“Shut that thing up!” Elliot said. He waved his hand behind him until he found here. Grabbing her jacket, he pulled her forward. “Come on!”

“Let go,” she hissed and jerked his hand away. But she followed him, hand on his back so they wouldn’t get separated. Hope, perhaps cued in to the stress between then, barked louder. The crazies started shouting. Elliot didn’t need to understand their language to know what they were saying: the hunt was on and all they had to do now was coordinate it.

If there was any benefit in the situation, it was that the crazies had grabbed all the flashlights from the truck and that meant they were putting out a good amount of illumination. As they closed in on his and Evajean’s position, Elliot was able to make out the shapes of the stacks, and that meant he could run.

We’ve got to get to the wall, he thought. Get to the wall and then behind them. The dog continued to bark and he suddenly hated himself for making them take it in the first place. Callie gone and they both had puppy dog eyes. He hadn’t thought it through and now that impulse to nurture might very well get him killed.

“Elliot!” Evajean screamed. He looked back, slowing somewhat. The crazies were there, behind them, and coming fast. He should have noticed when the lights shifted, should’ve let that warn him, but his mind was overwhelmed and he could feel it shutting down from the trauma of these last days.

If nothing else, though, if he could take any comfort from being found, it was that the flashlights the crazies waved as they chased after them were at their backs and illuminating nicely the path ahead. And so he could see the metal wall coming up in front of them and he knew the office door was just a few yards after the turn. They could make it.

But the four crazies were close. The thing was, as he looked back, unable to stop himself, he lost every impression of them as actually crazy. They didn’t run oddly, and their faces, hidden in shadow, lined only by the faintest backwash from the flashlights, had the hard edges of exertion, not the distorted features of the insane. Again he had the impression of being in a foreign country and not in a world gone dead.

As the wall came, he turned, staying close, his arm swinging back, his hand clasping Evajean’s. They could make it. “Run!” he shouted and the crazies were so close, almost close enough to touch, and if one of them threw a flashlight at his legs…

The office door. He saw it, a blank recess in the reflective metal of the wall. He pulled and Evajean kept up. Then they were through, but with the crazies still outside, the room was completely dark. The door outside was closed, so not even moonlight came in. Knowledge of this was delayed in coming to Elliot, however, and in that delay, his knee hit the corner of a desk.

Elliot fell, the pain wiping everything. Evajean ran past, momentarily unaware of what had happened, and stepped on his hand. His index finger snapped under the heel of her sneaker. And then he could see, because the first of the crazies had come into the office. Still on the floor, his hand and knee driving spikes of anguish through his concentration, he could only manage another imperative directed at Evajean. “Run! The car!” But that wouldn’t work, no, because he had the keys. They were in the pocket of his jeans. She could get away, out into this industrial park, but she wouldn’t get far.

He pulled himself up just as the first crazy came within grabbing distance. Elliot lunged at the door, trying to keep the weight of his leg. He felt the arc of a flashlight’s head graze his upper back. The crazies were calling for him, pleading in their mad language.

Evajean was at the door, the portal outside, and as he got close she pulled it open. He followed her through.

They ran and the lights followed them. At some point Evajean dropped the dog and Elliot heard her curse, but he didn’t stop, willed her not to stop, because he knew this time the crazies were after them for keeps. Evajean had pissed them off back in Nahom–whatever she’d done had been significant beyond the obvious corpses, and the crazies didn’t forget. Yet that didn’t make any sense. He’d been most of the night and all of a day behind the wheel of the truck after they’d escaped the caves and, unless the crazies could drive (which he doubted was the case), there wasn’t any way it was the same group.

He ran like it was, though, and Evajean didn’t go back for the dog. They’d find it again or they wouldn’t, but now the thing was to get to that door and outside. Then to the truck–and do it all without being caught.

Behind them, it was close. Over his breathing and Evajean’s, over the slap of their shoes on the dirt, was the chattering–and then, calm and cool and not at all startling, the new pressure of a hand on his back. But Evajean was between him and the crazies and he knew the hand wasn’t hers.

He spun, hands up–and his stomach fell. She was on the ground, the woman and one of the men standing over her. The other two crazies hit Elliot as soon as he stopped, knocking him backwards and onto the floor. He kicked out, tripping one. The other jumped over its companion and reached for him. Elliot pulled away, scrambling to his feet. He’d have to fight. There was no other choice.

But the crazy only stood. It stared at him as the one on the ground got up. Evajean squirmed and then did the same, her terror plain in the flashlight beams.

No one moved. They watched each other. The one in front, the one who had reached for Elliot, slowly shook its head. It leaned toward him and said, “Moroni.”

Elliot had no idea what to make of this, but he remembered the woman in Wal-Mart telling him “more” over and over—before he beat her to death.

“Moroni,” the crazy said again. It turned to Evajean. “Moroni.” And handed her the flashlight.