It mattered not. Time was of the essence. The smoke, even for Oliver, was a terrible thing. It burned at his lungs, making his head feel light. It cared not for the Boundaries that he'd broken through. About the only thing to his advantage was the fact that the run made him breathe less heavily than those behind him. It didn't stop the terribly uncomfortable nature of the hellish world that they walked through.
Another dead end. Flame rose up across the road he'd intended to go down. Guilt in his chest, as he had to force his already tiring group to go back.
There were two men amongst their number. One broad shoulder and heavy – he had begun to stagger first, looking unsteady on his legs. His great frame needed a massive amount of oxygen to support it, and the smoke was providing none of that. Oliver lent him a shoulder, and a quiet apology as they rounded another corner, hoping that what lay in front of them would not be more flame.
