Necropolis by Anthony Horowitz Page A

minds.
    Unfortunately, it wasn't quite as easy as that sounded. It wasn't like throwing a switch. Scott and Jamie had a connection with each other. When they were in the same room or even a short distance away, they could communicate with each other just by thinking. But when it came to other people, strangers like Ramon, what they saw was confused, chaotic. Nothing was ever black-and-white.
    Perhaps a minute passed. Then Scott nodded. "He's telling the truth," he said.
    "I promise you…" Ramon knew that he had been tested in some way. The words came pouring out. "I don't care if you don't trust me. I'll leave you with the diary. I'll go. I have no other reason to be here."
    'You said it wasn't safe for you outside," Richard said. "Were you followed?"
    Ramon shook his head and swallowed nervously. "I don't think so. After I took the diary, I hid in Lima. I wanted to see if the police would come. Then, when nothing happened, I took a tourist bus to Paracas. I thought it was less likely that I would be noticed that way. By now they will know that the diary is missing. They will know that I have taken it. And although Salamanda is gone, there are people in his organization who will still wish to continue what he began."
    "So where will you go now?" Professor Chambers asked. "Do you have somewhere to hide?"
    "I was hoping…" Ramon began. There was a strange sound, a whistling that came through the air, then the tearing of fabric. He looked down. There was something sticking out of his shirt. Puzzled, he reached down and touched it, then tried to pull it free. It wouldn't move, and when he released it, his hand was wet with blood.
    They had all heard it but hadn't realized what it was. A fence post. It had been thrown with impossible force from out of the darkness. It must have traveled more than fifty yards before the pointed end smashed into the back of the sofa, penetrating through the leather and padding before impaling the man who was sitting there. Ramon's eyes widened. He tried to speak. Then he slumped forward, pinned into place, unable even to fall.
    The alarms hadn't gone off. The radar screen was empty. Professor Chambers sprang to her feet and pressed the button to turn on the outside lights. Nothing happened.
    Something was moving in the garden. There were figures, edging forward, dressed in filthy, tattered clothes that hung off them as if they were rotting away. Matt could just make them out in the light spilling from the room. It was suddenly very cold, and he knew at once that dark forces were at work and whatever the figures were, coming toward him, they weren't human.
    They had come for the diary.

    NINE
    Night Attack
    Slowly, determinedly, they closed in on the house.
    There were more than a dozen of them: nightmare figures, shuffling across the lawn. Where had they come from? Matt could imagine them climbing out of the local cemetery. There was something corpse-like about them. A gleam of light from the living room caught one of their faces, and he saw glistening bone, one empty eye socket, dried blood streaking down the side of the cheek and neck. At that moment he was sure of it: These creatures couldn't be killed. They were already dead.
    As if to prove him wrong, Professor Chambers stepped forward and fired a shot at the nearest of them.
    Matt saw a great gout of blood explode out of the back of its head. It fell facedown and lay shuddering in the grass. So at least they could be stopped! She fired again, hitting another of them in the shoulder.
    The creature twitched as if shrugging the bullet off. Blood spread across what was left of its shirt — but it kept on coming. It didn't seem to feel pain.
    Richard was already on his feet, loading the revolver that he had taken from the gun cabinet. A few weeks before, Matt had smiled when he had stumbled across him, shooting tin cans in the desert. Now he was glad that Richard had decided to practice.
    When the attack had begun, Scott and Jamie had snatched up