, and shockingly long arms. The Mazikin rose up on its feet and came toward me on bowed legs. It had a severe underbite, revealing chipped and broken bottom teeth. “Perfect!” it snarled, and then leaped at me.

I knocked its jagged fingernails away with my coat sleeve and bashed it across the face with my flashlight. Its head tilted to the side with the impact, but then it steadied itself with its thick legs. It lunged toward me with a low growl, and in that moment I realized how hard it was going to be to actually capture one of these things. I pivoted around and plunged the knife into its side, driving it through bone and muscle as an animalistic cry rolled from my throat. As the creature doubled over, its face met my waiting knee with a wet crunch. The Mazikin’s eyes bugged out and a string of bloody saliva flew from its mouth as it fell to the ground.

Another Mazikin jumped on my back, making me gag with the stench. It bit my shoulder, but its teeth didn’t penetrate all the layers of clothing. I bent over sharply, and it flew off my back and hit the gravel. Before it could get up, I landed on its chest with both my knees and cut its throat; then I scrambled up, grateful I’d dropped my flashlight and couldn’t see what I’d done. Grateful I couldn’t see the blood soaking my new gloves.

As I was turning to get my bearings, a shock of pain blasted my upper arm, and I couldn’t hold the scream inside. White-red pinpricks glittered in front of my eyes as I fell to my side and used my legs to push my attacker away from me, straight into the light from the highway lamps.

“You can’t have my camp,” the bat-wielding, white-haired woman screeched. Sister Harriet to the rescue.

“I don’t want your camp, lady!” I clutched at my left arm, which was pulsing with agony and felt like it had already swelled to the approximate size and weight of a baby hippo. I turned on my stomach and retched from the pain. “I’m trying to protect it!”

Gravel shrapnel hit the embankment over my head, and Harriet the nun let out a shriek and stumbled back, which kept her from swinging at me again. One of the street boys screamed in pain or fear, and he sounded so much like Nick that I actually called out his name. But my voice was only one among many, drowned in the chaos. Where was Henry? Had they already gotten him?