Three of his five dogs had been vomiting for half the journey, and they’d had to drive with the windows open to let in some fresh air. The other passengers, already terrified by the presence of their strange traveling companions, had been freezing cold all night, and couldn’t sleep. The horrible, sour stench made them gag. The other two dog-men, Cheops and Teti, weren’t much better than their comrades. Green in the face, they had been belching disgustingly the whole time, not even bothering to wipe away the saliva slobbering down their chops. Only Ramses had behaved decently. He was sitting beside Mills, and they had both managed to sleep, heads close together like a pair of lovers. “Told you so,” muttered Pastor, kicking the wheel of the bus. “These creatures don’t travel well. Amenophis threw up all over my jacket. I’ll be stinking right through the hunt.” “No worse than usual, I can assure you,” said Mills dryly. When Pastor asked the bus driver why he hadn’t reported the two fugitives last week, he said one of the consolers had told him to “leave them alone,”
