6
Your mental powers are useless here, alone.
You tell yourself that you're not burning, not yet, that the smell is just the scent of your fear. It's someone else's blood simulating sweat on your forehead.
It's a familiar smell, actually. Metal, rust…blood. You smell blood.
You run toward the smell of blood.
The lightening sky reveals an old filling station, faded sign banging faintly in the slight wind with the creak of metal. Located just off an old frontage road, its windows have been boarded up for years. You don't see blood, and now you can't even smell it, but that doesn't matter. As the first ruby red light touches the hills, only shelter matters.
Maybe you have a chance.