Bartholomew’s tortured face flashed in Alex’s mind. Sorry, bud.
Sorry, budStill running with the limping Gwen and Bloodhound, Alex glanced back at the dark creatures flooding the night’s streets. Dread punched his gut. “Come on! Run!” he cried through panting breaths.
Gwen shook a fist at him. “What does it look like I’m doing?”
They turned a corner and passed a building with a door banging open and closed and another with boarded-up windows. Lost shoes and shopping bags littered the streets as painted and sculpted Surrealians raced to get away. But Alex doubted that these mystical creatures could escape the invaders.
“What now?”
Alex wasn’t sure. Dali was their guide. He knew people. But now he too was infected with the amnesia that was spreading like wildfire up the streets.
Earlie
