Isabel bolted down the stairs, stubbed her toe on a pew, and dashed from the church into the night. Save for the sliver of a moon that grinned at her from its perch atop the trees, no light graced the dirt pathway. Mud oozed icy between her toes.

"Frederick!" she screamed.

A baby's cry pierced the humid air. "Frederick!" She bounded down the street. Tangles of vines and shrubs clawed at her, clutching, slapping her face. Palm fronds quivered in the night breeze. Mist ...