No One Turns Back

It's past midnight, and the conductor's line has stopped moving. A young man near the back sits down in the mud and won't get up. He's been running for three nights on almost no food, and he says he'd rather turn back and take a beating than get shot running.

She crouches beside him. She has led this trip thirteen times and lost no one — because everyone in the line is safer moving than standing still in open woods. An hour ago, dogs barked somewhere behind them, close enough that everyone heard it. Behind the young man, a mother holds her son so he won't cry. If this man goes back and fear makes him talk, this route ends tonight — for him, and for everyone still waiting to use it.

Her coat pocket is heavier than a coat pocket should be. He still hasn't stood up.