Inside the gym, Larson made a sad face as he leveled his service weapon at Carrie. Carrie wanted to punch him. He shouldn’t get to feel bad about this.

She was struggling to come up with a proper insult as he put his finger on the trigger.

Then they both looked up as metal twisted and bent with a shriek. Black claws tore through the gym’s roof. The sky fell in on them, raining debris on the Followers.

Larson stood, his mouth open, staring, disbelieving, as his religion stared him in the face. He was frozen in place as the dragon screamed and fell, the bulk of its body tearing the roof open as it pitched forward into the gym.

Carrie wasn’t as impressed. She’d seen the weird shit this town had to offer before, so she didn’t waste time in shock. She ducked and rolled to her feet and ran.

One of the Followers tried to block her path. She lunged, he blocked, and she retreated, stuck in a ridiculous shall-we-dance? moment. Then an air-conditioning unit fell from above and crushed him. Carrie saw his legs sticking out from under the metal box like the Wicked Witch in the Wizard of Oz, only wearing khakis and with a lot more blood.

A half-second later, Danny fell down on the hardwood floor from above. Carrie ran to him. She hauled him up and began dragging him to the exit. He was heavy, only semi-conscious, but he was breathing, and she was running on pure adrenaline.

They had to get outside as fast as they could.

The dragon was thrashing in the wreckage, bringing the gym down around them all. It was dying. She could see a burning hole in its chest and she guessed that ridiculous ray gun Danny built had actually worked. But it wasn’t dead enough for her yet.

Carrie had an idea.

She knew how to finish this thing.

Alana could not believe it. Gabrielle. Her mother. Alive. She was weathered and beaten and tired. Deep lines etched her face, along with a scar that went up one cheek all the way to her hairline.

She’d been fighting all this time. Alana could see the cost in her skin and her eyes.

But Gabrielle was alive.

Alana said, “Mom?”

Alana’s mother held Colchester, hugging him close from behind, her arms locked tight around him as he thrashed. Even though he was little more than charcoal and bone now, he struggled against her with impossible strength. They stood in the Well, blackness pooled at their feet.

Colchester raged. The sounds coming from his mouth were nothing Alana could understand. They were the roars of an animal, a long-dead language never meant for human ears.

As if in response, the wind and rain whipped up higher, all around them. Alana was driven to her knees.