The gate is closed. Locked. And the guards are nowhere to be seen.

Suddenly, a girl runs alongside the wagon, grabs the board beside me, and swings onto the platform. I glance at her and recognize my jail visitor. Her face is alive with purpose as she looks at me.

“Can you get us out?”

Is she crazy? A ton of concrete and steel stand in our way. How am I supposed to move that?

The ground beneath us shakes as the Cursed One explodes out of South Edge and into Lower Market, spewing fire.

We’re next.

“Logan!” She snaps her fingers in front of me. “Can you get us out?”

A ton of concrete and steel. No way to get so many people over it. Or under it. We’ll have to go through.

“I’ll have to build a bomb.”

“Tell me what you need.”

“The abandoned warehouse beside the armory. There are two black metal barrels full of liquid. I need those and a supply of canning jars with lids. Can you help me get those?”

She cups her hands around her mouth and whistles, an ear-splitting note that momentarily silences those in our immediate vicinity.

“Logan can get us out. Dad”—she calls to my right, and I turn to see Drake standing there, soot stains on his patched tunic and part of his beard singed away—“get a team to the abandoned warehouse by the armory and bring back the metal barrels of liquid you find there.”

He nods, grabs a hulking man wearing a tattered cloak, and they head toward the armory.

The girl looks at the crowd surrounding us. “The rest of you, go through the homes near here and bring me every jar and lid you find. Empty the contents if you must.”

A few people immediately do her bidding, but most of them stare at us with nothing but confusion on their faces.

“Do you want to live?” She screams it at them, and more of them start moving. Before long, a line of people are dumping jars of every size into the back of the wagon.

North Hub and East Quarter are nothing but billowing clouds of black smoke. South Edge is a burning inferno behind us. Survivors of those three districts mingle with citizens from the western reaches of the city and jostle against the unyielding surface of the Wall like sheep penned in for a slaughter. I see Thom, his clothes still smoking, leading a donkey with Eloise perched on its back. He elbows his way toward us.

Another explosion rips through the air behind us, accompanied by a chorus of screams. The Cursed One is coming our way. I give it ten minutes before the beast reaches the gate and turns the citizens of Baalboden into nothing but a memory.

It’ll be a miracle if we make it out alive.

“What’s your name?” I ask the girl.

“Nola.”

“Thank you, Nola.” It’s less than she deserves, but it’s the best I can give.

Eight minutes left. Rachel is still holding down the button. I press a kiss against her head and say, “I love you.”

She looks at me, tears gathering in her eyes. “I love you, too.”

Six minutes. The ground beneath us trembles, violent shudders that send people to their knees. The flames are so close now, we can hear them crackling in the distance.

Five.

“Make way!” Drake and three other men stumble into the crowd, their clothing singed. Each pair holds a black barrel.

I let go of Rachel.

“Open the jars,” I say to Nola, and yell to the people in front of me to clear out of my way as Drake and his helpers load the barrels onto the wagon bed.

People stumble to the side as my wagon pushes through. Rachel drops the device and climbs into the wagon bed to help open jars.

Four minutes.

Pulling the horse to a stop twenty yards from the gate, I look at Nola. “Get them away from the gate. Close enough that they can run through as soon as it’s open, but far enough that they won’t be injured by falling debris.”

While Nola barks orders at the citizens filling the street, I leap into the wagon bed and point to Drake and one other. “Fill as many jars as you can with the liquid in your barrel. Be careful. It’s acid. It’ll burn your skin.”

“Better than being dead,” Drake says, and starts his task.

“You two fill the rest of these jars with the liquid in your barrels. It’s glycerin. Don’t let it come in contact with the acid, whatever you do. It would kill us all.”

“What can I do?” Rachel stands beside me. “Give me something to do.”

“Press the button, sweetheart. Keep pressing it.”

She climbs over the wagon seat and grabs the device again.

Three minutes.

Plumes of black smoke rise from the west now as the fires in North Hub eat through the city at a frightening speed. From the outside, it must look like the entire city is already up in flames.

I check the progress of the men in the back. Each team has about nine jars filled and capped now. Drake’s hands are blistered raw, but he refuses to let his teammate dip for him.

Nine is good, but I don’t know if it will be enough.

“Everyone who will listen to me is out of the danger zone.” Nola appears beside the wagon. “Blow it up, Logan.”

“Keep filling.” I say to the men, and snatch the dagger from my boot so I can cut the horse free of the reins. He takes off running as soon as he’s free, and I look at Rachel. “Come out of the wagon.”

She scrambles down and stands beside me, still holding the device.

“We’re going to flip the wagon over and use it as a shield.”