Max heard Morton's heavy tread stomping up the ridge toward them. More gunshots sounded, provoking semi-hysterical cries of protests from Ramirez. "Are you crazy?" the jittery, guilt-stricken lieutenant shouted. "Put away that gun! Someone will hear!"Max could have told Ramirez, from personal experience, just how trigger-happy Morton could be once he lost his temper. If the hotheaded crook could draw his pistol in the middle of a crowded diner in broad daylight, what was going to stop him from opening fire alone in the wilderness well after midnight? He's not going to give up, Max realized. His brow was furrowed in concentration as he tried to think while simultaneously maintaining the force field. We have to get away. We can't let him see us.

"Get ready," he warned Michael tersely. He placed his palms against the side of the ridge and closed his eyes. This was going to take careful timing.

"Get ready?" Michael echoed in confusion. The lambent glow of the force field cast greenish shadows upon his face, making him look more, well, alien than usual. "Ready for what?"This!" Flexing his mental muscles, Max converted his defensive shield into a battering ram of psionic force that smashed into what was left of the outcropping, sending another avalanche of rocks tumbling toward Morton, who fired wildly, the unblocked bullets ricocheting off the hillside behind, one of the stray shots ripping apart a cactus only a few feet away from Max, who grabbed onto Michael's arm and leaped to his feet. Pins and needles stung his stiff legs, but Max ignored the pain in his eagerness to escape from Mortons murderous gunfire. Another ricochet shattered the Tabasco bottle, staining the soil red and filling Max's nostrils with its hot, spicy smell. "Run, coyote-boy, run!" he shouted to Michael. "Follow me!"Running uphill would have slowed them down too much, not to mention presented Morton with a pair of easy targets, so instead Max took a chance, clearing the ridge and taking off down the hill, passing by Morton, who had thankfully been knocked off his feet by the rockfall Max had just triggered. Half skidding, half sliding, Max reached the floor of the canyon in seconds, with Michael right behind him. To his relief, Ramirez was nowhere to be seen; Max guessed that the gun-shy test pilot had decided to make tracks before any cops or park rangers showed up, drawn by the sound of gunfire. Not a bad idea, Max decided.

He sprinted down the trail, away from Slaughter Canyon Cave. Mercifully, the crescent moon provided enough illumination to see by, so he didn't need to risk generating any additional light on his own. He kept his gaze glued to the rough trail ahead, watching out for obstructions and pitfalls, even if that meant that he couldn't look back to see if Morton had regained his footing yet. Michael's racing footsteps smacked against the uneven ground behind him, letting Max know that the other teen was keeping up with him.

Suddenly, gunshots erupted from the top of the trail. "Come back here, you sons of bitches!" Morton hollered, having obviously recovered from the landslide. "Come back here!" he yelled irrationally, like anyone was really going to turn around and run back toward the crazed lunatic shooting at them. "Who the hell are you stupid kids? Where did you come from? How much did you see?"Not enough, Max thought gloomily, putting on another burst of speed in hopes of evading Morton's blistering fusillade. This entire midnight excursion had turned into a disaster, and they hadn't even learned what was in that blasted attache case. Bullets pelted the steep mountain trail, throwing up agitated plumes of sand and dirt. What's the range of one of those pistols anyway? Max worried. The ferocious cascade of bullets nipped at his and Michael's heels, and he realized that he never had learned why this particular corner of die park was known as Slaughter Canyon. He hoped and prayed that the name would not prove prophetic.

I'm sorry, Liz! More dian anything else, he feared leaving her alone in a world that still held the threat of Joe Morton. I tried to protect you! I should have killed him when I had the chance!

It was Maria's turn to use the phone.

"Yeah, Mom. 1 know it's late. I just wanted to let you know that we ended up spending the night here at Carlsbad, so we can do some more hiking in the park tomorrow. Yes, Mom, we rented two rooms at the motel, one for the chicks and one for the guys. Uh-huh, liz and Alex and the others are all staying over. Yes, Michael, too…That's right, Mom, you've seen right through me, 1 confess: We're eloping, all six of us, over the Mexican border for a group wedding in Tijuana. I'll be sure to send you a Polaroid." Maria sighed and rolled her eyes heavenward, inviting sympathy from the rest of the teenagers in the cramped motel room. "Don't worry, I'll be fine. Yeah, we're having a good time…"That's stretching the truth a bit, Isabel Evans thought. She sat at the foot of one of the room's twin queen-size beds, pressing one of her favorite CDs against her ear. Paula Cole's "I Don't Want to Wait," from the Dawson's Creek soundtrack album, failed to drown out entirely Maria's one-sided discussion with her mother, nor did it ease Isabels growing concern for Michael and her brother, who had been away for far too long now.

She looked at the cheap plastic alarm clock sitting on the end table between the two beds. It was almost 1:25 in the morning. The rest of them had already contacted their respective parents hours ago, notifying them of their overnight stay at the Days Inn, but apparently Maria's mom had been working late, or out on a date, or something. Fortunately, none of their parental units had raised too much of a fuss over the kids' plans, knowing that you really couldn't do all the Caverns in one day.

If only that were the worst of our problems, Isabel thought morosely. Not for the first time, she wished she could have a normal life, with normal teenage dilemmas, instead of the fraught existence she seemed doomed to live. Mentally increasing the volume of the music playing in her ear, she surveyed the scene around her, taking stock of their latest sorry situation.

Although they had indeed rented two rooms, for propriety's sake, everyone was crowded into the girls' room for the moment, waiting in unbearable suspense for Max and Michael to get back from Slaughter Canyon. Maria sat at the head of the same bed as Isabel, dutifully placating her mom, while Liz rested in the next bed over, her back against the headboard, her knees tented beneath the frayed cotton sheets. Aside from a brief call to her folks, which she had somehow managed to garner enough composure to fake her way through, the shell-shocked brunette had barely said five words all evening, still locked in what Alex had labeled post-traumatic stress disorder. Unable to sleep, Liz just sat up in bed, her arms locked around her knees in a quasi-fetal position, while her haunted brown eyes watched the front door, counting the seconds until Max's return. Her face was ashen, and dark purple shadows collected beneath her eyes, making her look positively gaunt and spectral, like the crazy wife in some old Bronte novel.

She needs a makeover, big time, Isabel thought, but she knew that Liz's troubles ran much deeper than that. A pang of sympathy pierced Isabel's heart. If truth be told, liz Parker was not always her favorite person; through, admittedly, no fault of her own, the loose-lipped, lovestruck human girl had severely complicated Isabel's life by discovering the Big Secret, and broken her brother's heart on more than one occasion. Even still, it was impossible to look at Liz now, so frail and washed-out, and not feel sorry for her. Besides, Isabel kept looking at the front door, too; if nothing else, she and Liz were united by their common love for Max.