Tom hustled after them, losing ground as the troops cut through the residential blocks and worked their way toward the Key Street approach that would shield them from the Consie fire for most of the route. Then his foot caught against something, nearly causing him to stumble. No, not against —something had grabbed his ankle. He looked down. Nothing there. The squad was still moving forward, oblivious to his delay and making their best time. They had their own butts to worry about.