Immediately, I know I’ve gone the wrong way. The Ferris wheel looms in the air above me, inching in its slow arc of the sky, and grows closer with every step I take. But there is no going back the way I came because the Marshal hasn’t given up.

I see a man and a woman flanking a drunken friend. The friend’s head lolls to the side, and I realize that the girl isn’t their friend at all. Pink-streaked hair flutters, and piercings twinkle as they catch the light. The woman they are dragging is Flap.

Farther down the pier I spot Dewey’s hat. He leaps around a food cart with two men in pursuit.

I want to help them, but there is nothing I can do with my own Marshal closing in. I toss more papers, dart around tourists, and climb the wide concrete steps that lead to the next level. I am gasping for air as I reach the top. Lungs burning, I hurry toward the carousel that plays the same happy music I remember from when I rode the colorfully painted horses as a child.

Desperate, I circle the ride and head for the Ferris wheel, turning its large, enclosed gondolas lazily in the sky.

My legs tremble. No matter how scared I am, I won’t be able to keep running like this for much longer. Thankfully, the woman chasing me, who is now scanning the carousel, appears to have also slowed down.

The Ferris wheel crawls to a stop. The gondola doors slowly slide open, and when passengers start to unload I see my chance. I duck behind the pedestal of a statue that is near the line for the Ferris wheel and take several deep breaths. I have to get this right because I won’t have another opportunity.

The Marshal is still searching the carousel.

Screens filled with news or advertisements for cruises and restaurants flicker.

Crouching, I watch passengers climb off and new ones load on.

When the new passengers disappear through the door, I take a deep breath, wait for the doors to slide shut, and yell, “Hey! That girl cut in front of me. Hey!”

The Marshal’s head snaps in this direction.

“Stop the Ferris wheel!” I shout as the gondola begins to inch forward.

The Marshal takes a step toward it. Two. Then she starts to run.

I wait for her to pass the statue, then bolt in the opposite direction to the glass atrium building on the far side. There are gardens and fountains in there that my mother helped me draw. I know how to get to the front of the pier and the exit from there.

I reach the open doorway just as a hand latches on to my arm. Cold metal jams into the exposed skin at my waist and I go completely still.

“I don’t think so,” the hooked-nosed Marshal taunts. I had been so focused on the other Marshal, I’d never looked for this one.