They formed a narrow procession on the dirt track. Kant stayed at her side, his pace matching her own. Andrew led, Marsh’s collar in one hand and his flashlight in the other. Behind her, Nora and Ray brought up the rear, their own lights darting across the landscape. Margot looked over her shoulder and saw the pinched paleness to Nora’s face and the grim set to Ray’s jaw.

“I thought you’d be back in town,” Margot managed.

Nora’s laugh was weak, stressed. “Not anymore. We got as far as home before we started to feel sick.”

“Had to come back,” Ray finished for her. “We thought we’d be able to sleep off the land for another eight months or so before it fully claimed us, but…well. We’re here now.”

Margot didn’t know what to say except for “I’m sorry.”

He shrugged. “It was going to happen eventually. This is just sooner than we’d hoped.”

They walked downhill, and although Margot had followed the exact same path a dozen times since arriving at Gallows Hill, it felt alien to her. Thick fog flowed around their path and moved in eddies under their feet. Noises encroached from all sides. The sharp trill of a disturbed bird. The whisper of grass. The creak of aged limbs.

“They’re coming in from the right,” Andrew said.

“And from behind.” Nora’s voice, soft, faded into the cold night air. “They’re closer than I thought.”

“We’ll need to be fast.” Kant glanced at Margot. “Can you?”

Her energy was spent. But she’d gotten this far. She nodded. Their pace increased, and Margot pressed a hand to her stitch.

Ahead, Marsh’s happy panting had become tense, stressed. “How many are there?” Ray asked, the exact question Margot had posed herself earlier. She frowned into the mist, picking out dark smears through the fog. They were growing more distinct. Their outlines gaining definition and their footsteps ringing out clearer as they drew near.

“I’ve never seen this many,” Kant admitted. “They usually come one or two at a time.”

“We’re very close to dawn.” Andrew, bent double to keep his hold on Marsh, panted as he spoke. “Once we get back to the employee area, we can—”

He pulled up short. Marsh, recoiling at his side, released a single heavy, booming bark.

One of the dead ones blocked their path. It stood in the center of the driveway, head lifted to point toward the sky, its empty, white eyes unseeing. Its arms were spread wide, as though waiting for them to walk into its embrace. The fingers were broken. They twisted at unnatural angles. They twitched.

“This isn’t right,” Andrew murmured. “What’s it doing?”

Kant’s hand, lightly touching Margot’s back, felt unsteady. “It’s blocking the path.”