BooksBarbecue
Back The Hollows
Chapters (77)
  1. Front Cover
  2. Title Page
  3. Copyright Page
  4. Dedication
  5. PART I
  6. 1.
  7. 2.
  8. 3.
  9. 4.
  10. 5.
  11. 6.
  12. 7.
  13. 8.
  14. PART II
  15. 9.
  16. 10.
  17. 11.
  18. 12.
  19. 13.
  20. 14.
  21. 15.
  22. 16.
  23. 17.
  24. 18.
  25. 19.
  26. 20.
  27. 21.
  28. 22.
  29. 23.
  30. 24.
  31. 25.
  32. 26.
  33. 27.
  34. 28.
  35. 29.
  36. 30.
  37. 31.
  38. 32.
  39. 33.
  40. 34.
  41. 35.
  42. 36.
  43. PART III
  44. 37.
  45. 38.
  46. 39.
  47. 40.
  48. 41.
  49. 42.
  50. 43.
  51. 44.
  52. 45.
  53. 46.
  54. 47.
  55. 48.
  56. 49.
  57. 50.
  58. 51.
  59. 52.
  60. 53.
  61. 54.
  62. 55.
  63. 56.
  64. 57.
  65. 58.
  66. 59.
  67. 60.
  68. 61.
  69. 62.
  70. 63.
  71. 64.
  72. 65.
  73. PART IV
  74. 66.
  75. 67.
  76. 68.
  77. Acknowledgements

Do it. Do it.

Couldn’t. It was suicide. Had to. Didn’t dare. She let out a frustrated grunt, and that did it; the creature slowed its scuttling crawl and its head, machine-like, swivelled towards Ellie. Everything in her seemed to recoil from the sight and maybe that was why her trigger finger finally moved; in any case the Ithaca bucked in her hands with a dull boom, and a flare shot towards the backpack.

Her aim was good despite the cut-down barrel; the flare smacked into the rucksack and Ellie threw herself down into the dust, braced for the explosion. But there was no sound or flash, and then she opened her eyes to see the monster’s fanged proboscis rushing up towards her.

Her scream was a visceral response, a reflex she could have no more stopped than she could have willed her heart not to beat, but even as she made the sound she knew it had doomed her. She squirmed backwards through the dirt, wrenching at the shotgun’s slide as the first creature came at her. Behind it she saw the other Dancers leaping off the altar and scuttling in her direction. Behind them the Priests stood motionless and the Eye gazed down from the wall; whether it saw her, or even understood what she was, Ellie had no clue.

But the Ithaca’s slide went back, and the fired cartridge was ejected from the breech. She shoved the slide forward, and a fresh one was chambered. And as the monstrosity’s claws reached for her, she thrust the gun towards that hated face and pulled the trigger. The shotgun boomed and kicked: there was a flash, then fire, and the creature fell backwards, taloned limbs thrashing, raising whirlwinds of dust; Ellie rolled backwards to avoid those claws. Through the dust she saw the other Dancers rushing in, horribly fast.

Fight or run: she was dead either way, but now she was also calm, her earlier panic gone. Ellie worked the slide, fired at another of the creatures, pivoted and fired again. Both her targets fell, thrashing and scrabbling and shrieking in pain. There was dust everywhere now; she coughed and choked on it, pulling the scarf around her throat up to cover her mouth and nose.

The silver flame was a pale narrow light through the fog of powdered bones. If she could calculate the backpack’s position, perhaps she could try another shot. But the other Dancers were coming, and how many rounds had she left? How many had there been to begin with? Six? Seven? Plus one in the chamber?

As Ellie turned to run, knowing already she wouldn’t make it, something snagged her coat-collar.

And the cylinder exploded.

65.

65.

So this was it, thought Milly: the last of Barsall, and of her, too. All she’d hoped or dreamt of, ending here, along with humanity and the world. Millicent Abigail Emmanuel, this is your death.