“The car!” barked De Santo, taking his eyes off the sky. “Get the goddamn car!” At which Luther hustled away and Caleb moved to intercept—until I blocked him with an arm across his chest and held him that way until both men were gone.
“Jesus, man! I could have stopped them.”
“And we will,” I said—even as the great herd crashed the gates and began stampeding onto the field: trampling the fences, toppling the media tower, crushing and goring bystanders. “But first let’s follow them to that car, yeah?”
And then we moved—hurrying after them into the stairwell, ignoring the fact that, in a reversal of the first Flashback, the prehistoric creeper vines and overgrowth that pervaded the venue had started to disappear, to simply vanish without a trace, and so, for that matter, had the rampaging
