He didn't answer. I flashed the light onto the cleft. It showed me damp clay, a few pebbles.
Foster was gone.
[CHAPTER VI]
I scrambled to the edge of the pit and played the light around inside. It shelved back at one side, and a dark mouth showed, sloping down into the earth—the hiding place from which the globes had swarmed.
Foster was wedged in the opening. I scrambled down beside him, tugged him back to the level ground. He was still breathing; that was something.
I wondered if the pub owner would come back, now that the lights were gone—or if he'd tell someone what had happened, bring out a search party. Somehow, I doubted it. He didn't seem like the type to ask for trouble with the ghosts of ancient sinners.
Foster groaned and opened his eyes. "Where are ... they?" he muttered.
"Take it easy, Foster," I said. "You're OK now."
"Legion," Foster said. He tried to sit up. "The Hunters...."