It sounded like a dubious strategy to Jason. Before he could raise an objection, he felt the old man tear away from the united mass the two of them had formed. Jason whirled and saw Jenkins raising his flaming torch over his head, like a club.
Don’t do that, he wanted to shout, but did not. Jenkins swung his torch downward, as if it were his intention to use the object as a club. The hellhound that had moved toward him edged backward to avoid the blow. The flaming cloth tip slid free from the torch stick, carried by momentum. The burning wad landed harmlessly in the grass.
We’re dead, Jason thought. Nothing to be done now.
In the same instant, another of the hellhounds was upon Jenkins. It sprinted forward, and Jason saw that this one was even larger than the others. He had a sudden, wordless epiphany: If the two of them were going to die, then he had might as well go down fighting. He stepped forward to meet the attacking hellhound, shoving Jenkins aside in the same motion.
Ram it with the torch, Jenkins had said. Ram it with the torch....