I glance over at him. He’s still in the same position as a moment ago: paralyzed, staring at the body in the road. I frown. Surely he’s seen a dead person before. He saw all those murdered cops at the boardwalk, at the very least. I can’t blame him for being a little shaken up—I remember how it felt to have my hands sticky with Ginger’s blood, after all—but right now we’ve got to focus on getting out of here.

I give him a shove, try to shake him out of his paralysis. “Wake up, and imagine us …” I try to think of something that would be both reasonable and helpful, “a non-broken-down dump truck, maybe, or another hideout? Or better yet, just get the car to start again. Imagine the damage isn’t as bad as it looks from this angle.”

He doesn’t respond. His face has gone white in the dim interior lights.

My nerves fraying, I strive for patience. “Look,” I say, glancing from him to the road. “It’s just a body. Right? We knew we’d run across some eventually. All the mainlanders are dead.”

Without responding, he unbuckles his seat belt. He pulls the latch to open the door, but the crash has stuck it shut. He kicks it open. Rain pours inside as he exits the car.

“Ackermann!” I shout after him. No response. I curse and heave open my own door. The fog is soupy here, so thick I feel like I’m swimming when I walk toward the fallen tree. I hunch into myself, staying on my guard, but it’s hard to keep an eye out for lurking Beings with the storm buffeting me. “What are you doing? Get back in the car and do something to get us out of—”

I stop. The hair on my arms and legs is suddenly standing straight up, clinging to the inside of my poncho. I barely have time to throw myself to the ground before—CRACK. Lightning erupts, turning the world white. Splinters of wood fly over me. The crash of thunder is so loud it rattles the inside of my head. An acrid, chemical sort of smell washes over me. Ozone. I army-crawl away; splinters of wood mean the lightning hit one of the pine trees lining the road, which means I’m probably about to get crushed by falling debris.

I freeze. A horrific understanding washes over me. Struck by lightning; crushed by debris. My fears from a few minutes ago. They’re coming true. Because Elliott is no longer concentrating on our safety.

Something cracks and groans above me. The lightning-struck tree, falling. I shove myself sideways just in time. Its long, thin trunk crashes against the back of the car, smashing its rear half.