would sweat out of a stick of dynamite and form a slick coating on it . . .
Sort of like the greasy surface of the stick he was holding.
Matt's heart pounded harder. If some of the nitro had sweated out of this stick, a hard blow might be enough to detonate it and set off the rest of the explosive soaked into the cylinder. Hitting it with a shovel or pick might do the job.
But in order to do that, a man would have to be close enough that the resulting blast would take him out, too. Using this stick of dynamite to blow up the altar would be a suicide mission.
For now, he pulled the blanket off Hammond's cot and used the ax to cut off a piece of it. Then he carefully wrapped the dynamite inside the blanket, rolling the fabric around it several times before he slipped it inside his shirt. If he didn't jostle it around too much, and if nobody walloped him with a shovel in just the wrong place, carrying it that way ought to be reasonably safe.
He didn't think he would find anything else useful in here. He was about to step out of the tent when he heard Jerry exclaim, 'Mr. Cahill! Somebody's coming!'
Matt pushed the flap aside again as Jerry went on, 'Oh my God! It's Stephanie! She's all right!'
Matt stepped outside as Jerry hurried to meet the figure stumbling toward them. Starlight reflected off Stephanie's blond ponytail.
Some instinct warned Matt. He called, 'Jerry, wait—'
Too late. Jerry had almost reached Stephanie. Suddenly she sprang forward, her arm shooting out. Starlight winked on the blade of the knife just before she plunged it into Jerry's chest.
Stephanie let out a screech of demonic laughter.
Jerry dropped his shovel and stumbled back, pawing futilely at the handle of the knife buried in his body.
'I got him!' Stephanie screamed. She rushed after him, grabbed his arm, and sunk her teeth in it.
Footsteps rushed at Matt from the side. He twisted and brought up the ax with all his strength. The head caught Noel McAlister in the abdomen and ripped on up his torso, opening up his stomach. Noel screamed and ran into Matt, who pulled away as he felt the hot gush of blood and innards spilling out of Noel's body.
Matt wanted to try to get to Jerry, but Scott had appeared out of the darkness, and he and Stephanie were already between Matt and the luckless grad student.
All too aware of the stick of dynamite nestled between his belly and his shirt, Matt turned and ran instead. He had to get back to the truck and then to the excavation where the altar was located. The dynamite was his only real chance to end this.
And he was the only one who could do it. If any of the others got too close to the altar, they would be affected by the evil coming from it, too. He was the only one who seemed to be immune. He wondered why that was, but there was no time to figure it out now.
'Matt!' Ronnie screamed before he reached the truck. He spotted struggling figures around it. As he came closer he saw Ronnie, Ginger, and Maggie slashing wildly at April and Sierra in an attempt to hold them off.
Sierra didn't see Matt coming in time. He swept up the ax and brought it down in the back of her head, sinking the blade deep into her brain. He tried to jerk it loose as Sierra collapsed, but the ax stuck in her skull. He had to plant a foot in her back and wrench it free with a crunching, sucking sound.
April screamed, 'You fucker!' and ran off into the darkness.
'Get in the truck!' Matt told Ronnie and the others. 'Go!'
He ran to the cab and jerked the door open. Rich was already sliding out from behind the wheel.
'I told them to get in the truck so we could get out of here, like you said for me to do, Mr. Cahill. But Dr. Dupre wouldn't come. Not without you.'
Matt nodded as he laid the ax between them. It was sticky with Noel's guts and Sierra's blood and brains.
Such a cost. Such a horrible, tragic cost, because none of the people he had killed tonight actually deserved to die. They hadn't done anything wrong except for being there. Because of that, their blood was on his hands, along with the blood of far too many other people. It would never wash away, either. Only his own death would wipe out the stain.
If things went as he planned, that death might not be too long in coming.
'Everybody in back there?' he yelled.
'We're in!' Ronnie called back. 'Go!'
Matt put the truck in gear and tromped the gas. The big truck barreled ahead.
'Where are we going now?' Rich asked.
'To Dr. Varley's excavation,' Matt said. 'We're going to put an end to this.'
CHAPTER TWELVE
Matt wasn't halfway across the mesa when the sudden blaze of lights up ahead made him hit the brake.
'What's that?' Rich asked.
Matt bit back a curse. 'Hammond's been busy. He must have used one of the pickups to haul those portable lights and the generator over to Dr. Varley's excavation.'
'Why would he do that?'
Matt shook his head. 'I don't know.'
'Matt, what's wrong?' Ronnie asked from the back of the truck. 'Why did we stop?'
'Hammond's got the altar lit up.'
'Do you think he's going to have a . . . a sacrifice?'
Matt closed his eyes for a second and tried not to groan. He hadn't thought about that, but it made sense. That's what sacrificial altars were for, after all.
And even more worrisome, if he succeeded, what effect would it have on the altar's power? Was it possible the evil and the madness could get even stronger?
Matt moved his foot from the brake to the gas. At this point, all they could do was plow ahead and hope for the best.
Before he had gone another fifty yards, though, something roared up on the right and smashed against the fender on that side of the truck. Matt caught a glimpse of one of the pickups, running without lights, just before the collision. Then the impact jolted him and made him let go of the steering wheel.
The truck slewed across the ground. It weighed a lot more than the pickup, but the attack had taken Matt by surprise, and striking the truck at an angle like that, the pickup had forced it to veer to the left. The headlights suddenly played across one of those deep crevices that extended in from the edge of the mesa.
Matt grabbed the wheel and hauled hard on it. The pickup had backed off a little, but now it rammed into the truck again, trying to force the truck to plunge into that crevice.
Matt was ready this time. He managed to hold the truck on course . . . which was still going to take it much too close to the brink. He twisted the wheel some more, going on the attack.
With a furious grinding and clash of metal, the truck struck the pickup on the driver's side. In the backwash of lights, Matt saw Scott Conroy behind the wheel, his face contorted by insane hate. Scott struggled to control the pickup, but Matt sent the truck slamming against it again.
The pickup went over, flipping and rolling across the rugged, rocky ground.
Matt hoped it would catch fire and explode, but he didn't have time to see if that happened. He spun the wheel some more, turning away from the crevice just in time. The truck's left wheels missed the rim by less than a yard.
Flipping on the dome light, Matt glanced over at Rich and studied the young man's face. No sign of sores yet, but he knew he couldn't get much closer. If he did, he ran the risk of exposing the people with him to the altar's effect. If they were corrupted, too, the odds against him would be that much higher . . . not to mention the fact that even more innocent blood might wind up on his hands.
He braked. Rich asked, 'Why are you stopping?'
'Everybody out!' Matt called by way of answer. He threw the door open as the truck shuddered to a halt.
