Here they found bodies strewn among the rubble. Vaguely recognizable human bodies. Some had been gnawed down to the bone by the significantly less human things scuttling through the mist. But Joey rubbed her hands together. “All right. About fuckin’ time. Now we’re in business. Hold it there.”

“Um…”

“I said fucking hold it there. You’re doing your thing, now let me do mine.” The corpses shuddered, flopped, rolled, and shambled to their feet. Or what remained of their feet. Just a few days ago, Mollie would have been sickened by the sight. Now she found herself hoping like hell that the rest of her morning would be as quaint as this.

“Try to be quick, okay?”

Joey rolled her eyes. “We’re a rescue party, not working the drive-through at a taco joint. So butch up, buttercup. But now that I have these guys—” She jerked a thumb at the portal and, by extension, her zombie henchmen. “You can pinch down the opening again.”

Mollie braced herself for the incipient headache. But this time, shrinking the Talas portal was relatively easy. Compared to the crushing resistance that accompanied every other effort she’d made over the past several hours, it was almost a joy. She allowed herself a tired smile of relief.

On reflection, she nudged the portal a bit wider, from a pinhole to the size of a quarter. It sounded like Joey was on to something; the more easily she could work, the faster they could finish this pointless bullshit and the sooner she could take a twenty-year nap.

Joey muttered to herself, or the zombies, while she gathered an army to search for Bubbles. Mollie couldn’t see what was going down on the other side but she didn’t care. She concentrated on keeping the connection open. It was easy. She didn’t understand why she’d been so reticent about it before. Time passed.

Pop. Pop. Pop. The lights on the innermost ring blinked out. In the distance, Mollie watched a little flurry of activity take over the SWAT guys in their comical hazmat suits. They looked like plastic-sack hand puppets. She laughed. Joey looked at her, frowning. Mollie pointed, singing, “C is for cookie which is good enough for me.”

“Yeah, uh, hold that thought. I think I just saw her.”

Joey didn’t get the joke. Oh, well. Screw her. Maybe the snot-nosed twerp would find it funny when Mollie doused her with gasoline and set her on fire. She had just begun to picture a gas station in Coeur d’Alene when another ring of lights went out. It actually made a difference; the warehouse was slightly dimmer now. That wasn’t good. They needed to see what they were doing. But Mollie could fix that. In fact, now that she thought about it, it was actually quite simple.