The wall section shifted again and dropped enough to slam into the back of Goose’s head.
“Sarge!” Bill sounded a little more panicked now.
A hand grabbed Goose’s ankle and yanked. He slid backward a short distance. “No!” he said around the flashlight as best he could. He prayed fervently, wishing he believed with the same intensity that Bill did, but the face of the dead boy he’d seen only moments ago kept haunting him. How strong did faith have to be? Beneath the goggles, perspiration trickled across his face, washing small bits of grit into his eyes, making them stream and burn.
Then a hand reached up from the sandy grave and wrapped around the back of Goose’s neck like something out of a horror movie he’d seen as a kid. Fingernails tore into his flesh. Concentrating, thinking quickly, Goose followed the path of the arm that held him in a death grip. Ramming his hand through the shifting sand wasn’t easy, but it was doable.
Reaching down the length of the arm, Goose hooked his hand under the armpit and managed to secure a strong grip on the man’s shirt. For the first time, Goose realized that the man had been standing up in the building. The sand had come in so swiftly that the deluge had filled the structure with him standing.
Goose tried desperately not to think about the number of people that had been caught in the building. Overhead, the wall fell again, sinking into the deep sand, coming far enough down now that it pressed against his back. He spat out the flashlight, caught it in his free hand, and yelled, “I’ve got him! Pull!”
“Get him out of there!” Bill yelled. “C’mon! Pull! Put your backs into it!”
Even as Bill shouted, the massive stone slab over Goose’s head dropped another few inches, pinning him against the sand.
United States of America
Columbus, Georgia
Local Time 12:28 A.M.
Basso booms of speed metal music, delivered with hammering intensity, rocked the interior of the nightclub. Out on the large dance floor, young men and women writhed and practically fought one another. To someone not familiar with the club scene, it probably looked like they were vying to claim more territory.
Most of the club’s dancers favored leather and lace, barely-there shorts, crop tops, slinky dresses that were painted on, and leather pants so tight—on both sexes—they just had to cut down blood circulation. The laser light show burned red, blue, green, and livid purple beams through the air and swirled multicolored patterns over the dance floor. The dancers’ dangling earrings and ornamented piercings in their eyebrows, lips, and noses glinted in the garish colors of the laser lights.
Many of the dancers sported intricate tattoos. Some of them were temporary, courtesy of a street artist working with fluorescent paint who’d set up shop in his van outside the club. Others wore glowing necklaces and armbands that the band had thrown out a few songs back.
“Are you having a good time?”
Mesmerized by all the action in front of him, Joey Holder looked down at the young woman at his side. “Yeah,” he said.
She gave him a puzzled look and leaned closer.
Realizing that he hadn’t spoken loudly enough to be heard over the music, Joey raised his voice. “Yes. Great time.”
Jenny McGrath smiled up at him. She rocked to the beat, popping her shoulders and clenched fists to the rhythm. “Cool. I thought you would.”
“Yeah. Me, too.” As soon as the words left his mouth, Joey realized how dumb they sounded.
“You’re a funny guy, Joey.”
“It’s not all natural talent,” Joey replied loudly. “Sometimes I have to work at it.”
She grinned at him, and in that flash of white teeth, Joey fell in love with her all over again. At an inch or two over five feet, carrying a woman’s full body with slender lines, her short-cropped spiky hair dyed purple, Jenny McGrath was beautiful.
Stonewashed low-riding jeans sheathed her hips, and her midnight blue camisole top revealed enough milk white skin that it threatened to fry his brain cells. Her nose ring and eyebrow ring glinted in the laser lights.
She so totally fit into the club, reminding Joey again that he didn’t. His nervousness over the fake ID in his pocket increased. Someone was going to find him out, then there’d be all kinds of trouble. Jenny didn’t know how old he really was, and she was twenty-three. His mother, if she had known where he was, would have gone crazy.
“Want to dance some more?” she yelled.
“Sure,” Joey shouted back.
She took his hand and charged out onto the dance floor. At the outer fringes, she stopped, cupped her hands around her mouth, and shouted, “Leonard!”
A shaggy-haired behemoth turned to face her. He was dressed in jeans and a loose plaid shirt over a concert T-shirt. He looked like he was in his thirties. Tattoos featuring flaming skulls marked his bared arms.
“I want to surf,” Jenny shouted.
Leonard grinned, revealing that he was missing his two front teeth, then bent over slightly and folded his hands together to make a stirrup. “Come ahead, darlin’.” He raised his voice in a thundering shout. “Surf’s up!”
Immediately the nearby dancers turned and raised their hands.
Without hesitation, Jenny threw herself forward. She stepped into Leonard’s clasped hands, then let him hurl her into the audience. Waiting hands caught her above the heads of the crowd, balanced her, then propelled her toward the stage.
Jenny surfed on her back, flailing wildly to make sure the other dancers knew she was coming. “Joey! C’mon! See if you can make your way to the stage!”
Still grinning, Leonard held out his clasped hands. “You up for it, little man?”
The challenge in the words was evident, and Joey felt himself bristling in response. Steeling
