Nightworld

By three-thirty they were back at Haskins' place. The fire was still burning in the forge in the back, but not as brightly as before. The air, however, was filled with the clang of metal upon metal.

"You're early," Haskins said at the door, still not inviting them in.

"We know," Bill said, "but it'll be dark soon and we want to get moving as soon as we can."

"Can't say as I blame you. Just as well you did show up. They're almost done. Wait in the car and I'll bring it out to you."

Jack and Bill returned to the old Mercedes. Bill sat inside, fiddling with the radio, trying to find a broadcast of any sort, while Jack paced in front, his gut twisting steadily tighter as the gray sky faded toward black.

He wished again that he hadn't sent Gia and Vicky off with Abe. He needed to see them again, hold them in his arms—one last time before the end.

"Listen," Bill said, sticking his head out the window. "The clanging's stopped."

"Doesn't matter," Jack said. "It's too late. We're not going to make it back. Even if we had a goddam plane we couldn't make it back in one piece."

The storm door slammed then, and there came old George Haskins lugging two blanket-wrapped objects in his arms like sick children.

"There you go," he said, dumping them into Jack's waiting hands.

One bundle was square and bulky, the other long and slim. And they were heavy. Bill took the smaller one and together they placed them on the back seat, then Jack was diving for the driver seat.

"It's been great talking to you, George, but we've got to run."

"Good luck, boys," Haskins said, heading back to his front door. "I don't know what this all means, but I sure hope it works out."

The rear wheels kicked gravel as Jack accelerated down the road. He glanced at the rearview mirror and saw Haskins standing on the stoop, watching them go. He couldn't be sure in the dim light but he thought he saw a group of knee-high figures clustered around his legs. Then Haskins waved—they all waved.

Blinking his eyes to clear them, Jack concentrated on the road.

Somewhere beyond the mists that masked the sky, the sun was setting for the last time.

"We're not going to make it," Jack said. "No way we can get back alive."

"We've got to give it our best shot," Bill said. "We don't have any other options that I can see."

"Oh, we'll give it one hell of a shot, Billy boy. One hell of a shot."

But we're not going to make it.