Gears whirred mindlessly in the background. The tracks had broken long ago, and yet somehow the ride attempted to operate. Perhaps it was her keeping it alive.

Your flashlight danced across fences and bloodstained pathways. It landed on a metal sign, in which read ‘The Cyclone, This way.’ That’s when you knew you found her.

A voice distorted by dreadful injury came from behind you. Her body was rent in two, her movement reduced to a crawl. Curly ginger hair sprawled over her blood streaked face.

“Get out.”