And figuring out how best to avoid them.

Or, even better, stop them before they grew into a full-blown threat. Whatever it took.

Chapter 17

None of those on Kathryn Dance’s Deck had heard of the disaster in Sheffield, England.

Stuart Dance was now explaining. “I was in London as a research fellow.”

Dance said, “I remember. Mom and I came over to see you. I was seven or eight.”

“That’s right. But this was before you got there. I was in Nottingham, lecturing, and the postdoc I was working with suggested we go to Shef­field to see a game at Hillsborough Stadium. You know football—soccer—fans can be pretty intense in Europe so they would host the association semifinals in neutral venues to avoid fights. It was Nottingham—my associate’s team, of course—versus Liverpool. We took the train up. My friend had some money—I think his father was a Sir Somebody or Another—and got good seats. What happened wasn’t near us. But we could see it. Oh, my, we could see.”

Dance grew alarmed to see her father’s face grow pale and his eyes dart. He was only glancing toward the children, to confirm they weren’t close, but it seemed that his gaze was hollow, reflecting the horror he was experiencing at these memories.

“It seems that just as the game was about to start, Liverpool fans were clustering at the turnstiles and were agitated, afraid they wouldn’t get in. Pushing forward. Someone opened an exit gate to relieve the pressure and fans surged inside and made their way to a standing-room pen. The crush was terrible. Ninety-five, ninety-six people died there.”

“God,” Steve muttered.

“Worst sports disaster in UK history.” Nearly whispering now. “Horrible. Fans trying to climb on top of everyone else, people jumping over the wall. One minute alive, then snuffed out. I don’t know how they died. I guess suffocation.”

“Compressive asphyxia, they call it,” Dance said.

Stuart nodded. “It all happened so fast. Ridiculously fast. Kickoff was at three. At three-oh-six they stopped the game but almost everybody who died was dead at that point.”

Dance recalled that the deaths at the Solitude Creek roadhouse, though fewer, had taken about the same amount of time.

Stuart added, “And you know what was the scariest? Together, all those people became something else. Not human.”

It was like they weren’t people at all; it was just one big creature, staggering around, squeezing toward the doors…

Stuart continued, “It reminded me of something else I saw. When I was on a job in Australia. I—”

“We’re hungry!” Wes called, and he and Donnie charged the table. Several of the adults jumped at the sudden intrusion, coming in the midst of the terrible story.

“Then let’s eat,” Dance said, secretly relieved to change the subject. “Get your sister and the twins.”

“Maggie!” Wes shouted.

“Wes. Go get your sister.”

“She heard. She’s coming.”

A moment later the other youngsters arrived, accompanied by the dogs, ever optimistic at the possibility a klutzy human would drop a bit of dinner.