I grunt and tug, but it’s no use. They’ll soon be here. My eyes are already streaming, but the sobs that shake from my chest are new. “We gave ’em a good fight,” I whisper. I lean down and kiss the top of his blood-speckled head. Beneath the blood and smoke and gun powder, there’s still a trace of his familiar scent. I’ll take it with me wherever this path ends.

A door pops open across the hall. Through the haze, I can just make out Dr. Rayburn’s shocked face behind his bleary glasses.

“Good God,” he says. Then his eyes flick to where the guards are breaking through the smoke. “Come on.” He waves me over. I heave Clay over with all my might, but my wounded calf has stiffened and doesn’t seem to work. Rayburn scuttles out, puts his hands under Clay’s armpits and drags him into the door. I limp after.

The door slides shut. Dr. Rayburn mutters over the keypad, frantically punching buttons until the lock clicks. He stands against the door, breathless. His white lab coat is streaked with Clay’s blood. He adjusts his smeared glasses and runs a trembling hand through his greasy hair. “Door won’t hold them for long.” He nods toward the back of the room. “We got a truck.”

We’re in the same storage room where Rayburn handed me off to Clay and the Sheriff. There’s an idling supply truck by the open garage door. I stare out into the fresh night air on the other side of the door. Can that really be freedom? My mother’s lying in the back of the van, still hooked to her IV. Ethan sits beside her, holding her hand. When he sees me he waves and then frowns. He starts to climb out but I shake my head and hobble forward. Betsy, who’s busy chucking supplies into the van, stops when she sees me.

“Oh my heavens, are you hurt?” She waddles over and reaches.

I shake her off. “Help me get Clay into the van!”

Her eyes go wide at the sight of him. She grabs Clay’s bloody boots. I take his arms. Rayburn jumps in the van’s driver’s seat. The engine revs.

Fists pound on the door. Rifle butts slam into the metal, denting it. If Rayburn was right, they’ll be here in seconds and my legs won’t move any faster.

My wounded calf throbs, but Betsy and I double-time it to the van. It seems like a million miles. My back finally bumps into the van’s bumper. I hoist myself up and then reach down for Clay’s arms and draw him inside. He’s so heavy and my arms so weak. Ethan reaches down and takes an arm. Together we heave Clay upward. Betsy pushes on his legs, her pudgy face red with strain.