"Shit, not again." It's breathless, bloodless, the kind of whisper that might come from someone already dead. The jungle flashing by him in a green blur, the ground going away, the sound of his leg snapping, the dead eyes all around him and Lennox's hand in his. When he'd realized that they couldn't hurt him. That all they wanted was for him to stop running and look at what he'd done.

He doesn't think that's all they want now.

Other shapes are coming out of the fog behind it, but all he can see is the first one. Boy. Young. No older than Neil. Rounded up when they took north Philadelphia. Maybe he'd had ties to resistance groups and maybe he hadn't. It hadn't really mattered by the end.

He turns back, gun in his hand. Suddenly furious. He's not even sure who with. "I'm right behind you, you keep fucking running."

The boy opens his mouth too wide and lets out a long, hissing shriek, drowning him out.