Two minutes.

I call out a warning to the men, and they lift the filled jars and metal drums clear of the wagon bed. Then we flip the wagon to its side and crouch behind it. A quick count shows I have nearly twenty jars of each liquid now. Eighteen of acid. Nineteen of glycerin.

It will have to be enough.

Grabbing a jar of acid, I lob it at the gate. It explodes against the stone in a hail of glass and sizzling liquid. I bend down and pick up two more. Two of the men grab jars of acid too, and we throw all six of them against the gate. When they reach for more, I stop them.

“Save those. We’ll need them.”

One minute.

I scoop up two jars of glycerin. The men do the same. “Stay down,” I say to Rachel and Nola, and then we throw the jars.

The glass missiles arc through the air, slam into the damp concrete, and shatter. The gate explodes in a brutal hail of concrete slabs, steel splinters, and suffocating dust. People scream as tons of debris come raining down around us. Some are crushed, others are knocked off their feet, still more are sliced open by the lethal barrage.

It’s a sea of wreckage, blood, and chaos, but there’s a hole in the gate big enough to fit three wagons side by side. Beyond the ruins, the Wasteland gleams like a jewel-green beacon of safety. Behind us, the roar of the beast is closing in.

“Get as many of them out as you can,” I say to Nola, Drake, and the others. They hurry to comply, and I pick up another jar of each liquid as the Cursed One incinerates the last block of buildings between it and the gate and comes for us.

CHAPTER SIXTY-NINE

RACHEL

I lean down beside Logan and pick up two jars as the beast comes closer. Grim determination anchors me to the ground as the flames eat through Lower Market and the cobblestones shake beneath the weight of the Cursed One’s approach.

We did this. We brought it here. We have to do everything in our power to destroy it. It’s the only chance the people outside the gate have of surviving.

“You should leave too,” Logan says.

“Don’t be an idiot. Whether we live or die, we’ll do it together.”

He doesn’t argue.

We wait as the beast slithers its way over the cobblestone street toward us, its movements jerky, as if something beyond itself is driving it forward. We wait while it fills the grassy clearing between the gatehouse and the gate with fire. And we wait until we can see the milky yellow of its unseeing eyes.

I grip the jars with bloodless fingers, and ready myself.

“Now!” Logan yells.

We throw the jars and they explode against the impenetrable scales of the beast. The force knocks the creature to its back. It bellows, flips over, and comes for us.

“Again!”

The second round of explosions blows a section of its tail to pieces. Wild triumph surges through me.

We can beat it.

“It can be killed. Did you see that? It can be killed!” I reach down for two more jars, and the Cursed One jerks to a stop, shuddering as if held back by something. I lob the jars, and the beast bellows as they hit it in the side, sending a shower of ebony scales clattering to the ground and revealing a small patch of gray skin beneath.

“It’s vulnerable!” I scream over the sound of flames and the roar of the beast.

Determination slides quickly into vicious purpose as I stare at the beast’s exposed skin. I can’t avenge Oliver. I can’t stop the Commander. But I can destroy the creature that took Dad from me.

Logan would argue. Calculate angles and odds. Take a moment to plan. But if I do that, I could miss my chance. The fury inside me begs for vengeance. Promises that if I just obliterate the cause of my pain, I can find peace. I hold on to the bright, jagged edges of that idea and let it fill me up until I can’t see anything else.

Then, as Logan bends down for more jars, I snatch my knife out of its sheath and charge straight for the Cursed One.

“Rachel!” Logan screams my name, but I keep running.

The beast bellows, a tortured sound full of pain and rage.

I skid on debris.

It whips its head in my direction.

I grip my knife with steady fingers.

It jerks its nose, sniffing the air.

Nine more yards. I raise my blade.

Its claws dig into the ground.

Eight yards.

“Rachel, no!” Logan screams again.

Seven.

The beast’s tail slams into the ground.

Six.

It shudders and pins me with its sightless eyes.

Five.

I brace to launch myself forward. It lowers its snout and roars, blasting me with an unending stream of fire.

CHAPTER SEVENTY

LOGAN

“No!” I stumble, hit my knees against the pavement, and scream, “Rachel!”

One second she was there, running straight for the Cursed One, her knife raised above her head. The next second, there was nothing but flames.

I can’t breathe. Can’t think beyond the swelling tidal wave of unbearable grief rising up to suffocate me.

She’s gone.

Gone.

Ripped from me, just like Oliver and Jared. Just like my mother.

“Rachel!” My breath sobs in and out of my lungs as I choke on her name. I dig my fingernails into the cobblestones beneath me as everything I’d built my world on turns to ash.

I have nothing left. Nothing but the merciless creature in front of me, still spewing the wall of flame that killed her. Nothing but the terrible need to take it with me as I die.

She’d promised we’d be together. Live or die. We’d do it together.