When fifteen-year-old Jackson visits his aunt in England, he becomes caught up in a chase to capture an unknown creature who is stalking and killing people on the plains surrounding ancient Stonehenge

The Doom Stone

By Paul Zindel

Hyperion Books

Copyright © 1996 Paul Zindel
All right reserved.
ISBN: 9780786811571

Chapter One

The Sighting

The stones and the nightmare were waiting for Jackson Cawley as the landrover raced toward the storm. Thick, twisted trunks of oak trees lined the road, their branches reaching high across like fingers of hands straining to pray.

There had already been warnings that nothing would go smoothly on this journey. Jackson's charter flight from New York had landed in London during heavy rains and violent turbulence. The Heathrow terminal was mobbed with spring break travelers, and it was past six by the time Jackson had made it through Customs and linked up with Sergeant Tillman, his ride to Salisbury.

Tillman found Jackson to be a good-looking fifteen year-old with shaggy brown hair and intense green eyes who did nothing but ask questions: Will I be staying near Stonehenge? Are there mounds filled with ancient human bones? Did high priests perform blood sacrifices?

The stocky sergeant smiled. "I'm no expert on Stonehenge. There will be guides there who can tell you the whole history when you take a tour," he said, carrying the boy's canvas suitcase to the landrover. He opened the door on the passenger side. Jackson got in, took his suitcase, and swung it behind him to the backseat. As Sergeant Tillman slid into the driver's seat, Jackson noticed he was wearing a gun. "Are you on special assignment?" Jackson asked.

"Yes," Tillman said.

"Did you ever have to shoot anyone?"

Sergeant Tillman smiled. "Not lately." He started the landrover and drove out the airport exit. After several miles he reached the M3, and followed it for a good distance until turning onto A303 west.

It took a spectacular thunderbolt to halt Jackson's questions, which had begun to center around the landrover's two-way radio. The last of the shattered sunset slid down beneath the rim of dark, huge clouds mushroomed at the horizon. A strong wind rattled and shook the branches of green willows along a stream.

CLICK CLICK

Jackson heard the sounds. "What's going on?" he asked.

The sounds came faster, more furious.

"Hailstones," Tillman said.

Jackson had never been in a hailstorm. He watched the front of the landrover crust up with the falling ice pellets. They fell harder still, and in a few moments the road was a chalky white. The ice melted quickly.

For a long stretch the roadway cut through a forest choked by thickets and twisting, thick vines. The headlights picked up red-and-white TANK CROSSING signs and a series of wooden stakes in the earth.

"What are those?" Jackson asked.

"Markers for the military territories," the sergeant explained. "Restricted areas."

BAM

There was another crash of thunder as a crop duster biplane fled the sky and nightfall to land in a field. Here the shoulders of the road began to lift into eerie mounds, blocking the view of the countryside and making the road appear to drop into a long, open grave. Several miles later, beyond a hog farm and a sign for a gravel operation, the road rose onto a ridge with a breathtaking expanse of Salisbury Plain in front of them.

"I can take a slight detour up onto A344 if you want a closer look at Stonehenge," Sergeant Tillman said. "There's a good view of it from there."

"Great."

Tillman took a small northwestward road, then doubled back beyond a thatch-roofed farmhouse. He pointed. "Dead ahead."

Jackson strained forward against his seat belt to see through the fogging windshield. There was another flash of lightning, and his heart crawled up into his throat when he saw the circle of massive stones. Stonehenge stood like a ring of giant sentinels.

Closer, a thunderhead burst over the landrover. Suddenly Jackson could barely see the great stones between the sweeps of the worn, thumping wipers. There were no lights, no cars or tourists in the parking lot.

"Where is everybody?" Jackson asked.

"Stonehenge closes at five," Sergeant Tillman said, his foot staying heavy on the accelerator.

"Closes?" That was like being back in the States and finding out that Mount Rushmore closes or that Niagara Falls gets turned off.

The stones became framed by a sturdy chain-link fence that ran along the edge of the road. The rain was a deluge now, blurring everything. Jackson hoped for a bolt of lightning, a sharp wide crackle on the horizon, so he could see close up this monumental temple of the wind.

The flash lash of lightning came, and in that moment Jackson saw the true enormousness of the stones. But there was something else. Out of the corner of his eye he glimpsed a figure moving swiftly from the shadows of the stone circle and heading for the roadside fence.

Jackson wiped the window and strained to see through the night and the rain. Three lightning flashes lashes hit one after the other like a tremendous sky strobe. It was then he could see that it was a young man in a plaid shirt with a ponytail running toward the landrover. The lightning made the man's movements unreal, as though he were a flickering image on a movie screen. The man kept coming.

In the next flash of lightning Jackson saw the young man's face twisting into a scream, his hands desperately reaching out toward the speeding landrover. Jackson's first thought was that someone was playing a joke. He was used to all sorts of scams and insanity on the streets of Manhattan-but then, behind the terrified man, he saw a shadowy form coming fast, like a jungle animal closing on its prey.

Another explosion of blue-white lightning.

Jackson saw the shadow crash into the young man, hurtling his body against the fence with such force, the hair of his ponytail burst loose to fan out like snakes on the weave of metal. The dark thing was behind the man, twisting his neck terribly, crushing the young man's face into the wire fence as the landrover flew past.

Jackson found his voice. "Stop!"

"What?" Sergeant Tillman was momentarily startled, his eyes fixed on the wet roadway ahead. "What's going on?" he asked, his tone quickly military again.

"Somebody's being attacked!" Jackson cried out, twisting in his seat to indicate behind them. "Some guy's being attacked by an animal!"

"Hold on."

Continues...

Excerpted from The Doom Stoneby Paul Zindel Copyright © 1996 by Paul Zindel. Excerpted by permission.
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