south as far as he can see. On the other side of the barrier are long, rectangular, wooden objects that sit on metal wheels but are not cars or Land-Rovers; there are more of the objects than Veil can count, and all of them rest on twin strands of thick metal that weave and crisscross one another like the sand-tracks of many desert snakes.
He has found his sanctuary, Veil thinks. He can hide inside one of the wooden structures. But first he must find a way to get past the barrier, which has countless little knives running along its top.
If he cannot go around or climb over the barrier, Veil thinks, then he must dig his way under.
He waits for an attack of nausea and dizziness to pass, then moves slowly to his left, studying the ground. When he sees what appears to be a patch of soft ground, he drops to his knees and begins to dig with his knife and scoop with his hands. He frequently has to pause in order to catch his breath, but he eventually manages to dig a trench beneath the barrier; he slides under, dragging his spear and carrying sling after him.
As Toby walks unsteadily toward one of the railroad cars, Veil leaves the K'ung, rolling away from the dream and floating up through sleep toward his own dawn.
Chapter Eight
V eil, feeling emotionally drained and physically exhausted from his dream-trek, signed in with the security guard at the north entrance to the missionary college complex, then headed toward the faculty dormitory. He met Reyna, approaching from the opposite direction, on the sidewalk outside the building.
"Good morning," Veil said with a smile. "If you don't mind my saying so, you really look like hell."
The frail woman with the large, soulful eyes managed to smile back. "Hi. You don't look so hot yourself."
"I think we've both had a rough night, each in a different way."
"Toby . . ."
"I know. I listened to the news reports. He's been sighted in all five boroughs, as well as in Connecticut. A man in New Jersey swears that Toby materialized in his living room and stole his stamp collection. Obviously, Toby's been busy. He's also now a national celebrity, with offers from all three networks to foot his legal expenses in exchange for exclusive rights to his story. I'm sure if Toby knew about all the deals that were being cooked up on his behalf, he'd hurry right in."
"It's not funny, Veil."
"Toby's situation isn't funny at all," he replied evenly. "I think the reaction of the public and media is."
"There's mass hysteria, Veil. There are vigilante groups forming."
"That isn't funny, either. You've been out looking for him, haven't you?"
Reyna nodded wearily. "Veil, forgive me. I don't mean to be rude, but I'm very tired."
"Reyna, I think I have a pretty good idea where you've been looking." Veil removed a folded map from the back pocket of his jeans, held it up. "We should talk. I think it's time we started working together."
Reyna's eyes darted back and forth between Veil's face and the map in his hand. Her own face reflected consternation at first, then suspicion and fear. "How did you—?"
"Just a second," Veil said softly, quickly replacing the map in his pocket as he glanced over Reyna's shoulder and saw a black, unmarked police car pull up to the curb ten yards behind her. "We've got company. Just take it easy, Reyna, and stay cool. I'll handle Mr. Nagle. Trust me."
Reyna wheeled around and stiffened when she saw Carl Nagle and Vahanian emerge from the car. Her hand, cold and dry, reached out for Veil's, and he gripped it. Nagle's face flushed when he saw Veil. The big man started forward but stopped when his partner calmly stepped in front of him, blocking his way. There was a whispered but heated conversation, during which Vahanian's view appeared to prevail. Nagle threw up his hands in a gesture of frustration, but he stepped back and leaned against the rear fender of the car while Vahanian came down the sidewalk to Veil and Reyna.
"Good morning," the olive-skinned, husky detective
He has found his sanctuary, Veil thinks. He can hide inside one of the wooden structures. But first he must find a way to get past the barrier, which has countless little knives running along its top.
If he cannot go around or climb over the barrier, Veil thinks, then he must dig his way under.
He waits for an attack of nausea and dizziness to pass, then moves slowly to his left, studying the ground. When he sees what appears to be a patch of soft ground, he drops to his knees and begins to dig with his knife and scoop with his hands. He frequently has to pause in order to catch his breath, but he eventually manages to dig a trench beneath the barrier; he slides under, dragging his spear and carrying sling after him.
As Toby walks unsteadily toward one of the railroad cars, Veil leaves the K'ung, rolling away from the dream and floating up through sleep toward his own dawn.
Chapter Eight
V eil, feeling emotionally drained and physically exhausted from his dream-trek, signed in with the security guard at the north entrance to the missionary college complex, then headed toward the faculty dormitory. He met Reyna, approaching from the opposite direction, on the sidewalk outside the building.
"Good morning," Veil said with a smile. "If you don't mind my saying so, you really look like hell."
The frail woman with the large, soulful eyes managed to smile back. "Hi. You don't look so hot yourself."
"I think we've both had a rough night, each in a different way."
"Toby . . ."
"I know. I listened to the news reports. He's been sighted in all five boroughs, as well as in Connecticut. A man in New Jersey swears that Toby materialized in his living room and stole his stamp collection. Obviously, Toby's been busy. He's also now a national celebrity, with offers from all three networks to foot his legal expenses in exchange for exclusive rights to his story. I'm sure if Toby knew about all the deals that were being cooked up on his behalf, he'd hurry right in."
"It's not funny, Veil."
"Toby's situation isn't funny at all," he replied evenly. "I think the reaction of the public and media is."
"There's mass hysteria, Veil. There are vigilante groups forming."
"That isn't funny, either. You've been out looking for him, haven't you?"
Reyna nodded wearily. "Veil, forgive me. I don't mean to be rude, but I'm very tired."
"Reyna, I think I have a pretty good idea where you've been looking." Veil removed a folded map from the back pocket of his jeans, held it up. "We should talk. I think it's time we started working together."
Reyna's eyes darted back and forth between Veil's face and the map in his hand. Her own face reflected consternation at first, then suspicion and fear. "How did you—?"
"Just a second," Veil said softly, quickly replacing the map in his pocket as he glanced over Reyna's shoulder and saw a black, unmarked police car pull up to the curb ten yards behind her. "We've got company. Just take it easy, Reyna, and stay cool. I'll handle Mr. Nagle. Trust me."
Reyna wheeled around and stiffened when she saw Carl Nagle and Vahanian emerge from the car. Her hand, cold and dry, reached out for Veil's, and he gripped it. Nagle's face flushed when he saw Veil. The big man started forward but stopped when his partner calmly stepped in front of him, blocking his way. There was a whispered but heated conversation, during which Vahanian's view appeared to prevail. Nagle threw up his hands in a gesture of frustration, but he stepped back and leaned against the rear fender of the car while Vahanian came down the sidewalk to Veil and Reyna.
"Good morning," the olive-skinned, husky detective
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