We had maybe a minute, if that, before the legion of HOA thralls converged on us. Thanks to the houses blocking everyone else’s view, I was the only one who knew about the meat avalanche about to bury us.

  “Time to go!” I bellowed at the top of my lungs.

  Jakob was the only one close enough to hear me.

  “Get to the cornfield!” I yelled, not bothering to explain. When he didn’t immediately move, I screamed, “Now, for fuck’s sake!” just for good measure. Apparently, the panic in my voice and the fear on my face were enough to convince him to move his ass. He dealt one final blow to the Kevin directly in front of him, cutting the man’s legs out with the edge of his plasma shield, before turning and darting toward the swaying corn stalks.

  I yelled out again, trying to get Temp and Croc’s attention—not that it did a damned bit of good.

  The boom of “Footloose” completely drowned out my words, and the two of them kept right on hooking and jabbing, enticed by the bloodlust and the easy experience points. I recalled my tools with a thought, then stretched out invisible tendrils of telepathic power, wrapping the weaves around my friends. I tried to lift them into air… but couldn’t. In theory it should’ve been easy. I’d been casually tossing around freakish Sunnysiders, who were far heavier, like they were off-brand Carbie dolls.

  I mean, I wasn’t actually sure how heavy Croc really was, but Temp was fun-sized and couldn’t have weighed more than a buck-ten, even in armor and soaking wet.

  Despite that, it felt like both of them were old growth trees, rooted to the ground.

  It didn’t make any sense, so I redoubled my efforts—

  A terrible pressure built inside my skull and after a few seconds of concerted effort, blood began to gush from both nostrils, running over my lips and chin in twin rivulets.

  “Sweet baby Jesus,” I grumbled, reaching up trembling fingers and swiping at the blood. “That’s probably not a good sign.”

  Then it hit me.

  The sludgy, brown potions Jakob had handed us when we arrived had significantly fortified Grit and drastically boosted resistance to psionic attacks. Was it possible the potion had raised their Grit so much that they were unknowingly shrugging off my spell? It was the only explanation that made sense—and it meant I wouldn’t be airlifting the two of them out of harm’s way.

  To make matters worse, the horde of Sunnysider reinforcements had rounded the corner and was now flooding onto our block.

  I reluctantly cut the flows of psychic power, since that obviously wasn’t doing dick, and activated Neural Slip Stream to buy myself a little extra time.

  Arctic power cascaded through my system as I became nothing more than a translucent, immaterial ghost almost invisible to the naked eye. Although I couldn’t deal damage as a Spectral Thought, that didn’t prevent me from using Physic Sovereignty. I angled my body and rocketed toward Temp and Croc like Superman. I phased harmless through the remaining Sunnysiders as time slowed and began to creep along at a glacial pace, then landed directly beside my friends who were all but frozen in combat.

  Now that I was on the ground, I couldn’t see the encroaching army, but knew they’d be right on top of us at any second. As the countdown lapsed on Neural Slip Stream, the world momentarily titled on its edge and time lurched back into normal speed all at once.

  “Dan?” Croc asked, clearly taken aback as I appeared beside him. “Where did you come from?”

  “Doesn’t matter,” I barked. “We need to go and I’m talking yesterday!”

  “That’s going to be tough,” Croc replied, a look of consternation flickering across its face. “Unless you have some sort of time travel Relic I don’t know about. Do you have some sort of time travel Relic, Dan? Because that would be pretty neat.”

  “No, I don’t have a time travel Relic and we seriously don’t have time for this,” I grumbled before slapping on Temp’s shoulder to get her attention. “We need to leave.”

  “Why would we go?” she asked, paying only half attention to me as she effortlessly lopped off a Kathy’s hand with her cleaver. “I’ve never felt more alive. This is what I was born for, and these freakish dolts are hardly even fighting back! I’ve gone up at least two full levels. Maybe three. It’s glorious!” She threw her head back and cackled before launching a ball of Dire Mosquitoes into a Lawnmower Man’s whirling chest cavity.

  “Because we’re about to have a lot of pissed off homeowners to deal with,” I shot back, gesturing toward far end of the block—just in time for the front ranks of reinforcements to appear. They were running at us, driven by madness and fury and I knew if we didn’t leave now, we weren’t going to get a chance to leave at all.

  “But what about all the Relics?” Temp said, stealing a forlorn look between the pile of corpses and the wave of approaching Sunnysiders.

  “They aren’t worth your life,” I shouted. The words came out especially loud, because that was exactly when the weird radio gave up the ghost and died. The abrupt absence of Kenny Loggins was deafening in its own way. Suddenly, I could hear the moans and cries of the wounded thralls. I could also hear the thunderous clamor of hundreds of feet slapping against asphalt all at once.

  It was the sound of death, sure and terrible.

  Several nearby radios buzzed to life followed in short order by the ever-chipper voice of WBSC host, Seth Nickles. “Well, you’ve really done it this time,” the announcer said, his voice oozing with venom. “We were trying to be welcoming. Trying to be good neighbors. Trying to save you from yourselves. The Backrooms are a treacherous place, and this was your one chance at happiness. But not anymore. Now you’ve gone and RUINED IT! RUINED EVERYTHING YOU UNGRATEFUL, CHOWDERHEADS!”

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  The voice didn’t sound friendly anymore. Didn’t even sound human anymore. Almost as though the pretense at playing pretend had been dropped entirely.

  “The Monarch was right about you. He said you would come. Said you would be trouble. Said we would have to kill you, but we didn’t listen…” there was a long, pregnant pause. “Well, we’re listening now. Sunnysiders, this is Seth Nickles and the HOA Board wants you to kill the interlopers on sight. MURDER THEM! Chop them into pieces. Eat their bones and water your lawns with their blood. String their bloated corpses from the trees with loops of their own intestine. MAKE THEM SUFFER. MAKE THEM PAY. Those who do not conform must be punished!”

  “Perhaps there is some wisdom in your words,” Temperance finally agreed with a nod. “Where exactly are we going?”

  “This way, and let’s just hope we’re not too late.”

  I grabbed her shoulder and pulled her along as I bolted toward the cornfield, with Croc right on our heels. We cut around the edge of the yard, leaping over corpses and dodging the grasping hands of downed Sunnysiders, who were badly injured but not quite dead. Without a dose of Kenny Loggins to drown out the signal, they were finally starting to come to their senses.

  That was bad news for us, because they were pissed with a capital P.

  I breathed a sigh of relief when we found Jakob waiting for us by the edge of the cornfields then I muttered a quiet prayer of thanks to the good lord above, because he wasn’t alone.

  Our new and mysterious friend, Edward Myrl, was standing beside the Cendral with a none-too pleased scowl plastered across his face. It probably didn’t help that Jakob had one hand wrapped around his arm and was clearly prepared to restrain the man—though, to be honest, I’m not sure how well that would’ve gone. Although Jakob was accustomed to being the most powerful person in the room, Ed had nine levels on him. If push came to shove, I was pretty sure Ed could skin Jakob alive and turn him into a Cendral scale handbag.

  “This man says he is with you,” Jakob said. “Is that true?”

  “I’m not sure I’d say he’s with me,” I replied, “but I don’t think he’s actively trying to murder us.”

  “Told you,” Ed growled, shrugging Jakob’s hand away. “As for you”—he turned on me with a glower—“I said you had nine minutes. Nine. Either you’re a moron who doesn’t understand how clocks work, which makes you too goddamned stupid to live, or you fundamentally don’t grasp how dangerous this place is.” He leaned in, voice dropping low. “Either way, if I wasn’t a moron, I would’ve left you all to die.” He glanced over my shoulder and his eyes widened. “Which,” he added, “is still a real possibility, unless you all get real good at listening.”

  “Can’t you just deploy another one of those radio things?” I asked.

  “It’s not like those grow on trees,” he snapped, clearly frustrated. “That took me two months to build. But I do have a place not far from here that should be safe.” He stole another look at the horde of Kevins and Kathys quickly closing in on our position like a plague of biblical locust. “Assuming they don’t follow us into the cornfields. Which they probably won’t. They don’t like the cornfields.”

  “Why? What’s in the cornfields?” Croc asked, nervously surveying the silent stalks.

  “The kannibal kids,” Ed muttered, narrowing his eyes. “All the harmless little Timmys and Tammys that roam around here during the day? Well, when it gets dark, they change, and they aren’t so harmless. They turn into rabid goddamned animals. Let’s just hope we don’t run into the little shits. If we do, it won’t end well. Now stay close, and for Christ’s sake, keep quiet.” Without waiting for a response, he wheeled around and darted into the cornfields, his movements quick and purposeful.

  “Do we follow?” Jakob asked, eyeing the retreating back of the man with obvious suspicion.

  “At this point, I’m not sure we have any other choice,” I replied. “Just stay together in there, okay? A cornfield at night is worse than a maze. If we get separated, there’s a good chance we won’t be able to find each other.”

  I had a terrible feeling about this, but we weren’t spoiled for options and staying put wasn’t one of them.

  Taking a deep breath, I jogged after Ed, the others close behind me. It was hard to track Ed’s retreating figure—his damn coat blended a little too well with the swaying cornstalks—but I had an ace up my sleeve. Focusing my thoughts on him, I cast Unerring Arrow as I ran. Blue light coiled outward from my chest, snaking its way through the stalks like a glowing serpent.

  I could hear the howls of rage from the amassed Kevins and Kathys growing closer and closer, but so far it seemed Ed was right. The cornfields were the one place they didn’t want to come. Perhaps it was the one place where the HOA didn’t reign supreme.

  With the blue light to guide my steps, I picked up the pace until I was all out sprinting. It took less than thirty-seconds before I’d caught up with Ed, who was moving at a quick clop, but not an all-out run. I quickly saw the reason.

  He held a pair of metal L-shaped rods, one in each hand.

  Unless I was utterly mistaken, those were Dowsing Rods—ol’ timey occult relics that dust-bowl farmers from the 1920s would use to find underground water. I’d learned about ’em on a TV show called Superstition Unplugged: Unplug the myth. Plug in the truth. It was one of those cable access shows from the late 90s where a pair of skeptical investigators traveled around the country exposing mystic bullshit, fake psychics, and haunted houses. Basically, Scooby-Doo, but for adults.

  The rods in Ed’s hands, however, appeared to be the real deal.

  They swung back and forth in crazy arcs, crossing at times, then straightening at others until they ran parallel. Ed turned and maneuvered at a steady pace, weaving through various rows seemingly at random, following whatever innate magic controlled the rods. I kept an eye on Ed, but made sure that we didn’t lose anyone in the labyrinth of stalks. Croc and the others were able to keep up easily enough, but the larger concern was that we weren’t alone.

  Ed had said that the Kevins and Kathys tended to avoid the cornfields, but “tended to avoid” didn’t sound like a hard and fast rule to my ears. Plus, the alternative wasn’t any better. It was hard to imagine that the feral kannibal kids who called the fields home could possibly be worse than the army of Sunnysider adults, but I wasn’t holding my breath. After all, there was probably a damn compelling reason why the adults didn’t venture out into the fields after dark.

  “Almost there,” Ed called, before glancing back down at the rods twitching manically in his hands. “Just a little further now,” he said though it sounded like he was attempting to reassure himself more than us.

  Ed took a hard right, then a sharp left and we rushed into a circular clearing with what appeared to be the dilapidated remains of an old barn at its center. Unlike the picture-perfect homes that decorated the rest of Sunnyside, this thing was ancient. Most of the roof had collapsed in on itself like a dying star and the remaining boards were gray and warped from age and the elements.

  Instead of lumbering on ahead, Ed froze in his tracks like a deer caught in a pair of headlights. His gaze snapped toward the black, gapping maw of the barn entryway. There was something waiting inside, partially concealed by the shadows.

  I wasn’t sure what exactly I was looking at, but it was big. So tall it had to stoop as it slunk through the opening…