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King meant going in and out of different times in history—times that seemed always to be full of life-threatening dangers. Even if—yes, that was the word, he thought glumly: if —they were able to rescue her, they couldn’t just leave. They had found out that the future of mankind was no future at all. Sometime soon, there would be a war that wiped out Los Angeles—Keal had seen the ruins himself—and presumably the rest of the world. Jesse thought there was something they could do to fix things; in fact, he had said it was their duty to change the future. It was hard for Keal to disagree: if there was something they could do, they had to try to do it.

    Toria was watching his face as he thought all of this, obviously not liking what she saw. He forced a smile and said, “That’ll be a great day, huh? Saying adios to this crazy place once and for all.”

    She grinned and returned to her drawing, adding a tree trunk beside the gray house. His heart ached for her, a sweet little girl who’d experienced more trauma, grief, and frights than any kid should have to face.

    He noticed a few nails protruding from the ceiling and climbed the ladder to pound them in.

    “More hammering?” Toria complained.

    “’Fraid so.” He glanced over his shoulder at her. She had a hand pressed over each ear. Loudly, he said, “Maybe you should do that in your room.”

    She shook her head.

    Keal shrugged, angled his arm to strike the nails, and stopped. He looked back at Toria again. Hands still in place to ease the sound of his pounding, she was looking down at her drawing. Her long, dark hair hung all the way to the page.

    “What did you say?” he called.

    She looked up, removed her hands. “What?”

    “Did you say something?”

    “When?”

    “Just now.” He was sure he had heard something. He listened.

    “What?” she said.

    “Shhh,” he said. “Thought I heard—there!”

    “I don’t hear anything,” she said.

    He held his hand up to silence her.

    There it was again: a quiet, sustained scream . Toria’s eyes widened.

    “See?” he said.

    She nodded slowly. Her eyes slid to their right edges as she listened. “Somebody’s screaming!” she said, hopping up. She ran into the main hall, out of his sight.

    “Hey,” he said. “Wait!”

    But she had already hit the stairs, heading to the first floor.

    Keal jumped off the ladder and swerved around the corner. He was on the stairs when she opened the front door and disappeared. He found her on the porch, her head cocked sideways.

    “Can’t hear it out here,” she whispered. She came back to the foyer.

    Keal stepped in and shut the door. Immediately the scream reached his ears, still muffled—as though from a great distance—but louder and clearer. It was hideous, a screech of such pain and rage, it made him think of a banshee, the mythical spirit that came for the souls of the dying. He felt a cold shiver shoot up his spine.

    Toria swung her face toward him. Her eyes were wide and scared. She said, “I know what it is!”

CHAPTER
six

THURSDAY, 6:37 P.M.
    Dad wasn’t moving. Through the shattered glass, Xander couldn’t tell if he was even breathing.

    But he was bleeding.

    He pounded his palm against the window. “Dad!” He tried the door handle. The button depressed, but the door wouldn’t budge. It was crinkled and appeared to be pushed back into the metal behind it.

    Xander ran around the front to the driver’s side. Dad was still in the same position, his head leaning forward onto the wheel, but Xander noticed movement: a blink. Then another.

    He rapped on the glass. “Dad!”

    Dad lifted his head. He touched his head, winced, looked at his bloody finger. He peered out the window at Xander.

    Xander tried to open the door, but that one was jammed shut as well. He yelled through the glass, “Are you all right?”

    Dad rubbed his forehead, smearing blood. He nodded. He glanced around, as if trying to find his bearings.