My teeth chatter, the cold closing in around me as I track the lines on the map, figuring out how the tunnels connect and how to get there. It’s far away, and my body wants to sag at the thought of covering such distance, but it’s still hope. At least now I know where to go so that I’m not running in aimless circles, waiting for the dead to bury me.

For the briefest moment I allow myself to think about Catcher waiting for me. To think of the boat and the water and my sister and the sky. These are the thoughts that drag me back to the edge of the platform. That propel me down to the tracks and push me to stumble through the tunnels.

The moans wash behind me, almost a physical force that screams at my body to move faster, but I know better. This time I don’t run. It’s a long way to the roller coaster and I can’t exhaust myself. I’m more cautious with my steps, keeping the lantern in front of me so I don’t fall—I can’t afford any more scrapes or cuts. Any more blood.

The only problem is that my body doesn’t generate as much heat walking, and soon I start to lose feeling in my fingers and toes. I pull my new coat tight, try to remember the feel of the fire on the roof earlier, when we were inflating the balloon.

Try to remember the heat of Catcher’s skin against mine.

I shiver just thinking about it.

I feel like a tiny lightning bug lost over the ocean—a tiny bright light surrounded by dark so deep the world might as well not exist. Time and distance become distorted and I find myself counting steps just to know that I’m moving forward.

I can’t remember the last time I ate. I find myself pulling ice from the walls for water. It’s nearly impossible to raise my feet, so I drag them along, the Unconsecrated thundering after me.

Eventually, the ground becomes slick, and I press my hand against the ice-coated wall to keep steady. My footsteps alternately crunch and slip, making it easy to lose my balance. Every time I crash to my knees it takes longer for me to push myself up again, and the dead get closer.

Every time I hesitate, that’s distance lost between me and the dead.

I’m so tired. My body’s exhausted. Spent.

This is the true brutality of the Unconsecrated. My body tires and theirs don’t. My muscles cramp and lock up and theirs don’t. My mind screams to rest for just a moment and they know only the hunger that will keep them stumbling after me forever.

Every heartbeat I’m not moving, the Unconsecrated are.