Chapter Nine
Storm’s face lives up to his name. His forehead scrunched, his eyes cold, his mouth a thin line, his loud breath the warning of a storm to come. He’s angry; no, he’s pissed.
“We need to get through there,” he says through clenched teeth.
“Stating the obvious, man,” Frost replies just as grimly.
We’re standing on a small hill, the car behind us, looking down on the Calanais Standing Stones in the distance. And the army surrounding them.
Dozens of large stones form the shape of a Celtic cross. From what the guys have told me, an old cairn lies at the centre of the circle. That’s where the Gate is.
A smoking ruin to one side of the Stones gives the scene an eerie, end-of-the-world kind of feel. Guess that may have once been the visitor centre. Until the demons arrived.
The
