Doc had thought it was over and was in the act of returning to the open air. When he glimpsed the sinister funnel, hissing its way toward him along a narrow corridor of total destruction, be dived into the building that he thought Jak and Emma had chosen, reaching it just as the whirlwind struck again.
AFTER THE TORNADO had finally gone raging away toward the west, the first thing that J.B. did was to remove his spectacles from one of the pockets of his coat and carefully check them over for damage or dirt. Next he gave the Uzi and the Smith & Wesson M-4000 scattergun the once-over. After that he turned to Mildred, who was lying on the floor alongside him, hands still clasped over her ears, eyes tight shut, her plaited hair soaked and filthy.
“You all right?” he said.
“What?”
He gently moved her hands. “I asked if you were feeling all right?”
“Jesus, John. If I’m still alive, then I guess I’m all right. Not something I want to go through ever again. Has it finished?”
“Yeah. Think so.”
“Are the others?”
“Let’s go see.”
THE GHOULIE HADN’T lasted long in the mud. Ryan figured that the man had inhaled a mouthful of the watery slime as soon as he fell in, and it had been downhill from then. The movement had stopped, and only the hump of the mutie’s shoulders and one arm were visible above the filth, now sinking very slowly, held up by pockets of air in the ragged clothes.
He was now waist-deep himself, with nothing below his feet to indicate the depth in the cellar. The stuff was too thick and clinging for there to be any possibility of swimming. Ryan had already decided that he would make a last effort if it got to his chest.
And if that failed he’d swallow the muzzle of the SIG-Sauer. It was as simple and final as that.
“Anyone there?” he shouted, his voice stifled by the rising gruel and by the enfolding walls of the basement.
Nobody answered, and Ryan was left alone in the stinking dimness with the corpse of the mutie.
DEAN PUSHED HIS WAY out of Krysty’s protective embrace, walking out into the aftermath of the morning storm. It was still raining, but the sun had broken through, casting a rainbow to the south of the Hole.
The red-haired woman was at his heels. “Get your blaster out, Dean,” she snapped. “You know better than that. Ghoulies could be around.”
“Tornado sucked them up and spread them thin all over,” he said. “Nobody out here.”
Krysty joined him, the short-barreled Smith & Wesson 640 in her hand. She looked around, shocked at the devastation left by the receding storm.
“Doesn’t seem possible,” she said. “This part of the old ville was already a total wreck. How can anything happen to make it so much worse?”
Water glistened off the few remaining roofs, but the streets were covered in shingles and slates and piles of bricks. The tornado had done more damage across the narrow path of its passing than had been done to the suburb for nearly a hundred years.
The wind was still close to gale force, and Krysty steadied herself against the crumbling wall behind her, catching movement out of the corner of her eyes, from across the street. She swung the blaster around to cover J.B. and Mildred, both looking like they’d been dragged through a hedge backward.
“You two okay?” the Armorer called. “Where’s Ryan?”
“Not with us.”
“Doc chilled one of the ghoulies,” Dean said. “Saw it just before we made safety.”
The whirling funnel of the tornado was still visible, dancing away in the distance. A strange orange light seemed to glow in the depths of its black heart. The rain was easing, and the storm’s noise was almost gone.
“Listen,” Krysty said, turning her head to try to focus on what she’d heard.
“Dad!” Dean exclaimed.
“Wait!” J.B. snapped. “If Ryan’s calling for help, then it means he’s in trouble. Don’t go and jump into the same trap that’s caught him.”
RYAN HEARD THEM and saw a shadow thrown across the wall above his head. By now he’d sunk to the middle of his chest, feeling the pressure tugging him down. The corpse of the trapped mutie had finally vanished.