Curse the Dawn

Chapter Nine

Green light from inside one of the cells dyed my hands an eerie, ill color. I pressed them tight until they ached, staring around at dozens of faces. The temptation to finally use my power was almost overwhelming. I'd been thinking about it, had it in the back of my mind ever since I saw that burnt, dead landscape, the milling group of shell-shocked mages, the empty space where MAGIC should have been. Because Marlowe was wrong—I could do this.

I just didn't know if I should.

"Cassie, the mouth of the nearest escape tunnel is ten minutes from here, and it is a further ten beyond that to safety," Marlowe said. "Time is not our ally."

I felt a hysterical laugh building in my throat but tamped it back down. "Yeah, well, that's the question of the day, isn't it?"

A small frown creased his forehead. "Cassie—"

"I need a minute, Marlowe."

"To do what?"

"I don't know yet!"

This was one of those times when I really lusted after that nonexistent training. In the last month, I'd sort of come to terms with the fact that I was time's janitor, there to clean up the messes left by other people's attempts to play god. That wasn't what had been keeping me up nights. This was. The idea that, sooner or later, I was going to run across a situation where the person wanting to change time would be me.

I could go back, make sure I missed that meeting, prevent all of this so easily. There would be no destruction of MAGIC, no loss of life. . It seemed almost too easy. And that was what scared me. I'd changed one small thing before and almost killed Mircea. What would changing something this big do? I didn't know, and that terrified me.

Agnes had said not to mess about with time, that it almost always caused more problems than it solved. But she'd also said that the reason the Pythia was a clairvoyant was because we could look into the future and see the outcome of our actions. She'd said to trust my gift. But that was just it—I'd never trusted it.

My whole life, it had shown me nothing but bad news, had been a source of nightmares instead of daydreams. One of the few things I'd liked about becoming Pythia was the fact that my visions had tapered off. Instead of one every two or three days, weeks had passed with nothing. And now I suddenly found myself in a situation in which lives depended on that despised gift.

I really hoped Agnes had been right.

"I'm going to try something," I told Marlowe. "It'll only take a minute."

"You've already had a minute."

"And now I'm taking another one!"

I closed my eyes and tried to concentrate. I could practically feel the disapproval coming off him in waves, but he didn't say anything. And after a few seconds, I calmed down enough to make the attempt. Only I wasn't sure how.

I'd struggled with my talent all my life, but mostly to repress it. Only rarely had I deliberately tried to see things, and most of those efforts had been failures. And now I was asking the impossible, to see a potential future in place of the real one. I didn't really expect it to work.

But it did.

I picked my way over blackened rubble to the entrance of Dante's—or what was left of it. The buildings had been bisected by a line of destruction, cracked open like a broken tooth. A wash of dirt had collected in the carved letters over the main doors, which now opened onto nothing.

Only part of one tower remained, ruined rooms cut open and exposed to the elements. Water-stained, faded furniture leaked over the sides and a few tattered curtains still shifted in the breeze. The rest was a blackened shell, with only a faux stalagmite sticking up here and there, like burnt and wrinkled fingers pointing at the sky.

I crawled through a door half obscured by rubble to a floor knee-deep in windblown debris. It had been part of the lobby, although it was only possible to tell by the location and overall shape. The bridge was gone, as was the Styx, the reservation desk and the employees' dressing rooms. The lobby bar was still there, a jumble of overturned tables, broken bottles and a slanting drift of sand from two missing windows. It was also home to a chattering colony of rats. I quickly backed out again.

I sat down abruptly in the shadow of the remaining tower, sending up a little cloud of dust. The sun was glaringly hot through the missing roof, and it was the only shade available. But it came at a price.

Every time I looked up, I saw some new horror: a human rib cage, yellowed with age, housing a family of foxes; random bones, several with teeth marks on them where some long-dead animal had feasted; and a crumpled Dante's uniform behind the desiccated remains of a potted palm. Where once there had been constant life and bustling activity, there was suddenly only dust and decay, everything brown and withered and so very still.

The vision shattered, the dead world spinning backward at a dizzying pace. I looked up to see Marlowe kneeling beside me. I was on the floor, although I couldn't remember how I got there. "What is it?" he asked urgently. "What did you see?"

"I'm not sure."

Agnes had been partially right—my power was trying to tell me something. I just didn't know what. MAGIC had been destroyed, not Dante's. And even if the breach had taken place in Vegas, a major casino wouldn't just have been left there like that, with no signs of attempted repair or even demolition. None of this made any sense.

But one thing was clear: I'd asked my power to show me what would happen if I changed time. I didn't understand the message, but the general gist hadn't seemed positive. And without some major confirmation, I didn't dare meddle with anything.

"Can you describe it?" Marlowe asked, helping me to my feet. When I looked into his face, I saw only concern. The frightening glimpse behind the mask was gone, and the kind, genial man I'd always known was back.

Not that that meant anything.

"It. . was a jumble. It happens like that sometimes." I couldn't change time, but I could use the time I had. I could do a lot with forty minutes, if I had help. But I wouldn't get it from Marlowe. The Senate wasn't likely to risk a useful tool to help a bunch of convicts.

"I think you were right," I said. "We need to get out of here."

Marlowe hoisted his prisoner like a sack of potatoes and took my hand. I shifted us back only to find Rafe, Pritkin and Caleb crowding the small stairwell. "What is this?" Caleb demanded, catching sight of Marlowe's burden. His hand dropped to his weapon belt.

"A rescue," I said, grabbing Pritkin's shoulder. "The cells are full and the passage is blocked. Any ideas?"

"Yes."

"I was hoping you'd say that," I said, and shifted.

We landed in the middle of a tremor and fell to our knees. The corridor shook, setting the industrial pendants overhead swinging and popping a block out of the wall like a shotgun shell. It exploded against one of the cells on the opposite side of the corridor. It didn't faze the ward, but it peppered us with shards like minuscule hailstones and scattered gray dust over the floor. I closed my eyes and resisted the urge to curl into a ball and put my hands over my head.

When I looked again, Pritkin was regarding the exploded block with a scowl. "We don't have much time," I told him, getting back to my feet. "Marlowe said it's a twenty-minute hike to the surface from here."

"I know. Raphael showed us the schematics. Caleb is working on a faster alternative." But he continued to kneel there, scowling fiercely.

"Pritkin! Come on! What are you waiting for?"

"Inspiration," he said, gesturing at the cells. "It's worse than I thought. If the outer wards had held, the walls would be stable. But they're buckling under the weight from above. That means that the only thing keeping this place intact are the inner wards."

"The inner wards?"

"The ones on the cells."

I looked at the row of prisoners and my jaw dropped. "But. . how are we going to get everyone out? If we disable the wards—"

"Then the weight from above will crush us all," he finished grimly. "And once they go down, they aren't going back up again. Not with this kind of damage."

"Crap."

"Exactly." He stared at a cell for a few seconds. "If we can preserve the wards on at least half the cells, it should buy us enough time to get away."

"Get away how? Because I can't shift out this many!"

He glanced at me as if surprised that I'd be worried by a little thing like that. "I can get them out as long as enough wards remain to keep the roof up."

His tone made it sound like getting through thirty-five yards of rockfall in roughly that many minutes was no big deal. I opened my mouth to ask for specifics and then realized we didn't have time. Besides, if Pritkin said he had a plan, then he did, and it would probably work. But that didn't mean I had to like it. "You're talking about leaving half these people to die."

"Not necessarily." His gaze turned considering. "You could shift in."

It took me a second to get it. "I could bypass the wards, and bring the people out with me!"

"If you can shift that precisely. There's not much room for error."

I glanced at the nearest cell, which held a large, hairy, tattooed man in a tank top. There was very little extra space that I could see around him. But in the next cell was a slim woman, and between her and the ward there was maybe two feet. "I can try," I agreed.

I shifted past the ward and inside the woman's cell. It was a tight fit, and there was some sort of energy field that wrapped around my limbs like a blanket, trying to paralyze me. I didn't give it time, just grabbed her wrist and shifted out again.

"How much energy did that cost you?" Pritkin asked, catching her before she could collapse.

"Not much. But I won't fit in all the cells."

"Do the best you can," he told me, glancing up at the swaying light fixtures. The place was becoming rapidly more unstable. Every moment we stayed upped the chances of our getting killed by falling debris before the place could crush us to death. "And make sure you keep back enough energy to get yourself out of here, if this goes wrong."

"Sure, because it's not like any of this was my fault," I said sarcastically.

He grabbed my arm hard enough to hurt. "I mean it."

I blinked at him, taking in the tense set of his jaw, the tight press of his mouth and the more-than-slightly-maniacal gleam in his eyes. I'd never tell Pritkin this, but there were times when he really reminded me of a vamp. He had the same way of flipping into the scariest person in history, and then flipping right back out and never noticing the difference.

"Okay," I said meekly.

He nodded curtly and moved to the cell with the tattooed man. He started on the wards and I went to work avoiding them. The tiny hops, only a few feet at a time, didn't take much energy, but there were a lot of cells. And no matter what I'd promised Pritkin, I couldn't look into people's faces and tell them, Hey, sorry you have to die, but I'm getting really tired.

By the time I reached the end of the row, I was soaked in perspiration, my skin was a sickly white and my hands were shaking violently. I leaned against the wall and watched Pritkin release another person the old-fashioned way. Together, we'd freed about thirty people, most of whom were lolling drunkenly against walls or sprawled unconscious on the floor.

Pritkin glanced at me and frowned. "Take a break," he said curtly.

"How? We aren't even halfway yet." And I hadn't seen what was on the next corridor.

Pritkin's eyes moved from me to the cells to the half-unconscious young man who had just fallen into his arms. He had wavy black hair pulled into a short ponytail, pale skin and an athlete's body. He looked to be around thirty. Pritkin propped him against the wall and shook him. The young man stirred, blinked his eyes open and looked up groggily. Just in time to get slapped hard across the face.

"What are you doing?!"

"Bringing him around. Some of the prisoners are war mages—or used to be. They can help open the cells."

"What are war mages doing in here?"

"The current administration has a habit of locking away those who get too vocal against its policies," he said shortly.

Two more blocks burst from the wall before I could comment. The once orderly pattern was starting to look like a toddler with missing teeth. "There's another cell block beyond this one," Pritkin said. "Although with any luck, it isn't fully occupied. Can you finish here?"

I nodded and he slipped around the corner. I stumbled down the corridor and knelt beside the mage. "Wake up! We need your help!"

He looked up at me with bleary eyes. They were a weird color, almost no-color, like rocks viewed through river water. I took another look at the number of cells remaining and then pulled my arm back and slapped him as hard as I could.

"I'm awake!" he said heatedly, his eyes sharpening up fast. "What's happening?"

"A ley line ruptured, destroying most of MAGIC. We're trying to get everyone out, but a cave-in cut off the passageway from the prison wing. We need you to help release the rest of the prisoners while we look for a way out!"

"There isn't one," he said, sitting up with his hands on his head, like a hangover victim. "It's a prison. It's supposed to keep people in."

"If you want to live, you'll help us think of one," I said grimly.

"The Circle will rescue us."

"The Circle evacuated an hour ago!"

"I don't think so," he told me nastily. "We're war mages. We don't simply abandon our colleagues."

"Then what are you doing in here?

He glared at me. "That's none of your concern! The point is that you're wrong."

"You'll figure out otherwise in about twenty-five minutes," I said. "But it'll be a little late."

"Fuck that." The red-haired woman I'd noticed earlier had come around. She crossed to the other side of the corridor and started working on the ward imprisoning a tall Asian woman. "I'm not dying today."

The corridor shook again, and the war mage gave a start. He noticed the missing blocks, and for some reason, they seemed to shake him. "The external wards are down. Why?"

"Because they're being crushed from above by a few thousand tons of rock!"

The older balding man had slipped to one side and was trying to pull himself up on shaky arms, but they kept collapsing. "Are you okay?" I asked.

"I'll be all righ'," he slurred. "'N a minute."

"The longer you're in stasis, the worse it gets," the redhead told me as her friend collapsed into her arms. "What's the date?"

I told her and she nodded with no visible reaction, but the war mage gripped my arm. "You're lying!"

"Yeah, because that's what I feel like doing when a mountain is about to drop on my head!" I told him, exasperated. "Lie about trivialities!"

"It isn't trivial. If you're telling the truth, I've been in here for over six months!"

"And you're going to die in here if you don't move your war mage ass," the redhead told him. The corridor was shaking pretty much continually now, the situation deteriorating every second. It seemed to do more than her words to convince him, and he staggered to his feet.

The balding man was also up, although he looked like death—gray faced and slack-jawed. But he stumbled over to a cell and started working on it.And the Asian woman was already on her feet and working furiously beside the redhead.

"If the way is blocked, how did you get in?" the war mage demanded, starting on a nearby cell.

"I'm Pythia."

He blinked, taking in my damp, ragged outfit—now liberally smeared with dust—and my frazzled hair. "What happened to Lady Phemonoe?"

"The same thing that's about to happen to us! Minus the crushing thing. Does it matter?"

"No, no." He looked confused. "I apologize, Lady. I didn't realize who you were. Peter Tremaine, at your service." And he actually bowed.

I stared at him. A courteous war mage. The world really was coming to an end.

And then Pritkin ran back around the corner followed by half a dozen groggy people. He glanced at the cells that still had to be emptied. "You aren't done yet?" he demanded.

The world righted itself.

"Commander!" Tremaine came to a pretty good approximation of attention, considering that he was still swaying on his feet. "We are proceeding apace with the extrication, sir!"

I blinked at him and then looked at Pritkin. "Commander?"

"Later. Get the rest of them out!"

"We'll be done in a minute," I told him. Half of the freed prisoners were now lucid and working on the cells.

"We don't have a minute!"

"Find a way to get us out of here and leave the prisoners to me!" I said, exasperated.

"The prisoners are the way out." He gazed up at the ceiling for a moment, where half of the wildly swinging lights had now gone dark, and then his gaze shifted to the floor. "The upper levels are gone; we'll have to go lower. And to do that, I'm going to need magic users—strong ones."

"And then what?"

"And then we blast a hole through the floor. With the outer wards down, the only thing standing between us and the next level is a ton or so of rock."

"And you can move that much in the next few minutes?"

"I can move that much in the next few seconds, with the right people."

"Point them out to me." We went down the corridor, pausing at each cell, Pritkin muttering under his breath about this one or that one. I got the impression from a few of his comments that most of the people I was releasing weren't in Tremaine's category. Pritkin was looking for power, not politics or moral persuasion. I only hoped he could control them.

"That should do it," he finally said as I shifted out with the last one. Which was good, because I was about to have to tell him that no way could I do even one more jump. I was having trouble just focusing my eyes. Fortunately, Pritkin had something else to worry about. "We can't do this and shield all of you as well," he said.

"Clear this hallway and get everyone around the corner," I told Tremaine, who jumped to obey. Damn, I could get used to this.

A couple minutes later, we were ready to make the attempt. I was crouched around the corner with most of the prisoners, while Pritkin's crew positioned themselves at the end of the first passage. I'd assumed he was going to do a countdown or give some kind of warning, but I'd barely gotten into place when a massive explosion rocked the floor beneath our feet and brought half the ceiling tiles down on our heads. Somebody screamed and someone else cursed and I knew this was the end.

Only it wasn't.

The rocks behind the ceiling tiles remained in place, the walls continued to bow but not break and there wasn't even that much dust in the air. I peered cautiously around the corner, leaving sweat-smudged fingerprints on the concrete, expecting the worst. What I saw instead was a huge hole in the once solid floor.

Pritkin hopped up out of the hole, covered in red dust like an Indian in war paint. "Again," he ordered. I drew my head back just as another huge explosion rent the air.

The reverberations from it hadn't even worn away when a mass yell came from his group. "We're through!" I heard someone say, and then I was hugging the wall to keep from being trampled as the crowd surged forward.

"Cassie!" Pritkin's arm found my wrist and jerked me around the corner. "Hurry up! Even if Caleb succeeded, we're running out of time!"

"Exactly what is he trying to do?" I asked, but didn't get an answer.

Everyone was shoving and jostling, and those getting stepped on were screaming. Some of the tougher crowd were literally running over the older and weaker prisoners in their way. And that was a problem for more than one reason. Because the hole the mages had cut was big enough for only two, maybe three people at a time. And a logjam caused by line jumpers could block the whole thing.

Pritkin pulled a gun and fired a couple of shots at the remaining ceiling. "In order," he barked.

Most people stopped and looked up, the terror fading from their eyes slightly at the sight of someone taking charge. But a big guy in the middle of the line wasn't so docile. He had a red ponytail and beard stubble that almost matched his florid face.

"I helped cut that thing!" he told Pritkin. "I'm not waiting in line to see if I live long enough to use it!"

"Don't," Pritkin warned him. The man's response was to throw a slighter man out of his way and start pushing forward, sending the crowd back into panic mode. And Pritkin shot him.

I didn't even realize what had happened for a few seconds. Until the man stumbled and fell to one knee, a bright spot of color appearing on the tail of the white T-shirt he was wearing. Then he slowly toppled over onto his side.

"I said, in order," Pritkin repeated calmly. The crowd quickly rearranged itself into a nice, straight line.

I stared at the fallen man, stunned. No one tried to help him, and a few people even stepped over him so as to not lose their place in line. I started to move forward, but a heavy hand fell on the nape of my neck.

"Shift out of here," Pritkin told me. "Now."

"I–I don't know that I can make it quite that far," I admitted. Unless the surface was a couple feet away.

Pritkin swore and jerked his head at Tremaine, who was already on his way toward us through the crowd. "Take her to the front of the line," Pritkin told him, handing him a weapon. "Get her out of here. Shoot anyone who tries to stop you."

"What?" I pushed a matted clump of hair out of my eyes. "Don't be ridiculous. I'm not going without—"

"I could stay," Tremaine offered quietly.

"Did you not hear me, mage?" Pritkin's voice didn't get any higher, but Tremaine snapped back to attention.

"Yes, sir!" His hand clapped onto my shoulder and Pritkin let go.

I caught my crazy partner's arm. "What do you think you're doing?"

Pritkin hadn't met my gaze since he'd hauled me out from around the corner, but he did now. His eyes looked strange, but maybe it was the lighting. "You're one of the most adaptable people I've ever met. You'll find your balance," he told me apropos of absolutely nothing. I was starting to think he'd been hit in the head by a rock.

"Pritkin! What the hell?"

He didn't answer, or if he did, I didn't hear him. Because Tremaine was already pulling me through the crowd, gun in hand. No one tried to stop us.

"I'm not going!" I said as we reached the gaping pit in the floor. With its red, jagged rocks next to the pale concrete, it looked like a hungry mouth.

"The commander said—"

"I don't care what the commander said!" I told him furiously. "I'm Pythia. Are you sworn to my service or not?"

Tremaine looked torn. War mages were required to swear an oath to obey the reigning Pythia. Of course, since the Circle didn't recognize me as legitimate, that didn't actually apply in my case. But he was in no position to know that. He pulled me aside and motioned for the people behind us to go ahead. Another three prisoners were swallowed up as he showed me his wrist.

"The time," Tremaine hissed in my ear. I blinked at the dial of his watch. We had fourteen minutes before the wards on this level failed entirely.

I looked back at the line of remaining prisoners and did a few swift calculations. "We can do it. There should be enough time."

"To get off this level, yes. But to get away?" His face remained impassive; I suppose to avoid panicking the crowd. But his eyes were anything but calm. "Everyone isn't going to make it."

"But. . Pritkin—"

"The commander is staying behind to control the crowd. Otherwise, no one would get out."

I looked up and met Pritkin's eyes. He was watching me narrowly, and I knew that expression. It meant he was about two seconds from coming over, grabbing me and dropping me down the hole headfirst.

"Okay. Let's go." I didn't give Tremaine time to say anything. I turned and, as soon as the people who had just entered dropped out of sight, I followed.

The hastily constructed tunnel dropped straight down for about eight feet but was navigable because of all the sharp, shattered rock lining the sides, providing both handholds and opportunities for sliced palms. I managed to make it to the small ledge at the bottom of the first tunnel with a minimum of blood loss, only to see another sloping downward at a steep forty-five-degree angle. I assumed that was where the second spell had hit.

I had to wait until the previous spelunkers cleared the way, and then took their place. A few seconds after I entered the second tunnel, I saw Caleb's face peering up at me out of the dark. "About time," he rumbled. I scrambled forward and took his hand.

He helped me out, but a rock slid under my foot, sending me stumbling into a bulbous green fender. Caleb set me on my feet, and I quickly moved out of the way so he could help the next person to exit. That turned out to be Tremaine, who joined me along the wall. For a moment, we stared at the very odd sight of a corridor filled as far as the eye could see with cars.

And not any old cars. I didn't know the names of most of them, but a couple Bentleys and a silver Rolls-Royce sparkled under the emergency lights not too far away. Buttery leather, gleaming chrome and a rainbow of custom colors marched away from us in a long line.

"What is this?" Tremaine asked softly.

"Our way out," Caleb threw over his shoulder. "The Consul generously donated her antique car collection when I pointed out that having convicts drive it out of here was the only way to save it."

"But I thought MAGIC's garage was on the surface," I said. I clearly remembered stealing a car from there once.

"Yeah, for your common Porsches, Jaguars or Ferraris," Caleb said sardonically. "The junk they keep around for the servants. Apparently, it isn't good enough for Her Highness."

"Lucky for us," Tremaine murmured. He looked at me. "We need to get you a place in one of the cars."

"The vampire Raphael is holding one for her in the black Bentley," Caleb told him. "Better hurry. They're starting to move out now." And sure enough, I could hear the growl of powerful engines starting up from the front of the line and smell the exhaust of unfiltered emissions permeating the air.

"Which car are you taking?" I asked Caleb.

"Whatever one leaves last."

"Then I'll go with you," I said, folding my arms and leaning against the wall.

"You said you were leaving!" Tremaine reminded me, putting a hand under my elbow.

"I never said anything of the kind. And get your hand off me."

Tremaine looked at me helplessly and then at Caleb. "Take over for me here," the older war mage instructed him. Tremaine moved to the tunnel in time to help out a middle-aged woman who sent him a luminous smile through the tears running down her face. Caleb led me down the line of cars and into the shadow of a doorway. "What the fuck?" he demanded.

"I'll leave with you and Pritkin," I repeated, deliberately keeping my voice even. It wasn't easy. I felt like I wanted to jump up and down and scream at everyone to move, damn it! To stop creeping and start flying out of here. I knew that wouldn't help, that they were already moving as fast as they could, and that starting a panic would only slow things down even more. But it still wasn't easy to simply stand there.

"You're the Pythia," Caleb told me. "You can't die in here."

"I'm Pythia?" I did a slow blink. "Since when? The last time I checked, I was a rogue initiate you were trying to hunt down."

"You know what I mean."

"No," I told him honestly. "I don't."

Caleb put a meaty hand behind his neck and rubbed it as if he had a headache. "There might have been some kind of. . miscommunication. . about you."

The panic of a dozen near misses in the last twenty-four hours crowded the back of my throat, jostling for room with more current fears. Like Pritkin not making it out of the death trap I'd dragged him into. Like the fact that that little speech of his was suddenly sounding a lot like good-bye. And the fact that there wasn't a hell of a lot I could do about it as drained as I was.

I really needed somebody to yell at, and Caleb was handy.

"A miscommunication?" I asked him furiously. "Which one would that be? When the warrant was issued for my arrest? Or when the shoot to kill order was given? Or, hey, maybe it was when the huge freaking bounty was put on my head!"

It was Caleb's turn to do the slow blink thing. "If a mistake was made, you have a legitimate grievance," he said. "But dying to prove a point won't help anybody. Pritkin was right: there's a war on and we need a Pythia. If you're it, you have a responsibility."

"My responsibility is the people I brought down here!"

"Pritkin and I will get out!" Caleb said, looking exasperated. "And when you do, I'll be with you."

"Cassie!"

"I can shift away if need be," I reminded him. "Shouldn't you send someone in the car who doesn't have a life preserver?"

He regarded me narrowly. "You can still shift?"

"Absolutely."

Caleb didn't look happy, but he nodded. "All right, then. Stay here. I'll come get you in a few minutes."

"I'd rather be doing something."

"All right. You could help by getting people sorted into a vehicle with a competent driver. They don't have to navigate—there's only one way out. But they have to be able to drive a stick."

"Got it."

Caleb took over at the tunnel's mouth again, while Tremaine and I grabbed the dust-covered prisoners and stuffed them into cars. The line was moving swifter now, a blur of color and noise as cars made their way along a tunnel that was scarcely wider than some of them. I assumed the Consul's chauffeurs were vampires, and with their reflexes, a tight squeeze didn't matter. But some of these drivers weren't as skilled. I saw more than one fender get crushed as the car behind it got a little overly enthusiastic, and a number of polished side panels were going to need repainting from scraping against unforgiving rock.

And then the end of the line rolled into place, the last car for the last group out the door. I slipped toward the tunnel's mouth in time to see a familiar blond head and pair of broad shoulders emerge. For some reason, Pritkin was facing backward.

"Pritkin!" I ran toward him, almost dizzy with relief, only to hear a thundering thud overhead and to have him obscured by a billowing cloud of thick red dust.

"In the car! Everybody in the car!"

I distantly heard Caleb's voice, but I couldn't find him. The exhaust fumes and the dust were a choking, blinding mist, the floor shook violently under my feet and rocks and gravel rained down on my head. Then something hit me in the temple, driving me to my knees, and the world went red.

And then nothing.