John Carter walked alone in dark. The unfamiliar stretch of highway twisted its way north, winding through the dense tropical forest scattered along the southwestern coastline of Florida. Carter didn't know where he was or where he was going. It made no difference. After what he'd done, all that mattered now was where he'd come from, not where he was going. He just had to get away. He had to walk. The ghost of shame and the dread of revenge followed him. Despite this knowledge, Carter knew that he was going to beat them both. He would escape. He would win. Then it would all be over. John Carter would bring them down. He would outsmart them. They would never threaten him again. It was inevitable. It was a certainty. He felt confident that it would all be over soon. That was all about to change the moment he made the decision to turn off of the northward highway onto a narrow stretch of road the led to Newcastle Beach. Soon, nothing would ever be the same again.