Archie raised his gun again. He couldn’t hold it very high—it was too heavy suddenly, too cumbersome—but he could get it up enough. He took a step forward. And another. The darkness at the corners of his vision swirled in and out of his sight line. He squeezed his eyes shut a few times, and rubbed them with his bloody hand. But he kept moving. Another step. His legs felt like jelly. The hallway seemed to tilt and stretch around him—he had to brace himself against the rough concrete wall. He checked the door. It was still a good dozen steps away. He had to summon another burst of energy. But he was too weak to call out to Susan again. A crushing pain cut through Archie’s spine. He staggered a few more steps, supporting himself on the concrete wall, and then looked back at the trail of blood his palm had left on the wall’s slick white paint. It was the same blood pattern that marked the fatal path Razor Burn had taken to Jack’s office. The floor shifted suddenly. Archie tried to recover his balance, but the wall seemed to pull away and he sank to his knees on the floor. He was sweaty and cold, his heart pounding in his chest. He had lost too much blood. He wasn’t going to make it. He was worthless. Get up, he said in his head. He looked at the first door: an arm’s reach away, a light on inside, the shuffle of movement. Archie had found them. He was so close. Get up, he pleaded. He made a deal with himself. I’ll do anything.

Gretchen’s face materialized next to him. Her skin shimmered, bathed in a silvery slight. A golden glow framed her head like an aura. Her expression was serene, like a painting of a saint. This was all proof, he thought, that his brain was shutting down. “Do you want my help?” Gretchen asked again sweetly.

Archie pulled away from her and tried once more to stand, but he was so shaky and feeble it was no use. He sank back to the floor, useless and weak. He couldn’t do it. But he had to get to Susan. No matter what it took.

“Yes,” Archie said in a voice barely above a whisper.

“What’s that, darling?” Gretchen asked.

“Yes,” Archie said.

He groped for the wall, and his hand found it this time. He leaned into his palm, trying to get enough leverage to stand, and he managed to get a foot on the floor in front of him. The seams and eyelets of his brown leather shoe were caked with mud and blood. The shoe looked foreign to him, like it belonged to someone else’s foot. Tiny drops of blood dotted the toe. He blinked and the dots swam before his eyes.