Once Maisy and I are outside, the gate lowers, the grating sound more noticeable without the crackling fires and murmuring voices within the camp.

Caught in the quiet moment, I yawn, then say, “So—” My volume shocks the exhaustion out of me. With how calm the night is, my normal voice sounds like I’m shouting with hopes of hearing my echo. I wince, and at a whisper, start again, “So where do you go on Night Shift? Normal route?”

Maisy clicks on a flashlight and shines it around. “Yup. Circle the perimeter and make sure there’s no unwanted visitors. Nothing fancy.” She looks back at me, her expression lost in the dark. “Did you bring a flashlight?”

“Uh…”

She groans. “What is wrong with you?” She doesn’t mind not whispering. “You didn’t come prepared at all.”

“It slipped my mind.” I put up my hands. “I’m sorry.”

She shoves something at my chest. “That’s all I got. I didn’t expect to have to pack for two. But I guess that’s my fault.” As she walks away, she mumbles, “This is what happens when I get stuck with children.”

I press the button on the small plastic object Maisy gave me, and a thin beam of light appears.

“Thanks,” I say, but she’s already halfway to the trail. I hurry to catch up. The yellowed grass is as tall as my knees and sounds scratchy as we walk through it. “So what’s Louie sick with?” I look around, dragging Maisy’s bat behind me. We haven’t seen a single thing yet. Maybe Night Shift isn’t as bad as everyone makes it out to be.

“Kelly said it’s a cold. Nothing too bad.” She twists to shine her light at my face, stopping me in my tracks. “Don’t drag him,” she barks, before flicking herself back around to scan the light on the ground. We continue.

I pick up the bat and lean it on my shoulder. “So it’s not the toxin then?”

She scoffs. “Don’t be daft. Louie’s fourteen.”

I roll my eyes and shake my head. It’s hard to keep track of everyone’s age, but then again, that isn’t my job. I’m not a Nurse, like Kelly.

Everyone’s Threshold seems to be different. Some kids say eighteen. Others say twenty. I’ve heard a story about someone’s fifteen-year-old brother dying. To me, that might be the scariest part. It isn’t dying or turning into a creep. It’s not knowing when. If you know when, you know what to expect, but we’re all living on our own clocks. Nobody has heard of anyone younger than fifteen getting sick, though. I’m a year younger than Louie, so I have nothing to worry about for another couple of years, if I make it that far anyway.

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As random as Thresholds are, the only thing that’s certain is the effect of the toxin, and that’s something everyone knows too well: You breathe it in, get sick, and either die or turn into a creep, then die. The process isn’t a quick one either. We’ve tracked some creeps for months before they wind up dead, and they were living long before we started tracking them.

I laugh, then say, “Yeah. If the toxin started hurting kids as young as fourteen, there’s no way we’d—“

Maisy stops.

I catch myself before bumping into her. “What?”

She shushes me. “Did you hear that?”

I duck and look around, shining my light between the black blobs I thought were trees the entire time. I could have been wrong. “What is it?”

There’s a sound nearby.

“There!” she says, pointing to the bushes close to the forest. She runs and draws her pistol.

“Maisy, wait!” I strain a whisper and chase after her.

The sound gets farther away, deeper into the overgrown grass. Maisy stops at the forest line, scanning her light from tree to tree. “We lost it,” she grumbles.

I make it to her side. “Did you see what it was?”

She grunts. “Could’ve been an animal. Could’ve been a creep. Who knows?”

“We shouldn’t be this close to the Outlands,” I say. “It isn’t safe.”

The Outlands are “no-go” territory—fair game for animals and creeps alike to hunt and rip each other apart. Not to mention it’s where most of the crawlies sprout. It’s always one good gust of wind away from being nothing but a toxic cloud asking to be breathed in. The strict rules about the Outlands explain themselves if you know what you’re dealing with, which we had to learn the hard way. Like I said, there will always be casualties.

Maisy shoots me a look. “Don’t lecture me about the rules. I know the rules.”

I frown. “Let’s just get back to the route,” I say, turning around. “I’m not a fan of following things that go bump in the night.”

“Yeah, well, it could’ve—”

She’s cut off with a yelp, and when I glance over my shoulder, the words “are you okay?” barely leave my mouth before I realize she’s gone.

I whip around, pointing my light at the trees. “Maisy?” There’s rustling. I wince, gripping the bat as tight as I’m clenching my teeth.

Maisy screams and gunshots go off, quick flashes sparking the black forest. Then silence.

The beam from my flashlight shakes with my hands. “Maisy?”

There’s movement. I point the beam to my right and ready the bat, but there’s nothing. The sound comes from my left. I shine the light that way. Nothing again.

Every advice I’ve been given says to run in situations like these. But Maisy was here—she was just here.

I couldn’t leave her.

I swallow the tickle in my throat threatening to escape as a scream and ask, “Is anyone there?”

Something answers, not in a voice but as a growl.

From the darkness, between trees, whatever made the noise, whatever brought Maisy and me here, comes out. My light catches the pale glint of skin before I drop the flashlight, and a warm sensation streams down my leg, into my sock. I run, fast—as fast as I can to the point my heartbeat suffocates my eardrums. If that thing is chasing me, I can’t hear it. And I’m not looking back to find out.