Pilgrimage to Hell By JACK ADRIAN

” ‘The fog, the fog’!” mimicked the big man savagely. “Ya knew this was waitin’

for us. Ya knew it. How come, huh? How come ya know so much about this? What

else ya got up ya sleeve, blaster?”

Kurt pulled himself away from the leader’s grasp. He snarled, “I tell you I

don’t know anything. Dolfo Kaler talked about the fog, that’s all.”

“Dolfo Kaler was shot to shreds while he was still crawlin’ into town. Even I

know that, Kurt.”

McCandless’s .45 automatic was in the big man’s hands, pointing at Kurt’s face.

McCandless held it two fisted, unwaveringly, his face behind the gun a mad,

glaring mask. Kurt’s own gun was held right-handed; he knew he didn’t have a

hope of jerking it up in time to blow McCandless away before the big man had

sent a magful into him.

“McCandless, I told you, I was a kid at the time. I was the kid that found him.”

The words came tumbling out of his mouth. “He was mumbling something about a

fog. That’s it. That’s all. It didn’t make sense then, doesn’t make sense now.

Except there it is, the fog. All we have to do is walk through it.”

McCandless’s eyes narrowed. Sweat coursed down his face. He lowered the

automatic slowly, almost grudgingly. Kurt breathed out hard.

“That’s it,” he repeated, his voice hoarse.

“Don’t look like no fog I ever saw,” muttered Rogan. He shot a scowl at Kurt.

“He knows somethin’ else, boss, you bet.”

“Shut it,” snapped McCandless.

The big man moved slowly up the road toward the eddying wall. Above, lightning

flickered fitfully.

“Don’t smell like fog,” sniffed McCandless. “Rogan, take a walk.”

The tall, craggy man took a step forward, then hesitated and stayed where he

was. He stared at the rippling, gray-white wall, his mouth open.

He said, “Hell, boss, send the blaster. Or the mutie.”

“The blaster I need, the mutie I need. Get in there.”

Rogan backed away. “I ain’t goin’ in there. You go.”

McCandless exploded, “Ya piece of nukeshit, Rogan, get in there!”

Rogan was beside Reacher now. He suddenly grabbed the mutie senser and pushed

him, flung him toward the fog. Reacher stumbled. He hit the road and rolled to

one side, yelling. McCandless jumped at Rogan, huge gloved hands outstretched,

but the tall man evaded him, swinging his rifle and savagely clubbing

McCandless’s face. The barrel’s sight ripped at the big man’s right eye, tearing

into flesh. McCandless screamed and reeled away. He clutched his head.

Kurt thought, this is it.

He swung his ancient Armalite up but Rogan had danced away toward the senser,

who was scrambling to his feet. Rogan’s rifle roared twice, on single shot, the

bullets slamming into Reacher as a freak gust of wind suddenly roared up the

pass. Reacher was bowled over by the impact of the rounds hitting him.

Muzzle-flash sparked from Rogan’s piece again and with a wail of pain and

terror, Reacher jackknifed and sailed backward over the edge of the abyss. His

shriek died in the wind’s howl.

Laughing crazily, Rogan backed away from Kurt, covering him. He backed toward

the fog, seemingly oblivious of its presence. He backed toward a tendril that

shimmied out to him like a groping finger.

It touched him.

There was a spark, a flash of angry blue light, and Rogan pitched forward into a

somersault, yelling as he spun. He smacked into the road, whinnying in terror.

But he still held his gun.

Kurt sent a shot at him, the Armalite bucking in his hands, but the round

ricocheted off rock into the howling, lightning-lit darkness. Before he could

center on the tall man again, muzzle-flash flared and an invisible fist pounded

at Kurt’s shoulder, jolting him backward, cracking his head against the cliff

face.

HE COULD FEEL NOTHING except the chill of the wind, a sudden cold wetness on his

face, He opened his eyes and saw huge snowflakes whirling down again, driven by

the wind. His shoulder throbbed and he stared at it, seeing nothing in the thick

fur but knowing he had a bullet somewhere in his upper arm or chest. He found

he’d lost his rifle. He was cold and hot at the same time, the sweat freezing on