It took longer for Helga to exit her Coffin, and when she did, Walter practically dragged her away, whispering fiercely into her ear. Michael watched her cross the room to a group huddled around a desk with a NetScreen illuminated at its center. The discussion intensified between the group, and finally Helga looked up at Michael, her face pinched with concern. Something had happened. Something big.

Sarah and Bryson were at Michael’s side.

“What’s going on?” Bryson asked. “She doesn’t look too happy.”

“Were you serious about going back to the Hallowed Ravine?” Sarah added.

Michael shrugged, not in the mood to talk.

Sarah nudged him. “You okay?”

Another shrug.

“Don’t worry, man, we’ll figure all this stuff out,” Bryson said. “Hallowed Ravine, whatever you want—but, dude, you look like someone just murdered your cat.”

“That’s how I feel,” Michael managed to say. He knew he shouldn’t take out his misery on his best friends, but he was in the rottenest mood ever.

Bryson opened his mouth to answer but was interrupted by a bang that sent Michael’s heart into his throat. The noise came from the front door—the one through which they’d entered earlier. It was someone pounding on the wood with what sounded like an iron fist. After a dozen hammering bursts, it stopped as abruptly as it had started, and a deep silence settled across the barracks. Anxious glances were exchanged across the room.

The person outside hammered on the door again, harder and faster.

Michael saw Helga straighten up and smooth out the clothes she’d just put on.

“Everyone arm yourself,” she ordered. “Walter, see who it is.”

Walter didn’t hesitate. He crossed the room swiftly as the others busied themselves seemingly conjuring weapons from thin air. Michael wished he had something other than Jackson Porter’s fists.

Walter flipped open a small window in the old door and peered out, then glanced at Helga. “It’s just one person. At least, that’s all I can see. Short, with a…hood over his head. Or hers. Can’t tell which from here, but it looks like a kid.” He turned back toward the door. “Who are you?” he yelled.

“I’m alone!” a voice shouted back. A girl’s voice. “Please let me in, sir.”

Walter looked at Helga, eyebrows raised.

“You’re sure she’s alone?” Helga asked.

“As far as I can tell.”

“Well, I highly doubt she’s a local farm girl who’s lost her way.” Helga waved an arm in frustration. “I suppose we might as well find out what it’s all about—if we have enemies outside waiting to kill us.” She sighed. “Let her in, then bar the door behind her.”