Harold stared at the metal figure, uncertain whether he should cast the spell coiled like fire in his mind and fingertips. Whatever Dill said, the golem had the power to all of them, given a chance.
“It's Sam!” Dill hurried towards the door, his delight evident despite the deadpan face. He couldn't help being deadpan, it came with the territory of being dead.
“Wait!” Harold started forward but was too slow. Dill had already reached the metal monster. It looked even more like a terminator than the last one they'd fought. He wondered if the company had refined the mould. As an aside, he also wondered if the writers of the Terminator franchise had studied the lore of golems prior to making the films. It would make sense. Medieval legends as modern horror. Not that he needed the fiction when it was right here in his face.
“Sam?” Dill caressed the gleaming steel of the golem's ribcage. “I got so worried when you didn't respond to my texts.”
Harold glanced up at Gillian. She was still perched on top of the blast door, a lump of plastic explosive in her hand, ready to slam onto the metal nightmare beneath her. She caught his look and shrugged. There was more to the relationship between Dill and his friend Sam than he had assumed.
He jumped when the golem moved, the spell curling around his fingers like trails of smoke, visible only to those with the Sight. Could the golem see it too? It was a creature of magic, after all.
The monster raised an arm capable of crushing an engine block into a cube, but it was merely to curve around Dill as gently as a field mouse around an ear of wheat. Harold relaxed and let the spell uncoil, letting out a breath as the tension left his arm.
The two lads – he still thought of the zombie and the killing machine as lads – hugged.