The force of the gale blows me off the path. I risk another glance over my shoulder, but I don’t see Doug anywhere.

“Chill?”

“Keep moving! Look for the lights.”

I run toward the flashes of firelight ahead of me, skidding in the muddy grass as Doug emerges out of the fog.

His face is haggard. He’s breathing hard. Blood streams from his nose, staining his bared teeth. He starts toward me. I duck as a bolt of lightning streaks across the sky. Doug turns at the deafening crack as a tree collapses, knocking him down.

A voice shouts from the woods, “Move it, Jack!”

I break into a sprint. My feet find the path. A gate materializes through the fog ahead of me. Too high to jump. No way around it. I slam on the brakes, but my momentum’s too strong, and I brace for the inevitable impact. A tree groans to my left. A branch wraps around my waist, and I’m yanked off my feet, swooping upward as I’m tossed over the gate.

I fall on my face on the other side. An unfamiliar voice shouts through the fog, “Run, Sommers! I’ll buy you time.”

I push myself up and keep running, crossing a street.

“Where am I?” I ask, sucking wind.

“Just passed Crooms Hill,” Chill says. “You’re doing great. Only three miles to go.”

My chest feels like it’s going to explode. “Three miles? I can’t—”

“Don’t slow down, Jack. Just keep going. Follow the fires.”

They flash like runway lights in front of me. “Who are they?”

“A few Seasons we evacuated from the Observatory. We arranged an escort service for you. We thought you might need a little help.”

“Yeah,” I wheeze. “Help is good. Thanks.”

He gives a low chuckle. “Stick to the lights. They’ll guide you to the tracks.”

“What tracks?”

“They’re just ahead of you. Follow them west. Doug’s moving faster than we thought. You need to make it across Deptford Creek. If you can get across the bridge, I can slow him down.”

“The bridge? Sprinting across wet railroad ties in the dark? This is your plan?”

“It’s our best shot. You’re going to lure him into a bottleneck.” Chill stifles his microphone, muting his conversation with someone else. Sweat trails down my sides and my footsteps feel heavy. Everything feels too heavy. I slow, clumsily unzipping my jacket as I jog. My shoulder aches as I peel it off. Fishing the eye from its zipper, I tuck it into the pocket of my soaked jeans and toss the sopping jacket away from me.

The last flame gutters out as I reach the tracks.

The rails are dark, the shape of the raised ties hard to make out. The toe of my shoe catches on one and I pitch forward, my hands and knees coming down hard on icy metal.