They left the church before dawn, the boy's directions folded carefully into Silver's memory, the storm having eased overnight into something closer to a persistent, miserable drizzle rather than the punishing downpour they'd endured for the better part of two weeks.
"Two days, maybe three," Silver said, studying the rough map the boy had sketched for them the night before, comparing it against what remained visible of the flooded streets ahead. "If the water hasn't made this section impassable."
"We'll manage," Dahlia said, adjusting the strap of her makeshift pack, some of the exhaustion from the previous week's trek visibly burned away by the fresh certainty driving her now. "We've managed worse."
Victor said nothing, head tilted slightly in the particular way that had become habitual, already listening for whatever his awakened senses might catch ahead of them.
