TONY FROZE.
Behind him. Someone there. Not Casey or Rima; he knew that. They would’ve called out. Even with the fog, he ought to see a little light, but—
Splash.
God, what was that? He felt the scream boiling on his tongue. That wasn’t an animal. No animal in its right mind would be out here, in the cold and dark, just hanging around, waiting for a dumb, stupid kid to bumble—
Splash.
Get up. Every hair on his head stood on end. Get up, or you’re dead. Get up, or it will find you. Get up, run, do something, get up!
But he did not get up. He couldn’t. Instead, Tony shrank, shivering, against the van, his nose still dripping blood, which was beginning to freeze to his chin.
Splash. Pause. Slosh.
The handset. He had the walkie-talkie. He could call for help. Call someone.
Eric can’t help. He’s probably too far away. I’m all alone out here and— Another splish, and now the lake of gasoline rippled and broke against his legs. Getting closer, coming right for me. He had to do something, do something.
Slosh. Splish.
He eased the handset from his pocket.
Splash. Pause. Splash-splash.
He brought the handset to his mouth.
Sploosh.
“Help.” His voice was so low, so small, there was almost no sound at all. “Help, help me.”
Splash-splash …
“Help,” he said, louder now. “Help me. Somebody, help!”
SPLASH-SLOSH-SPLASH …
“No!” Tony shouted. He stared in horror as the blackness gathered and folded and formed shadows in the dark: something monstrous and denser than the night, and it was right there, it was right there, it was right—
“HELP ME!” Tony shrieked. “HELP ME, SOMEBODY HELP—”