It was a symbol of something endlessly dying and being reborn. In this case, something that had haunted the dreams and lives of humanity all the way back into antiquity.
"Then we should blow it up," Ronnie said.
"Blow it up? How do we do that?"
"With some of the dynamite we brought with us."
"Dynamite!" Matt repeated. "Nobody said anything to me about having dynamite around!"
"Just one small crate of it, in case we needed to do any blasting in the excavations. It's in Andrew's—Dr. Hammond's—tent. He's handled dynamite before, so he brought it with him."
Matt took a hand off the wheel and scrubbed it over his face. If he had known that Hammond, with the evil already in firm control of him, had brought dynamite along, he would have been even more worried. Of course, things had already gone pretty bad anyway, almost as bad as they could—
Dusk had started its rapid descent on the landscape, and from the corner of his eye Matt saw the sudden spurt of fire in the gray gloom. At the same time, he heard the roar of an explosion. He braked again and looked across the mesa toward the spot where a cloud of smoke and dust billowed into the air.
"Oh my God!" Ronnie said.
It was too much to hope that one of the other grad students had gotten hold of the dynamite and blasted the altar into a million pieces. The others didn't even know about it yet. Someone else had used the explosives.
And Ronnie had just said that Hammond had experience handling dynamite.
"Shit!" Matt said. He goosed the accelerator and cranked the wheel as he swung the truck toward the site of the explosion.
The headlight beams lanced across the mesa and lit up the cloud of dust as it drifted apart. Matt knew what he should be seeing now, but it wasn't there anymore.
"The Indian's Head," Ronnie said. "It's gone."
"The Indian's Head?" Matt repeated. "That big rock?"
She nodded. "The one that sat just above the trail up here. If it's not there anymore, that means Hammond used the dynamite to blast it apart. The pieces must have fallen on the trail and blocked it."
"If that's true, we can't get down. We're trapped up here," Matt said.
That made Ginger let out another frightened wail.
"Hammond may be crazy, but that doesn't mean he's not smart," Matt said. "Yeah, we're stuck."
Ronnie swallowed. "On top of a mesa with seven lunatics who want to kill us, and it's going to be dark in another few minutes. Is that what you're trying to tell me?"
Before Matt could answer, a shape hurtled from the top of a partially collapsed wall and smacked into the hood of the truck. Brad Kern grabbed hold of the truck and pressed his leering face against the glass of the windshield.
CHAPTER TEN
Ronnie and Ginger both screamed. Matt whipped the steering wheel back and forth, swerving the truck from side to side in an attempt to make Brad lose his grip and fall off.
But he hung on, and with his long arms and legs he resembled a giant insect attached to the windshield.
Matt wasn't sure what Brad intended to do. He didn't appear to be armed, and he couldn't get into the cab as long as Matt kept the truck moving.
A second later, Matt got his answer. Brad drew his head back on his neck as far as he could and then slammed his forehead against the glass.
The windshield was too thick for Brad to shatter it, but that didn't stop him from smashing his head against it again and again. Blood began to smear the glass. Matt sensed that Brad would continue to ram his head against the windshield until his skull fractured and he bashed his brains out. He was that desperate to get at them and kill them.
Ronnie and Ginger both screamed as Brad butted the glass again. Matt tried a different tack and stood on the brake. The truck jerked to a sudden stop.
That was enough to dislodge Brad. He flew off the hood and landed on his back. His face was already a bloody ruin, but whatever was in control of him now kept him from feeling any pain. He started to climb to his feet.
Brad appeared not to see the bulky figure that loomed up behind him. All his attention was focused on the truck and its occupants.
So it must have taken him by surprise when Jerry Schultz slammed the big chunk of rock against the back of his head. The impact drove Brad to his knees. Moving with frantic speed, Jerry hit him again. Brad fell on his face. Jerry dropped on top of him, digging both knees into Brad's back to pin him on the ground.
Then Jerry hit him again and again until Brad's head was just a gory lump of misshapen flesh and bone.
Jerry dropped the bloody rock and reeled to his feet. He stared at the truck, so Matt got a good look at his face in the headlights.
Not a single sore. Jerry had killed Brad to defend himself and the others, not because Mr. Dark had made him crazy.
Matt cranked down his window and called, "Jerry, get in here!"
With relief washing over his face, Jerry ran toward the truck. Ginger opened her door for him.
Jerry paused just outside the vehicle. "Are you guys all right?" he asked.
"We're not crazy, if that's what you mean," Ronnie said. "Get in, Jerry."
He shook his head. "No, it'd be too crowded in there. I'll ride in the back. We're getting out of here, right?"
"We can't," Matt told him. "That explosion a few minutes ago blocked the trail down from the mesa. We're just trying to stay away from the others."
"What's wrong with them? What happened to them?"
"Explanations later," Matt snapped. "Climb in the back and let me know when you're ready."
Jerry nodded. He hurried away from the cab, and a moment later Matt heard him call, "Okay, I'm in!"
"Hang on!"
Matt started driving again. He glanced at the gas gauge. The tank was a little more than half full, enough for him to keep driving for a while.
But where was he going to go? He needed to do something besides run. That wouldn't stop the evil emanating from the altar.
The interstate was only about three miles away. Was it possible the effect could reach that far? Would everyone driving by on the highway go insane? A nightmare scenario played out in Matt's head in which the altar's effect spread across the entire Southwest. And if that happened, where would it stop?
Would it stop?
He shook those thoughts away. Concentrate on the here and now, he told himself. Deal with the danger close at hand.
Stay alive.
"I see somebody!" Jerry yelled from the back of the truck. "It's Rich and Maggie!"
"Where are they?" Matt shouted.
"Behind us! Trying to catch up! Slow down and they— Shit!"
"What is it?"
"The others are after them! We gotta help 'em, Mr. Cahill!"
The smartest thing might be to speed up and let Rich Rankin and Maggie Flynn fend for themselves. Matt knew that.
But he couldn't do it. He braked again, bringing the truck to a shuddering halt.
Ronnie grabbed his right arm as he used his left to swing the door open.
"Where are you going?"
"To help them. Get behind the wheel."
"I can't drive a truck like this!"
He pointed to the clutch and the gear shift lever sticking up from the floorboard. "Push that down, push that over there like that, and hit the gas. You'll figure it out."
"Matt!"
But he pulled away from her and dropped to the ground. He ran to the back of the truck. The flaps of the canvas cover were tied back, and the tailgate was down.
"Jerry, toss me my duffel bag."
Jerry threw the bag onto the tailgate. Matt reached inside it. As he did so, his eyes cut toward the figures running toward the truck. Rich and Maggie were in the lead, but Scott and Chuck were close behind them, followed by April, Noel, and Hammond.