The pain does not come. I open one eye to find her progress toward me stopped. The end of the long handle of the blade is buried in the dirt by my head and barely keeps her teeth from my flesh. She continues to flail and snap, her fingertips scratching my cheeks.

I fall back, lie flat with her hovering above me and begin to push myself along the ground, sliding out from under her. Hands grab at my shoulder and I begin to struggle again but it's Harry and he pulls me free.

With one clean stroke he decapitates the Unconsecrated woman and her head tumbles to the ground. I reach for my weapon but it is buried too deep, stuck in the bone. Harry tugs on my arm and I have to leave it behind, making my hands feel too empty, too vulnerable.

My body quivers, my legs wobble and I can already feel the burn of tears stinging in my throat as we start moving again. The air feels heavy with the smell of blood, its tang sticking to the back of my mouth as if I taste it rather than smell it. My chest convulses with each breath as if I can't get enough.

Around me my friends and neighbors fall to the Unconsecrated. Some have already died and Returned, their throats mauled, their limbs torn. They continue to pour from the mist enveloping us all.

They're everywhere. Those on the platforms struggle to fight them, to protect the living left on the ground, but the Unconsecrated flow in a never-ending wave, multiplying as they come. The fog confuses everything, making it difficult to discern living from dead.

Harry stands to the left of me, Jacob thrown over his shoulder again. He points past me and I turn. To my right is the Cathedral, its stone walls thick and solid. While the Unconsecrated press in behind us, they have yet to make it to the shelter of the Cathedral. Already Sisters and Guardians stand at the second-story windows letting loose a constant flow of arrows.

I can hear the sound of hammers as those inside fortify the large windows on the ground floor.

We are still a distance away when I see two Sisters come around the side of the building.

Together they fling closed the thick shutters bounding each window and make their way toward the large front door, where another Sister stands beckoning them with her hands.

There seems to be a problem with the last shutter. As we draw closer I can see that they are furiously working to get it secure. Finally, one Sister pushes the other to the door and stays outside alone and I realize it is Sister Tabitha.

She struggles against the heavy wood with all her weight, leaning away from it. Finally, it budges and I watch her stumble backward as the shutter slams shut. She pulls a thick length of metal and settles it into the brackets on either side of the window, reinforcing it. Her task complete, she hustles back to the front door and I see her knuckles rap against the wood.