The Hollow Page 0,118

chilled the bones. Fox zipped up his hooded jacket, and kept the pace steady. He took Layla's hand to warm it in his.

"It just wants to give us grief."

"I know."

His mind tracked toward the sounds of rustling, of growling. Keeping pace, he thought. Knows where we're going, but not what we plan to do when we get there.

Thunder rumbled across a clear sky, and the rain pelted down from it to stab and pinch the skin like needles. Fox flipped up his hood as Layla did the same. Next roared the wind in frigid, sweeping gusts that bent trees and tore new leaves from their branches. He wrapped an arm around her waist for support, hunched his shoulders, and plowed through it.

Raindrops on roses, my ass, he thought, but kept his mind calm.

"All right back there?" He'd already looked with his mind, but was reassured by the affirming shouts. "We're going to do a chain," he told Layla. "Get behind me, get a good hold on my belt. Cal knows what to do. He'll hook to you, pass it back."

"Sing something," she shouted.

"What?"

"Sing, something we all know the words to. Make a goddamn joyful noise."

He grinned through the teeth of the storm. "I'm in love with a brilliant woman." Songs everyone knew, he thought as Layla got behind him, gripped his belt. That was easy.

He launched with Nirvana, calculating that none of the six could've gotten through high school without picking up the lyrics from "Smells Like Teen Spirit." The chorus of Hello! rang out defiantly while the diamond-sharp rain slashed. He tossed in some Smashing Pumpkins, a little Springsteen (he was the Boss for a reason), swung into Pearl Jam, sweetened it up with Sheryl Crow.

For the next twenty minutes, they trudged, one combative step at a time through the lashing storm, singing Fox's version of Demon Rock.

It eased by degrees until it was no more than a chilly breeze stirring a weak drizzle. As one, they dropped onto the sodden ground to catch their breath and rest aching muscles.

"Is that the best it's got?" Quinn's hands trembled as she passed around a thermos of coffee. "Because-"

"It's not," Fox interrupted. "It's just playing with us. But damned if we didn't play right back. Wood's going to be wet. We may have some trouble starting a fire." He met Cal's eyes as Cal unhooked Lump's leash from his belt.

"I got that handled. We'd better get moving. I'll take point for a while."

The dog leaped onto the path. Huge and black, fangs gleaming, it snarled out threats. Even as Fox reached for his sheath, Cybil pushed to her feet. She drew a revolver from under her jacket, and coolly fired six shots.

The dog howled in pain and in fury; its blood smoked and sizzled on the ground. With one wild leap, it vanished into the swirling air.

"That's for ruining my hair." Cybil shook back the curling mess of it as she unzipped a pocket in her jacket for a box of ammo.

"Nice." On his feet as well, Gage held out a hand. He examined the revolver-a trim.22 with a polished pearl handle. Ordinarily, he'd have smirked at that sort of weapon, but she'd handled it like a pro.

"Just something I picked up, through legal channels." She took the gun back, competently reloaded.

"Wow." Fox hated guns-it was knee-jerk. But he had to admire the... pizzazz. "That's given the Big Evil Bastard something to think about."

She slid it into the holster under her jacket. "Well, it's no froe, but it has its merits."

The air warmed again, and the evening sun sparkled on young leaves as they hiked the rest of the way to the Pagan Stone.

It rose from the burned ground in a clearing that formed a near-perfect circle. What every test had deemed ordinary limestone speared up, then spread altarlike in the quieting light of the spring evening.

"Fire first," Cal decided, dragging off his pack. "Before we lose the light." Opening the pack, he pulled out two Dura-Logs.

After the miserable journey there, Fox's laughter was like a balm. "Only you, Hawkins."

"Be prepared. We start one of these, tent wood around it, the flames should dry out the wet wood. Should do the job."

"Isn't he cute?" Quinn demanded, wrapping her arms around Cal for a cheerful snuggle. "Seriously."

They gathered stones and branches, stripped off wet jackets to hang on the poles Fox fashioned in hopes the fire would dry them. They roasted Quinn's contribution of turkey dogs on sharpened sticks, passed out Cybil's