“Wait!” Onyx called, and I only slightly paused as I stepped through the opening they held for me. He reached into his pocket, his other hand still blazing with spitting embers, and clicked something. “The acoustics in here are superb.” My eye roll should have joined the hurricane of souls because it could have gone on endlessly as AC/DC’s “Thunderstruck” began playing through my musical idiot of a friend’s rattly cassette player. Of course he had brought it to hell with him. That thing was like a cockroach and would survive the apocalypse.
