Cain was finally silent.

His forehead spit pink and gray, his eyes teared and saliva-soaked lips blubbered uncontrollably. I almost felt sorry for him. Almost, but not quite.

Mo’Lock and I met in the center of the room, dodging falling slabs of clay and rock. A growing roar rumbled ominously inside. On the ceiling and walls, tiny geysers of matter tore at the small holes, enlarging them.

I looked down at my feet and saw we were already ankle deep in fetid soup. Edgar Cain’s eyes were closed, but tears ran freely through closed lids.

“Cain,” I said. My tone was soft, almost a whisper.

The face opened its eyes.

I leveled the M16, point blank, between his eyes. “In your next life, get out of the house more often.”

I emptied the clip into his face, killing him once and for all. Unfortunately I also opened the brain matter floodgates. The gunk had now risen to our knees, and all around us the flesh walls were stretched to breaking. The evil was finally dead, but so were Mo’Lock and me if we didn’t make tracks quickly.

Mo’Lock looked at me. “Got a plan?”

I nodded. “Run.”

25

Running knee-deep in the thick, ever-increasing brain matter proved easier said than done. I could hardly move, let alone raise my legs above the slop. At least Mo’Lock had a height advantage. He used it to jump free of the current and gain about a half yard each time. I had to push my way through, which, considering the shape I was in, was no simple task.

By the time he reached the tunnel, I was still several yards behind. The head pudding was now waist high and the walls and ceiling threatened to burst. If it cut loose before I got to Mo’Lock, I’d had it for sure.

Lucky for me, the ghoul’s loyalty was stronger than his own sense of self-preservation. When he saw I was having a hard time, he cut through the flowing gunk with relative ease, grabbed my wrist, and headed back to the exit. The fact that he was dragging an extra hundred and ninety pounds with him had little effect on the ghoul.

Just as we reached the exit, the far wall split with a thunderous tear. A tidal wave of brain rushed into the room. Steam rolled off the bubbling surface, producing a new eye-searing wave of stench. It was like a slaughterhouse in August filled with rotten eggs, bad cottage cheese and just a hint of old foot. Mo’Lock gagged. I tried to draw air through my mouth, but it was little help.

At the exit, the streaming brains were causing a nasty undercurrent. One moment Mo’Lock and I were gripping the walls of the tunnel, the next we were swept away, riding the wild pink gunk. Behind us, I heard another flesh wall swell and burst, and the speed of the rapids pulled us along even faster. I tried to grab hold of the walls, but it was hopeless. We were moving too fast and it took all my energy to keep my head above the torrent. I figured the tunnel would fill and either rake our heads along the ceiling or simply drown us. Either way, it was looking mighty grim.