Chapter 7
“REALLY?” MALCOLM GLANCES at me and raises an eyebrow. “Do we warrant a police escort?”
I don’t know if we warrant it, but one is winding its way up the long road to the warehouse. The lights of the patrol car are flashing. It’s leading the convoy, followed by Reginald’s Land Rover. Dust billows behind them, painting the clear air a dull brown.
We’ve only just stepped into the sunlight after spending the last hour huddled over the phone in the kitchen area. We took turns relating the tale, from Malcolm’s k********g—in the guise of a faked pizza delivery—to mine, to the entity’s appearance and then everyone’s disappearance.
Nigel’s and Belinda’s still-panicked voices filled the line, punctuated by Reginald’s more measured tone. We learned how Nigel had found my thermos and cal
