Alice was starting to grow nervous. Apparently speaking was not allowed in Still. No speaking, no moving, no disruptions at all. (This was all an assumption, of course, as Alice didn’t know the first thing about Still, or anything at all, in re: what she was or wasn’t allowed to do here, as Oliver [as usual] appeared to be no help. He hadn’t prepared her a stitch for what to expect in Still, and if they were eaten alive by a group of angry young ladies—well, Alice thought—he would have no one to blame but himself.)

Now, before we get to what Alice did next, allow me first the opportunity to defend her actions. In retrospect I realize her decision wasn’t very constructive, but she wasn’t going to stand still for all of eternity (after all, she had Father to think of) so I will say this: In my opinion, her decision was—at least in the moment—a realistic one:

She took a few steps forward.

Someone screamed. Something shattered. Alice knew immediately that she’d made a mistake, but in her haste to correct the error, she made a few more. She scrambled backward, trying to undo what she’d done, but the more she moved, the more it disturbed the ladies of Still, and soon they were shrieking, all of them, screaming and howling and pulling at their hair, their clothes. They raked their fingers down their faces and drew blood, shed tears, and lost themselves in crazed, choking sobs. (Alice felt like crying, too, but for very different reasons.)

The ladies had begun to stand now, but slowly. Their eyes, openly weeping, never left Alice’s face, and the sight of it all was so monstrous that Alice’s poor heart nearly quit. The ladies’ movements were so careful, so slow and methodical, that it was all somehow worse. It would be a slow death, Alice thought, a careful torture, an agony she could not scream through. Terror had so thoroughly overtaken her she was afraid to breathe.

“Alice, run!”

Oliver grabbed her hand and they charged through Still, destroying every bit of composure the village had carefully preserved. They tore through leaves that then crashed to the ground; they whipped through raindrops that broke on their faces and splashed down their necks; they plowed through snowflakes that caught in their hair and clung to their clothes.

The ladies sprang after them.

“Faster!” yelled Oliver. “We must go faster!” And though Alice wanted to kick him in the feet and tell him she was running as fast as she possibly could, she was also in the unfortunate position of being unable to breathe, and so decided to save her quips for a better time. She pushed herself, one small leg after another, to climb up the very high hill that led to the only street that ran through Still and tried very hard not to focus on the fact that they were probably going to die. Admittedly, she was not very good at this.

The ladies of Still were close behind. They were screeching in pain, no doubt agonized by all this exercise that had been forced upon them, and Alice was crying—albeit only a little—but mostly because she was so desperately tired, and because she thought she should very definitely stop running lest her lungs should shatter. But no matter, the ladies of Still did not give a fig about Alice’s lungs, and so her legs and lungs would have to soldier through, whatever the cost.

Oliver’s hand was wrapped tightly around hers, and he was nearly dragging her up the main street now. Alice had no idea how he was managing all this and still carrying the pocketbook, but she was in no position to ask or even offer any help, as she realized rather quickly that the black stone with which this road was paved was in fact quite slippery, and she was already doing all she could to stay upright. They skidded as they ran, slipping and stumbling and holding on to each other for dear life.

The ladies were now silent as snow, catching up to them even without their realizing it, and Alice turned back just in time to catch a glimpse. They were running on tiptoe, knees up and knocking into their chests, and they looked so ridiculous Alice was almost ready to laugh. In agony. Ridiculous though they may have looked, at least they knew what they were doing; these ladies had mastered the road while Alice and Oliver only struggled to survive it. The two children staggered and slipped, constantly readjusting, never fully regaining their footing.

All seemed lost.

Alice’s legs felt as though they were melting beneath her, and if Oliver ever said a word to her, she could not hear him. Her breaths, hard and rasping, were all she knew, and the pounding in her chest had spread up to her head and down her arms and she was so blinded by pain that she could hardly see.

She wanted to give up.

She nearly did.

Instead, Alice shook her head and forced herself to focus. Quitting would be easy. Dying would be simple. But neither would solve her problems, and both would leave Father lost forever. She had to find a way to keep the two of them alive.

Well, and Oliver, too.

Suddenly, she had an idea: All this running they’d done, all this energy they’d exerted—it could be put to good use, couldn’t it? There was no time to deliberate. She grabbed Oliver’s shirt, kicked him in the backs of his knees, and knocked the both of them onto their backs. Before Oliver had even a chance to shout about it, they were flying. Sliding, gliding, they were practically penguins sloping down the shiny street, moving so quickly you’d think they had wings.

Up and left and down and right, the street curved and swayed and dipped and flipped and with it they went, human roller coasters ready to be sick upon stopping.

Eventually, the road came to an end, and with it, Alice’s only hope for escape. She and Oliver had been dumped at the outer edge of Still, beyond which was nothing but grass for miles on end. There was no way out, it seemed, and certainly no time to celebrate Alice’s temporary stroke of genius.

In the few moments they wasted catching their breaths, the ladies of Still had spent catching up to their bodies. Hundreds of ladies in colorful suits and angry, bloodied faces were waiting to attack two dizzy, dazed, and broken children.

They had nothing left to spare.

Not an ounce of energy. Not a shred of power.

Not a single—