Nara turned and ran for the tornado materializing in the middle of the pad. She vanished; Ryan dived after her. He didn’t see the maw this time because he had his eye closed, but he felt the thunder down to his toes.
Chapter Thirty-One
Across a wide, lush meadow framed by tall evergreens, Ryan saw the glowing lights of the crude log cabin. Warm. Yellow. Inviting. They said “home.”
Home at last.
When he saw his companions step out onto the porch, smiling, he broke into a trot. Krysty ran out to meet him, her beautiful hair flowing down around her shoulders. They kissed, and her lips were softer and warmer than he had ever thought possible.
Then the others rushed up. Dean, Jak, Mildred, Doc and J.B. They took turns embracing him and slapping him on the back.
“Come on inside, Ryan,” the Armorer said. “We got quite a meal laid out in honor of your return.”
They took him through the wooden door. Beside the hearth was a table set for seven. On it was a huge haunch of smoked roast boar, pots of yams, stewed greens, jugs of dark ale, crusty bread.
“Sit at the head of the table, dear boy,” Doc said, as he sharpened a carver on a steel. The old man attacked the juicy haunch, slicing it into thick slabs.
Soon they were hard at it, laughing, eating, drinking.
After the apple pies had been vanquished, as the brimming ale jug went around a last time, a sudden pall fell over the table.
Ryan looked at his friends and saw the growing unease on their faces.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
J.B. waved him off, scraping back his chair. He started to get up, then slumped back down. He seemed perplexed.
“I feel decidedly queer,” Doc admitted. He stuck out his tongue and wiped it on his white cloth napkin. He gawked at the result in horror. “Look! Look at this”
The napkin was green where he had touched it to his tongue.
Mildred fell into a kind of fit. She clutched both hands to her throat and made sounds as if she were slowly strangling. Her eyes bugged out of their sockets, then thin trickles of green started to leak out of her nostrils.
Dean was bashing his forehead against the end of the table, over and over, as if he were trying to beat in his own brains.
Jak was gagging, green fluid gushing from his eyes.
“What is it?” Ryan said, jumping to his feet.
J.B.’s swollen tongue protruded from between his teeth; it had become too big for his mouth to contain. Green slime drooled down his chin.
Then Krysty slumped forward onto her plate.
He pulled her up at once. When he saw her face, his heart nearly stopped. Beads of green dew dotted her cheeks and forehead. Her eyes were wild and staring, and they wept green tears.
“Was it something we ate?” Ryan cried, sweeping the remains of the food off the table and onto the floor. “Why aren’t I sick?”
Krysty’s mouth moved; no sound came out. He put his ear close. Her breath smelled shockingly of ammonia.
“Krysty, why am I the only one who isn’t sick?” he repeated.
She inhaled a deep, slow breath, summoning her strength. Then she said, “Because you brought it with you”
She died in his arms a moment later.
As Ryan threw back his head to scream his outrage, the room began to spin.
HIS EARS RINGING with thunder, Ryan crashed onto his hands and knees. He dropped his head and began to heave. A tiny, detached part of him was aware that Nara and Damm were close by, and in the same condition that he was. He also knew they were surrounded by armed men in battlesuits. He saw his friends standing huddled to one side. He wanted to jump up and go to their aid, but there was nothing he could do. He was helpless in the throes of nausea. Over and over, the spasms gripped him. Unstoppable.
When they finally calmed, he knelt there, forehead lowered to the ground, strands of vomit swaying from his chin.
“Well, I guess I was wrong about your never seeing this one again.”