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“We’d best be moving,” he says.
We pile back into the Unimog, shoving Miss America into the space behind the seats. Candy gets us turned around and we haul ass down the hill. Franklin is blocked with debris from looted houses, so we speed down Hollywood Boulevard to Highland and head north to the Bowl.
It occurs to me as we go that I don’t even know if Hell’s Hollywood Bowl is even there anymore. I should probably have checked that out. See? Thinking. It’s always my downfall.
The good news is that while half of its dome is caved in, the Bowl and grandstands are basically intact. The stage area is covered with dried blood in a charming variety of colors. A lot of Hellions, beasts, and who knows what else have been killed here for the cheering crowds. I wonder if the old arena is still standing. I feel a weird pang of nostalgia for the place. Sure, it was possibly the most awful place in the universe, but it was my most awful place. If it’s gone, I’ll miss it. I never even got to take a selfie there. Of course, I don’t mention any of this to the others, but I make a mental note that if we have enough time, I want to take Candy there. If she’s going to make me miserable at Disney World, she can be miserable for a few minutes at my old alma mater.
We stash the Unimog by the road beside the Bowl. Hesediel and I manifest our Gladiuses and hack our way through the fences and trees, clearing a path to the front of the stage. She takes a couple of steps back when my Gladius first comes out. I’m not sure she believed that I had one. Now that she does, I’m not sure she entirely trusts me with it. But she does her job and I do mine.
Bill and Candy bring Miss America, and we climb over stage junk until we’re backstage in the Bowl.
Bill looks back at the grandstands and grounds.
“Not a bad place for a meet. Lot of open territory. A road nearby.”
He points to the line of black, twisted trees on the hill overlooking the grandstands.
“They could put snipers up there.”
“Not if Quay wants Miss America back.”
“We’re really going to kill her?” says Candy. I can tell that she doesn’t like the idea. But I don’t want to sound soft.
I look hard at Miss America.
“Maybe. Maybe not.”
She looks at our sorry group, terrified.
Candy goes over and puts a hand on her shoulder. The woman recoils and Candy moves away.
“What’s your name?” she says.
Miss America looks around.
“Holly,” she says. “Holly Cranor.”
I lean against a half-burned table.
“What did you do for Wormwood back in the world, Holly?”
“Nothing,” she says. “I wasn’t in Wormwood.”
“Then you joined when you got down here.”
“No. I’m not in Wormwood. I’m just friends with Norris.”
“You’re with Quay, but you’re not with Wormwood? That’s just a little hard to believe.”
“Norris says that people have to prove themselves useful to be in Wormwood.”
“And you’re not particularly useful yet.”
“Oh no. I’m useful. I work with Netzach and the other angels. Norris promised that I’ll be in Wormwood soon.”
“Sounds like true love,” says Candy.
Holly half smiles, not sure if Candy is kidding or not.
