Then suddenly they did, and she was alone again with the silence. She kept walking, moving steadily, deliberately across the empty, gloomy terrain. The chill inside lessened. The fear subsided. She was okay, she told herself. She was all right. Her mother’s ghost was with her, and her mother would never let anything happen to her.

All around her, the world was a vast cauldron of darkness and roiling haze, a thick impenetrable soup. But this would end, too. Come morning, the light would brighten, the mist would dissipate, and the world would return. She just needed to be patient. Just needed to stay strong. Then sudden movement broke the slow swirl of the murk off to one side, and she felt her strength drain away.

HAWK STOODstaring off into the mist the other Ghosts had disappeared into, wondering what he should do. He wasn’t even sure which way anyone had gone, save Panther and Cat, so he started walking after them. He could still hear sounds of pursuit behind and off to his right, but they were faint and scattered, and he thought that the militia might have given up, discouraged by the lack of visibility. Nevertheless, he kept alert for any indication that they were renewing their efforts, moving as quietly as he could. He caught glimpses of AV tracks in patches of soft earth and followed them into the gloom. Somewhere ahead, the Ghosts would be stopping to wait for him. He wasn’t worried so much about those in the AV as he was about those afoot. Bear, in particular, because it was likely the big kid was still somewhere behind him.

A pair of huge lantern eyes appeared, gleaming wickedly, and his throat constricted in shock. Then the eyes blinked, and Cheney materialized, huge bristly head swinging from side to side, tongue lolling. The big dog ambled up to him as if everything were just as it should be, looking unconcerned and aloof. Hawk exhaled. “Where’s Panther?” he whispered to the dog, kneeling in front of him. “Where’s Bear?”

He couldn’t tell if Cheney understood him—probably he didn’t—but it made him feel better to think he might. Cheney looked at him as he spoke, intelligence reflected in his bright smoky eyes, and to Hawk’s surprise he started off at once, moving back the way the boy had come but angling off to the left. It was the wrong direction, but Hawk hesitated only a moment before following. He had learned to trust Cheney. He would not stop doing so now.

His faith was quickly rewarded. They came on Bear almost immediately, the boy lumbering out of the mist carrying the big Tyson Flechette, looking remarkably calm. He saw Hawk and waved, and Hawk hurried over to him.

“Guess I got lost,” Bear admitted sheepishly.