Nobody I briefed had a clue what the significance of topaz could be, but it immediately sent Lee on a research kick. We had monsters that had violent adverse reactions to silver, and more rarely from other substances like holy water, white oak jade, or salt, so why not topaz? Milo took a raiding party down to the gift shops to find some. There was bound to be some jewelry we could use. It would be nice to have another weapon to use against this thing.

Of course, that was all assuming that the kid I’d talked to was even real and not some sort of trick of the Nachtmar’s. For all I knew the damn thing thought topaz was delicious and was using us to forage for snacks. I didn’t know what to believe, and since I’d just strolled through a hallway that had been filled with Florida, believing anything here was one hell of a risky assumption.

Lindemann told me that he’d put together one group of Hunters, hotel employees, and a few surprisingly useful volunteers from among the tourists to explore possible avenues of escape should time run out. There are always sewer systems and steam tunnels under a building of this size, and if we were lucky not all of them would be blocked by the MCB. None of us were real hot on the idea of dying in this quarantine. So far there hadn’t been any luck.

All of the spare equipment available had been gathered in the conference center. One of the Russian Hunters had been trapped outside the quarantine, and his gear had several loaded eight-round Saiga magazines in it, so I borrowed those to resupply Abomination. It was lunch time, and Milo’s raiders had brought back a literal ton of food. The conference center had facilities for everything, and the employees had gone to work preparing food. It kept their minds occupied and everyone else’s bellies full. After picking up a couple of plates, I found Trip sitting on the carpet outside the main conference room with a thousand-yard stare, so I gave him a turkey sandwich and a Coke and sat down next to him.

“I’ve got no appetite,” he said after a minute of staring at his food. “Go figure.”

“Reliving the worst moments of your life will do that to you. Eat. Come on. You’ll feel better…I know you want to.” Trip finally relented, unwrapped the sandwich, and took a bite. He chewed listlessly, still staring off into space. I let him drink some Coke before bothering him more. He needed the sugar. “How’re you doing?”

“Better than expected.” Trip watched his hands for a bit. They were still trembling, but much less than before.

“Want to talk about it?”