"There!" Logan roared and dragged me to a city bus with its front sticking out to the sidewalk, pointing toward the park's slope.

One vector with nothing but boxer shorts and a white bloodied shirt sprinted toward us, but Logan quickly shot him on the shoulder and the head, bringing him down.

I stopped and waited for the others by the door, waving at them to hurry up. Luke was the last one in, and I quickly jumped inside right before the horde reached my spot. Miguel closed the door.

I felt a firm grip on my collar, turning me around, and hand slapped me across the face.

Aria stood before me, screaming, "You brought us here! You brought us here to die! Fuck you, Bren! We shouldn't have listened to you!"

She slapped me again. I didn't know why I didn't hold my hand up. I let it sting. I let the knot in my chest tightened.

"That's enough!" Logan bellowed, breaking us apart. "That's enough, Aria."

"You know I'm right. We should have gone to Central Park, where the real help is! Not this! Now, we're trapped because one guy can't take a hit on his ego?"

"My what?" I began, but Logan held me back, shaking his head, not wanting me to argue.

"Yes. Your ego. You don't want to be told you were wrong, and you desperately wanted us to follow you around. We're going to die here!"

"I said that's enough, Aria!" Logan yelled again.

I looked at the others. They were quiet, silently staring out of the bus's windows as the vectors hammered and snarled, their eyes filled with a hunger for our blood. I heard Henry whimpered next to Miguel, who pressed a comforting arm around the boy while Yousef curled into a ball at the back, shaking while Luke tried to reassure his friend. Felipe and Margot hugged each other, and Felipe said something in French out of earshot, which made her smile, and sweetly kissed his hand.

Had I led them here all because I had a hunch? All because I was afraid of something that might not be there? I wanted to cry, but I couldn't find the tears, which only made it worse.

No.

Not this.

This couldn't be it.

I refused to die like this, not when safety was next door, right out on the dock.

I pulled out the boat keys. On the key chain, it said its name: AMERICANA BEAUTY.

Our lifeline.

I traipsed toward the front of the bus, pushing past Logan and Aria. The keys were still in the ignition. The rotting remains of the bus driver were on the sidewalk, blocked from view as the vectors crowded around the vehicle and looked out of the windshield.

Like science, if something went wrong with an experiment, adapt, and forge through. I tried to channel Gregor Mendel, one of my favorite biologists, trying to get into his mind space as he looked for patterns, something that I could use, or Rachel Carson's perseverance and persistence not to give up. There was always a way out of a situation, even in the most unlikely of places.

And I found it.

Connected to the yacht club was a mason brick wall, flanking a chain-linked gate leading toward the dock. It was where the owners could lower their boats down on the ramps and into the water. I followed down where the wall connected to next, found it attached to another, albeit smaller building of souvenir shops, cafes, and river cruise lines based on the signs emblazoned over their doors. South of that was the river walk platform itself, devoid of any human life.

An idea popped up in my head.

It was risky, but it'll work. We just had to be fast.

I turned back and handed the boat keys to Logan. "Here. You know boats more than I do," I said to him.

He shook his head. "I hadn't gone boating with my uncle in years."

"But between you and me, you're the only one who knows how to drive one."

"A fishing boat and a bow-rider, maybe, but not a freaking yacht. My uncle won't let me touch his expensive stuff."

"But you've seen it? How's it done?"

"Um, yeah, but it'll have multiple engines and a multitude of buttons to press, maybe even more stuff to check at the helm and the engine room that I might not have seen before. I don't know!"

"Press the buttons you need to press. I'll give you as much time as needed to get that boat ready."

"This is too much pressure to place on me, Bren," Logan said hesitantly.

"Well, Bobby's dead, so unless you want me to summon a dead bitch, you're all we have. Think of it as a bigger version of the things you worked with."

Logan took the keys off my hands. "Fine. I'll do it. What's your plan?"

I smiled. "You might want to hold on to something hard."

Logan narrowed his eyes at me. A sly smirk crept onto his lips. "You coming on to me? You know I'm not like that. And you do know what's outside this bus, right?"

I rolled my eyes. "Ew. No. Gosh, you can be dense sometimes."

I told everyone to stay as far back as possible on the bus, and they hesitantly followed my orders, even when I vaguely told them my plan. I didn't want to lose more minutes in a chance that one of these vectors might get lucky in breaking one of the windows. I went over to the driver's seat and turned on the ignition, placing the shotgun on my right.

I didn't have a license in driving heavy vehicles, much less any experience steering the damn big old thing unless you counted driving a tractor once when I was a kid on my grandfather's farm. That was a long time ago. But I did know how to step on the gas, hard, and that was all I needed to do. At the sound of the engine revving to life, it riled up the vectors more, sounding like a concert house filled with rabid fans of a boy band. I pulled on the seatbelt and made sure it was secure.

"Everybody, hold on!" I shouted to the back.

I pushed down on the gas pedal, and the bus lurched forward.

Two men in a business suit immediately went under the wheels, and the three behind them followed after. The other vectors jumped out of the way as the bus bounced further out the sidewalk, moving fast, breaking through a row of a knee-high thicket of shrubs. The bus was a heavy ass to drive; I had to work twice to turn the freaking wheels, or else I wouldn't have the power I needed to burst through the marina's gates.

The horde rushed close at the tail, some holding onto the window sills and at the side of the bus.

As the bus landed on the park's open meadow, it shattered the sliding doors' windows and cracked the windshield. A woman in a baggy hoodie and a man in a black Nirvana shirt latched onto the exposed bare frame, their pair of two pupil eyes focused on me.

I grabbed my shotgun and aimed the barrel inches away from its snarling face, and pulled the trigger. Her head exploded, taking part in the frame with her and part of my hearing. The resounding echo was deafening, like it almost ripped my eardrums off in the bus's enclosed space. The shotgun reeled back, clattered somewhere behind me.

I kept my foot on the gas, the needle swiftly climbing up to sixty miles per hour. The chain-linked gate twenty feet away. The Nirvana-wearing guy held on.

"Brace!" I shouted, tightening my grip on the steering wheel as I stepped harder on the pedal.

It was as if everything went in slow motion. The bus hit the chain-link fence at a speed of around seventy miles per hour, which was still securely attached to the brick wall. The wall buckled from the impact, wrapping around the vehicle in a tangled mess. Terrified screams emanated from the back, clinging on the poles and from the seats for dear life.

The wheel suddenly lurched to the right, hitting the Nirvana-wearing guy against the brick wall, splattering him against the bus's windows.

The bus bounced twice, teetered to the side as if it was about to roll over, but I managed to get hold of the wheel again, turning the wheels to the direction where it would roll, and the bus righted itself down.

I finally looked forward and saw another second gate, at least nine or ten feet high, in front of us, also flanked by a brick wall. I probably had maybe eighty to a hundred feet to maneuver away from another impact. Beyond the second wall was the boat ramp itself. If I didn't stop now, we'd be in the water in seconds.

I stepped on the brakes with both my feet on the pedal and turned the wheel to the left, screaming as I went. The right side of the bus slammed against the brick wall broadside. A twelve-foot wrought-iron pole came loose from the wall, smashing through the windshield, sharp ends coming for my head. I ducked to the left before the pole hit an inch where my head used to be.

The bus skidded, the wheels screeching to a stop. Though the seatbelt held me back, the drastic shift banged my head against the jutting pole. Eyes blurred for a second, and I hoped I didn't have a significant concussion.

The impact shattered the windows on the right and taking out a couple on the left, leaving the latter open to the approaching horde.

I unbuckled the seatbelt and wiggled loose, scrambling for my shotgun, found it underneath the second-row seat. Looking over to the back, the rest stirred, grumbling up to their feet. I then looked over to the door, but the brick wall blocked it, and there was no way we could open the chain-linked gate with the bus on the way.

All that was left was up.

I hopped onto a seat nearest the roof's emergency hatch and pulled the red handle loose. The hatch hissed and popped outward, and I quickly pushed it entirely off. I saw my NYPD bag and hurled it through the hole, landing in a loud thud.

"Everyone, get up on the roof!" I screamed.

The horde barreled toward the side of the bus, rocking it like a boat. Henry was the nearest one to me, and I quickly grabbed him, pushing him to the roof. His eyes were red with tears.

"You can do it, Henry. I know you can do it," I said reassuringly.

"I don't know if I can," he squeaked.

"I'll be right behind you, okay?"

He nodded hesitantly, reached for the ledge with both hands, and pulled himself up.

I spared a glance to the side, saw a man got to one of the broken windows, and reached inside for Margot's hair.

I roared, "Margot! Get down!"

She did, raised her hands over her head as I aimed the barrel on the man's half-torn face, and fired. His head caved, and the force pushed him back, the shell taking out another vector behind him.

Felipe pulled Margot up the emergency latch, and he followed after her. Logan and Miguel started firing through the open window.

"What about our supplies?" Luke asked behind me.

"Leave it! Get up there!" I said. Luke didn't hesitate, taking Felipe's outreached hand, and the latter pulled him up. I tapped Logan's shoulder, leaned close to his ear, said, "Lead the others to the boat! They're already on the other side." I pointed to both Margot and Felipe frantically helped Henry down the fence.

Logan cursed under his breath, said, "You better be on the other side, Watts."

"Don't worry. I plan to!" I said.

Logan swiftly hopped onto a chair and grabbed on the sides of the latch, pulling himself up like it was the easiest thing to do. He dropped and rolled to the other hand and gently lowered Henry down from the fence.

A snarl came from behind. A woman in her mid-forties managed to break through the driver seat window, wiggling her way into the bus. I blew her chest wide open, shattering the windshield entirely out of its frame. The vectors, finding a more prominent way in, swarmed to the front, fighting and clamoring among one another to be the first one inside.

Shit.

I pulled on the trigger again. Found the chamber empty.

"Shit! I'm out!" I shouted.

I immediately dropped to one knee and reloaded my shotgun with the shells on the side holder. Miguel quickly took my space, blowing a man's head off when he tried to climb through the front. Bullets rained down from above and saw a few vectors went down as Luke took advantage of the high ground. Behind me, Yousef helped Aria climbed up the latch.

"Out!" Miguel screamed as I loaded the sixth shell.

I rose from my crouch and fired at the man running toward us, splattering blood around the interior that would make even Jackson Pollock proud.

"Get up there, Miguel! I'll cover you!" I shouted over my shoulder.

Miguel took another shot at a woman climbing on the side window before climbing up the hatch.

I never felt so alone. The hairs at the nape of my neck stood up in attention, feeling like the walls were going to cave in and trap me. I took a step back, taking two more vectors on the front. Then, I felt two pairs of strong hands on my head. I looked up and saw Yousef and Luke trying to get my attention as Miguel shot at the horde from the roof's edge.

"Come on, Bren! Up!" Luke exclaimed.

I grabbed Luke's and Yousef's hands, and they pulled me up to the roof. One man almost grabbed my ankles, and if I had waited for a second longer, he would for sure had me in his grasp and yanked me back down into the bus, swarmed by the rest of the vectors. I scrambled for the hatch and closed it back before a vector decided to use it.

I grabbed the NYPD bag and threw it over the fence, and leaped down after it. Miguel, Yousef, and Luke quickly climbed down after me.

The vectors started scaling up the sides of the bus, almost reaching the roof. Soon, they'd climb over the brick wall and the gates. Unfortunately, I couldn't see any more barriers to stop their advance out on the pier.

I slipped the straps of the bag around my shoulders and started for the dock. The others followed close to my trail.

I hoped Logan worked quickly in starting up the boat. He had already taken off searching for it, tailed by Margot, Felipe, Henry, and Aria. I scanned the dock, saw them already further off. Around me, almost half of the anchored yachts had sunk, their bows sticking out of the murky waters. A few got burned down, but three or four still left floating and seemed to be in working order. Logan approached the farthest two.

Logan walked up to a speedboat, maybe a twenty-footer with a cuddy cabin, and definitely not one to cram nine people in. But Logan breezed past it, heading instead for the bigger one.

I saw the name on the boat's stern: AMERICANA BEAUTY, written in bold, midnight blue with inlaid gold colors.

"Bobby, you son of a bitch," I spat under my breath and quickened my pace to catch up to the others.

Logan stopped and studied the boat, unsure how to proceed. I could tell he also doubted if it was the right one.

"Uh, is this it?" Logan asked me.

"Name checks out," I said, pointing at the back of the boat.

"But Bobby said—"

"The fucker wanted the space all for himself," I told him bitterly. "He lied to us. We could've escaped days ago with this. That one giant freaking asshole. I swear, if I have a chance of killing him twice, I'll take it."

And I was serious. Bobby's boss didn't have a "small" boat. He had a sixty-footer. Enough space to cram fifteen people, and I could have ferried them out of here without hiccups. Instead, we had to hole up inside a cathedral because Bobby didn't want to share a tight space or share all the resources with a large group.

That bastard.

Everyone could've made it out. If only Joe could see this, I wonder what he'd do to Bobby now in the afterlife.

Logan curled his fist. "We should've killed him worse than what he deserved."

"You and me both. Well, now that it's a bit bigger than what you're used to, do you still think you can start this one up?"

"Only one way to find out."

Americana Beauty was a beauty; I could tell you that. And believe me, she was brand-new, even written underneath her name when she was made. She was sixty feet in length with the main deck, a lower deck, and a flybridge, and by my observation, had a beam max of around seventeen feet.

I told Miguel to keep a close eye on the dock as the rest swept the entire boat, finding no former occupants. There were at least three staterooms, two queens and one double-bunk bed, a kitchenette, a dining room below deck, and a spacious living area with its own small library on the main deck.

Logan ordered Margot and Aria to pull out the boat fenders, bumpers to protect the boat from hitting against the pier over the gunwale while Felipe and Yousef untie the ropes from the dock posts. Miguel shot at the vectors that managed to climb over the wall and reached the landing; though they only came in a trickle, I knew they'd find a way to overwhelm us soon enough.

Logan led me to the engine room at the stern, near the swimming platform.

"You okay?" I asked.

"Uh, a little overwhelmed."

I didn't say anything, and I doubt I'd help much. It was, after all, a lot to take in, especially with the bunch of levers, electronics, barometers, and other stuff strewn about in such a small space, making it an entire beast in itself. I was nervous I'd touch something that would get us stuck on the harbor.

I saw Logan smiled.

"What?" I asked curiously.

"This is a Volvo Penta D13-900 mHP! 10.8 liter Diesel engine, twin-entry turbo, low fuel consumption..."

"So, does that mean..."

"It's fucking awesome, alright. Beautiful. Fast."

"How fast?"

"27 knots? Maybe more."

"Okay, but can you start it?"

"Let me see," he flicked a button and looked at a meter gauge. "Huh. Nice. Full tank. About Seven-Forty gallons of fuel. We have a freshwater reserve of about two hundred gallons, and it looks like we can recycle that, too. It seems like they're getting it ready for a charter."

I shrugged. "I literally have no idea what that last one is."

"A circle jerk for rich dudes out on the sea."

"Ah. I didn't get an invitation."

"If you had fifty grand to spare or so, maybe. Lucky for us, we'll get it for free." Logan took a wrench from a toolbox near the door and started fiddling with the fuel line. "My uncle says that we have to bleed the fuel line to make sure there are no air pockets inside before we start it up. We don't want this boat to stall halfway off the harbor. It'll only take a sec."

The smell of gasoline filled the room, slowly leaking out of where Logan had the wrench on. I covered my nose.

"Ah. That'll work."

"Is it done? Can we go?"

"Hold your horse. We'll get there."

"We don't exactly have the time, Logan."

Logan raised his eyebrows. "And you don't think I don't know that?"

Another gunshot outside. Twice this time.

"They're approaching fast."

"Yeah. Yeah. I just have to make sure the generator's working." He sauntered over to a larger mass of machinery that I had no idea how to work on, much less to name on the spot.

Logan stood in front of a three-foot large box, saying that it was the boat's 36-volt system, and pressed a button before turning to two black cylindrical wheels to ON. Above the wheels was the sign: BATTERY. KEEP PANEL CLOSED. FUSES INSIDE. He then flicked two more switches, mumbling something about needing it for control, and I suddenly heard loud, monotone beeping from above.

"What the hell is that?" I asked anxiously.

"Relax. That's the electronic controls for the helm as well as the starboard engines. It means it's live."

The beeping stopped after a few seconds.

"Is that all?"