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Genna moved. One foot in front of the other. She knew how to do this. It was simple.
All she had to do was walk.
The hand on her back would sometimes glide to her shoulder, and there would be the breath of a voice in her ear. Then she’d turn, to the right if that hand pulled back, to the left if it pushed. Moving helped relieve the pressure, and the voice was pleased when she did this.
There was dark grey smoke all around, and then there was a musty dimness. She heard another voice echoing off a wall, and then more voices. She thought she should recognise them.
There were other sounds, too—crashes and distant shouting, and cracks that could be anything. She didn’t know if the others heard them, or if they were in her head. Maybe it was someone come to get her. What was hi
