“I think it went down the pit with stooge number three.”
He glanced at the pit in confusion—apparently, he’d missed the best part. “So, what should I do?”
“They’ve probably got a tool shed around here somewhere,” Allen said. “A pair of bolt cutters will do the job nicely.”
And Mike Bowman probably would have thought of that himself, if he weren’t still clearly fighting shock.
I smiled at Allen in silent thanks, then I turned back to Bowman, whose expression was a mixture of concern and confusion. “Bolt cutters,” I said. “Do you have a pair of bolt cutters lying around here anywhere?”
His face lit up. “Yeah. Several, actually. But we’ve also got a jar of paperclips in the trailer over there. Can’t you just…I don’t know, wiggle a wire in there and pop them open?”
Glowering, I swung myself around so that my back was to him, wincing as pain whipped through my ribcage. “What does it say on the cuffs?” I asked, holding my hands as far away from my body as I could.
“It says, ‘Gotcha,’” Bowman read, slowly, as if the word made no sense. “Is that a joke?”
“No, it’s a brand name.” I turned back to face him, aware that I was glaring but unable to stop it. “It means they can’t be picked, or jimmied, or broken,” I snapped. “Now go get me a pair of bolt cutters before I have to kick your ass with both hands literally bound behind my back.”
I wasn’t smiling, but for some reason he thought I was bluffing. Or maybe kidding. The foreman chuckled as he walked off through the snow, rubbing his gloved hands together for warmth.
Figures, I thought, watching Bowman go. I’d shot one goblin and thrown another into the pit, and the only human around wasn’t even a little bit scared of me. I was going to have to start wearing a hockey mask or carrying a butcher knife or something, just to get a little respect.
As soon as the foreman rounded the corner of the office trailer, I turned toward Orthus, motioning to Allen to follow me with a toss of my head. “Fill me in on the rest of it while he’s gone,” I said, dropping to my knees beside the dog. I was so cold by that point that I felt neither the snow nor the impact in my legs. That would have worried me, if my limbs weren’t functioning properly, but since they were, I’d deal with frostbite and hypothermia later.
“The rest of what?” Allen asked, and Orthus looked up at the sound of his voice. He could hear the wraith too, and I took that as further proof that I wasn’t hallucinating.
Sucking in a deep, freezing breath, I forced my mind off the cold and onto the interview, even when my arms started to shake and refused to be stilled. “Bowman mentioned something about a diver who helped pull the box out of the pit and g-get everyone else under c-control?” I paused, trying to stop the chattering, which rendered my words virtually unintelligible. “Do you remember him?”
“Yup,” Allen said, watching me in sympathy as I knelt by the dog. “His name was… Murdock. Something-or-other Murdock. Nice enough fellow. Only one who seemed completely unaffected by the box. By the time he got out of the control booth, two of the men had kicked each other off and were rolling around on the platform. Murdock ran straight past them and knocked the other man off, right onto the men on the ground under the box.”
Orthus whined, still trying to pull himself from the hole, and Allen stopped his recitation to study the creature at his feet. “That’s some dog you’ve got there. He tore that man in two trying to protect you.”
Still shaking, I nodded. “He’s a h-h-hellhound, and he’s not m-mine.”
“A hellhound?” Allen’s eyes widened and his gaze shifted from me to Orthus, then back to me. “Like the hellhounds that guard the gates of Hades?”
“S-something like that, yeah.”
He nodded. “That makes sense, I guess. Is that where you…?”
“No!” Hell, was that where everyone thought I belonged? I tossed more pale hair from my face, glaring up at the wraith. “I said he isn’t mine. Finish what you were saying about Murdock.”
Allen frowned, clearly thinking back. “He ran past the men trying to climb up on the box and snatched a big coil of chain right out of the foreman’s hands. Then he jumped up on the box himself. At first, I thought he was going to try to open it too, but then he started wrapping the chain around it instead, and I realized he was trying to secure it. To kind of hold it closed.”
The wraith paused, and I glanced down at Orthus. His hind legs were moving now, clawing the earth weakly in an attempt to propel himself from the hole. I wanted to help him, but with my hands stuck behind my back, I couldn’t even help myself. Where the hell were those bolt cutters?
“Finally, the foreman came to his senses and went to help,” Allen continued. “By the time they got it all locked up, the other men were standing around staring at everything. They’d calmed down and were nursing their wounds, but no one had left. They were all still watching the box.”
“But n-no one o-opened it? You’re sure about that?” Shivering, I watched Allen, waiting for his answer, and movement behind him caught my eye. Bowman was coming back with what looked like a huge pair of hedge trimmers clenched in one fist.
“No,” Allen said finally. “I don’t know about after it left the island, but while the box was here, no one got it open. I have a feeling things would have gotten a lot worse if they had.”
I had that same feeling. “Bowman’s coming back, so m-m-make it quick.” For warmth, I hugged my arms to my torso as tightly as I could, with my hands still trapped behind my back. “What happened after they got the box chained up?”
Allen glanced over his shoulder at Bowman, then back at me. “Murdock and the foreman put it on the helicopter.”
“You’re sure?”
He nodded. “I saw it with my own eyes.”
