bathroom?
No, don't waste time looking. The boy might be hiding but not the
dog.
Must've gone to his own room.
Back into the hall. Waves of heat. Wildly leaping light and
shadows.
The crackle-sizzle-growl-hiss of fire.
Other hissing. The Giver looming. Snap-snap-snapsnap, the furious
whipping of fiery tentacles.
Coughing on the thin but bitter smoke, heading toward the rear of the
house, the can swinging in her left hand. Gasoline sloshing. Right
hand empty.
Shouldn't be empty.
Damn!
She stopped short of Toby's room, turned to peer back into the fire and
smoke.
She'd forgotten the Uzi on the floor near the head of the steps. The
twin magazines were empty, but her zippered ski-suit pockets bulged
with spare ammunition. Stupid.
Not that guns were of much use against the freaking thing. Bullets
didn't harm it, only delayed it. But at least the Uzi had been
something, a lot more firepower than the .38 at her hip.
She couldn't go back. Hard to breathe. Getting harder. The fire
sucking up all the oxygen. And the burning, lashing apparition already
stood between her and the Uzi.
Crazily, Heather had a mental flash of Alma Bryson loaded down with
weaponry: pretty black lady, smart and kind, cop's widow, and one tough
damned bitch, capable of handling anything. Gina Tendero, too, with
her black leather pantsuit and red-pepper Mace and maybe an unlicensed
handgun in her purse. If only they were here now, at her side. But
they were down there in the City of Angels, waiting for the end of the
world, ready for it, when all the time the end of the world was
starting here in Montana.
Billowing smoke suddenly gushed out of the flames, wall to wall, floor
to ceiling, dark and churning. The Giver vanished. In seconds Heather
was going to be completely blinded.
Holding her breath, she stumbled along the wall toward Toby's room.
She found his door and crossed the threshold, out of the worst of the
smoke, just as he screamed.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO With the Mossberg twelve-gauge gripped in both
hands, Jack moved eastward at an easy trot, in the manner of an
infantryman in a war zone. He hadn't expected the county road to be
half as clear as it was, so he was able to make better time than
planned.
He kept flexing his toes with each step. In spite of -two pairs of
heavy socks and insulated boots, his feet were cold and getting
colder.
He needed to keep full circulation in them.
The scar tissue and recently knitted bones in his left leg ached dully
from exertion, however, the slight pain didn't hamper him. In fact, he
