All That Lives Must Die - Eric Nylund [238]
No—she was a goddess, the daughter of Death. She was scared . . . but fear would have to wait.
“Move,” she whispered, and ushered Amanda to the opening.
But Amanda dug in her heals and stopped.
Robert stepped up and slipped one arm around her. “It’s okay. We’ll get through this,” he told Amanda.
She nodded. Together they crossed over.
“Mr. Welmann,” Fiona whispered. “Jam the lock. Eliot, get your guitar ready. We might need cover.”
Eliot and Mr. Welmann passed through.
She glanced back. Kino’s Cadillac sat there idling, not getting any closer.
Fiona inched toward the gate. Her shoes crunched over desiccated soil. She held her breath, closed her eyes, and stepped to the other side.
She exhaled and blinked.
It was hot, as if someone had opened the oven door and she stood in front of it. Not hot enough to blister, not quite. Hot enough, though, to make her instantly thirsty and sticky with sweat.
Mr. Welmann reached into the exposed lock mechanism. “I think I see it,” he said. “Give me a second.”
Jeremy and Sarah lingered on the Borderland side. Sarah frantically whispered to her cousin—not frightened. She looked agitated.
“Come on, hurry!” Fiona called to them.
Jeremy stepped up to the slight opening. His blond hair was plastered with perspiration. He grinned—and pulled Sarah behind him. She cried out in pain as he wrenched her arm.
Jeremy threw himself against the Gates of Perdition—
—and slammed it shut.
Mr. Welmann jerked his hand out of the gate’s mechanism just before there was a series of clacks . . . as its locks clicked into place.
They were trapped in Hell.
SECTION
VII
WAR IS HELL
70
MISSTEPS IN THE BLASTED LANDS
Eliot banged on the gate. The gears of locking mechanism, the web of filigree, and the impenetrable mass of bronze—none of it budged.
And why should it? It had withstood the frenzied pounding of damned souls on this side for countless millennia.
He had a feeling it would stand until the end of time.
“Tell me you jammed the lock,” he whispered to Mr. Welmann.
“Sorry, kid.” Mr. Welmann wiggled his fat fingers. “I was lucky to get my arm out in time.”
Why had Jeremy slammed the gate on them? It didn’t make sense. Eliot turned. Still, they had gotten here . . . and this is where he wanted to be, wasn’t it?
Not quite. This place was as different from Jezebel’s Poppy Lands as you could get. The horizon wavered in the raw heat. There was no sun. Dull red light shone from below the edge of the cliff a dozen paces from the gate.
Eliot shucked off his Paxington jacket, already drenched in sweat.
Robert had his off, too. Amanda had her arms crossed protectively over her chest, jacket and all, as if she were cold . . . or maybe in shock.
The air had an iron taste and it made his lungs burn. The ground was ash and dust and pumice. There were footprints . . . lots of them, and Eliot swallowed, remembering the dozens on this side that had stormed the gate the first time he and Fiona had been here.
Where were all those dead now?
“W—what do we do now?” Amanda whimpered. She stood next to Fiona, her back to the gate, trying to stay close to the edge of Hell, as if she stood right on the line, maybe no one would notice she was on the wrong side.
Fiona pounded on the gate. Her jaw clenched. “I’ll tell you what we’re going to do,” she said. “We’re going to kill them when we get back to school.”
“We don’t know why Jeremy shut the gate,” Eliot said. It felt wrong to defend Jeremy, but Fiona’s reaction was so violent. “Maybe he saw Kino coming and closed it to protect us.”
“Sarah looked so”—Amanda search for the right words—“surprised. I don’t think she knew why, either.”
“Doesn’t matter why,” Robert said. “The Covingtons will either get caught by Kino, get away clean, or . . . if I know Jeremy, he’ll talk his way out of trouble. But they’re on the other side. We’re here.” He hucked a rock over the edge of the cliff. “On our own.”
“Better scout around,” Mr. Welmann told him.
Robert nodded. He pulled out his Glock 29 and inched toward the cliff.