Sisters Red

by Jackson Pearce

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  traded. I should be the one who can save her. I blink away the jealousy--there's no place for it now.

  "Trade me, Lett. Then, when they... when they change me, just kill--"

  "Shut up, Silas," I snarl. "They have no reason to let Rosie go even if they get you. In fact..." I swallow hard. "They're probably just going to hand her over to you after you're..." I can't say it.

  Silas's face loses every trace of color, save his eyes, which glisten in fear and frustration.

  I press my lips together, determined. "Listen. What if we pretend we're going through with it? You go there, act like you're going to give yourself up to them, and then I... I don't know. Do something. It's the only way I can see us being able to get close to her without them killing her."

  Silas looks at me, understanding. "Aren't you just using me as bait? Just like you had planned to do with the Potential anyway?"

  "Yes."

  "And what could you do to kill them all?"

  "I don't have to kill them all. We just have to get Rosie out--as soon as they hand her over, we take off," I answer.

  "That sounds too easy," Silas says, shaking his head. "They knew to get Rosie to lure me; they paid enough attention to her at the bowling alley to know she shopped at that Kroger. They won't fall for a simple bait-and-switch scheme."

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  "I know," I answer. Which brings both Silas and me to the same question, though neither of us wants to say it. If it comes down to it, and we have to trade him for Rosie--an honest trade, no tricks--will we do it?

  I know my answer. And one hateful, dark thought keeps running through me: Silas took Rosie from me. If he becomes a Fenris... I'll get her back.

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  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Rosie

  The screaming makes me jump to my feet, even though I know I can't help her.

  It's a girl, her age difficult to tell through her sobs and pleas. She screams again. I throw myself against the metal door, gagging from horror.

  "Please, please. I'll do anything you want. I won't tell anyone what you are," she begs, her words almost impossible to understand through her tears. I hear the crunching, cracking sounds of wolves transforming. I can practically see the horrible grins on their too-wide mouths.

  "Please," she chokes.

  When they attack her, I scream until my voice is hoarse so I don't have to hear the shredding sounds.

  282It was summer, and our hands and mouths were permanently stained from eating Popsicles and blackberries. The acrid smell from the junebug traps hung heavily in the air. Pa Reynolds dripped gasoline over the charcoal on the grill, then lit the fire, preparing to cook the large stack of hamburger meat. Oma March whipped a checkered tablecloth across the picnic table the Reynolds brothers had built themselves. She rushed in and out of the kitchen with bowls of macaroni salad and sliced peaches.

  "You're it again," Silas called out triumphantly as he tackled me into the grass. I giggled, pulling myself up, and took off running after him, his brothers, and Scarlett. It was a variation of freeze tag that mostly involved us knocking one another down.

  "Faster, Rosie, you have to run faster!" Scarlett shouted. I was the youngest and, therefore, the slowest.

  I started to get frustrated that I couldn't keep up. The Reynolds brothers darted around me, holding out their hands, only to yank them away when I lunged for them, sending me toppling to the ground. Silas's oldest brothers started getting bored, waiting for me to be within inches of them only to leap away on their long legs. I set my sights on my sister instead. I knew how she played this game and could anticipate her moves.

  I ran after Scarlett, our long dark hair flowing identically in the breeze, older and younger versions of the same girl.

  283She was faster than me, but just as I was about to give up and start crying, she finally tumbled to the ground dramatically, and I tagged her shoulder.

  "Good one, Rosie!" she yelled as I used the last of my energy to hurry away before falling onto the picnic table bench, our "base," to rest. Pa Reynolds smiled at me as he squirted a bit more gasoline onto the grill and it flared up, sending black smoke spiraling into the robin's-egg sky.

  I wake up so suddenly that I nearly cry out when all I see is darkness instead of blue sky and green grass. I shake my throbbing head but press my lips together to stop any sound from creeping out--after all, I can still hear the haggard, sleepy breathing of the Fenris outside. How long before they give in to their own hunger and devour me? They can still smell me through the metal door, I'm certain, and if one Fenris gives in to temptation, it surely wouldn't take long for a pack mentality to take over. That door, locked or not, couldn't hold up to the number of Fenris I saw outside.

  I pull my knees to my chest, put my head in my arms, and think of Silas. What is he doing? If they're after Scarlett, where does he think I've gone? Maybe he thinks I left in search of her, just dropped him and took off. I hope not. I couldn't do that. I inhale slowly and try to pretend that I'm with him, that his arms are encircling me, that I can feel his breath on my neck and the sparse beginnings of his beard tickling my cheek. But it's hard to imagine much of anything

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  in this cave of a room, and my eyes begin to burn. I never even got the chance to tell him I love him...

  No. Think, Rosie, think. Scarlett wouldn't cry. Scarlett would find a way out. Stop thinking about Silas, about origami and diner breakfasts. Think of escape. I close my eyes again, but instead of searching for a dream to take me away, I focus on a person. My sister, the other half of my heart. The only person I know who could unfailingly find a way through a locked door and a pack of hungry Fenris.

  Think like Scarlett. I push myself into her mind until I can almost feel her scars on my skin, feel the rush of energy that flows through her during a hunt. The way she felt when the Fenris attacked her. The way she felt when Mom left for the last time. The way she feels when hunting. I am Scarlett. I am confident, I am capable, and I will not wait to be rescued by a woodsman or a hunter. I will escape.

  I home in on Scarlett's likes until I practically crave kung pao chicken--though I haven't eaten in ages, so that might actually be my own hunger speaking. The cottage at dawn, the way she said it felt, quiet and serene and cascaded in blue light. Philosophy... that one's tougher to focus on. I've never loved it like she does. There is that one story in particular that she recounted to me whenever I questioned hunting, the one Oma March used to tell us about the children in the cave stepping into the sunlight. How they were blinded by the light at first but had to learn to accept it once they knew it was truth. Just like Scarlett and I had to accept the existence of the Fenris once we knew they were real, not just shadows on a cave wall.

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  Scarlett loved the tale and said that the rest of the world lived in the cave, thought the shadows were real. Only people who know about the Fenris can really see the sunlight. And then there are those like Mr. Culler, who see the sunlight but prefer to believe in the shadows, who prefer to believe that their sons are just deranged instead of monsters. But I don't remember not knowing about the Fenris, to be honest. Scarlett remembers before the attack, but it's all a blur to me, recollections that are more a creation of her nostalgic stories than my actual memory.

  Maybe I'm the opposite of her, though. Maybe the wolves are my shadows. I want to believe that they're a part of me, that they're the core of my being like they are with Scarlett. But now that I've seen this sunlight--seen what it's like to be a normal girl, felt what it's like to be kissed, to be loved--how can I go back to the shadows?

  I open my eyes and I inhale sharply. Of course. The plan forms in my mind slowly, more like a tide coming in than a wave crashing over me. I am confident, I am capable, and I will not wait to be rescued by a woodsman or a hunter. I will escape.

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  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  SCARLETT

  THIS IS MY FAULT," SILAS MURMURS, BREAKING THE silence that's
hanging over us like a noose. I don't answer because I think I might agree with him. The church bells chime nine times into the morning. We've been up all night.

  There hasn't been much to say, much to plan. Just what feels like endless amounts of time to wait. My body feels shredded, yanked in two directions: Half of me, the hunter half, demands I wait until the time is right to strike. The other half of me, the half that's also the half of Rosie's heart, demands I go for her immediately, throw myself in front of whatever monsters I must in order to save her. Where is she now? Is she cold? Somehow I'm incredibly concerned with her being cold. I hope she has something to keep her warm.

  "Scarlett, promise me something," Silas begins slowly.

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  He sits up on the couch, making eye contact with me as I lean against the wall on the other side of the room. I toss my foot back and forth so Screwtape can chase my shoelaces.

  "Sure," I mutter.

  "If they... if the Fenris get me... I can't lose my soul, I can't become that. No matter what happens with Rosie, if they get me..." He looks down, then back at me as he swallows hard.

  I narrow my eye. "Are you asking me to kill you, Silas?"

  He nods slowly. "And tell... will you tell my brothers and sisters? Tell them I'm sorry I got the house and that I'm sorry I didn't get to see them again." He looks away.

  "And Pa Reynolds?" I ask quietly.

  "No." Silas shakes his head. "Don't tell him. Let him forget me. And when... if you have to do it, make it fast..."

  I inhale sharply. Could I do that? "Of course, Silas. I promise."

  "Good," Silas says. "Good." He sinks back into the couch, like a sick person who can't move too nimbly. We sit in silence for another few moments. My stomach rumbles, but I don't want to eat anything. How could I eat anything when my sister is a hostage?

  "Do you think she's cold?" Silas says under his breath, crossing his arms over his chest. My eye shoots up at him.

  "What?"

  He turns his head to me. "I just... I wonder if she's cold."

  I sigh and nod. "Yeah. Me too."

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  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Rosie

  Time to act.

  At long last, the daylight fades. The tiny square of light around my door dims, and the Fenris begin to rise. They bark at one another, tousle and fight in a clattering of nails and deep snarls. A few scratch at my door but move on when the others snap in protest. I ignore them and crawl around the generator in the center of the room, groping with my fingertips along the machine until I find the little access panel on the side. I brace my fingers underneath it and pull.

  Nothing happens, and my fingers begin to bleed as the sharp rust slices into them. I hold my breath as I yank again. The door gives, sending flecks of metal raining onto the cement floor and into my eyes. I squeeze them shut and ignore the urge to release the door. I slowly pry it off; the

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  hinges are so old that they give way and the heavy iron door falls into my hands. I ease it to the ground and blink away the dust in my eyes as the smell of gasoline overpowers my nostrils.

  I grope around on the dirty shelves behind me, fingertips trailing across the cleaners and old rags until they finally wrap around the bits of hose. I turn back to the generator and run my hands across the open space. Wires, cords--I can't see anything, but I hope that my fingers will know what they're looking for when they find it. I root my nails underneath a row of cables and grab on to a tiny metal bar--it turns to the right almost too easily and lifts off to reveal the fuel tank below. I glance up worriedly. Surely they'll smell the gasoline.

  I tug the wires aside with one hand and feed an end of the hose into the fuel tank with the other. How much can there possibly be left? The hose hits liquid quickly, which is promising. I glance at the door again, put my lips around the end of the hose, and inhale.

  I almost instantly yank my face away and gasp for air that isn't pure gas fumes--my lungs burn and scream in pain, but it seems to have done the trick. The hose snakes in my grip, and I hear the quiet splashing of gasoline pouring onto the floor. I quickly aim the hose at the tiny crack beneath the door and watch as the liquid begins to flow out. I prop up the hose on one of the bottles of cleaner and step over the river of fuel. I tear a strip of fabric off the bottom of my shirt. Outside, I hear the wolves sniffing around the fuel.

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  One Fenris scratches and howls at the door, his voice half human, half animal.

  "John and Mary were born in a cave and lived in the cave their entire lives. They always stayed far back in the cave in the near darkness, because if they tried to leave, they saw giant dark monsters on the wall. John and Mary didn't know it, but the monsters were only shadows."

  I wrap the fabric around my forehead and pull one side down so it covers my right eye. It's not as effective as my sister's eye patch, but it'll do. I tug the cloth tightly so it completely obscures my vision. The wolves gather by the door, a chorus of sniffs and growls punctuated by piercing howls. I hear the crunch of a few changing to human form and shouting for the Alpha.

  "One day their grandmother came into the cave. She grabbed John and Mary by the hands and led them to the monsters, then explained how the monsters were only shadows."

  Oma March's storyteller voice is crisp and clear in my head, the memory of the scent of fabric softener on our fleece blankets stronger than the sharp odor of gasoline that's still pumping furiously from the generator.

  "Darling, I can't promise I can hold back my pack if you

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  force me to open this door," the Alpha sneers through the crack. It doesn't matter; I'm going forward with my plan whether he opens the door or not. Granted, I'll die if he doesn't, but really... I would've died either way. I slink over to the shelves and reach for the lighter, muscles now well accustomed to navigating this space in the dark. Here we go.

  I flick the lighter on, the little flame illuminating the dark room with what feels like a flood of light after so many hours of darkness. The wolves begin to scratch at the door, their claws cutting into the metal. The hose finally slows to a steady drip of gasoline as I stare with my uncovered eye at the flame.

  My eyes begin to water as I hear the Alpha's threats again, the howls of the wolves, maniacal laughter of those in human form, crunching spines of those changing back and forth between the two. They want in; they're thriving off one another's desire for me combined with the curiosity over what I'm doing to flood the tunnel with gasoline. The Alpha gives a command to the other wolves in a low, guttural growl. I stare at the flame and in it see images: me with Scarlett as little girls with Popsicle-stained tongues, visiting her in the hospital after the attack, the first day I held the punching bags for her when she began training to hunt, the day I hunted with her and Silas for the first time, the moment I knew I loved Silas, the day he and I kissed in the thunderstorm...

  Time moves in slow motion. I hear the Alpha unlock the door. It swings open, but I see them only for a glimmer of a moment. Hundreds of them staring at me with hungry,

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  reddish eyes, tongues dripping saliva to the concrete floor below.

  "Then," Oma March said, "their grandmother took them outside into the bright, bright sunlight."

  The wolves lunge. I drop to the floor and hold the end of the lighter to the stream of gasoline. It lights up like an explosion racing out the door, flames leaping high, illuminating ancient graffiti with more brightness than the tunnel has probably ever seen. It burns my hand. I release the lighter and push forward like an Olympic sprinter bounding off her starting point.

  "It hurt and burned their eyes because it was the first time they'd ever seen the sun after living in the dark for so long."

  The wolves paw at their eyes, blinded by the sudden brilliance of the flames. My uncovered eye is used to it, and I run through the flames that lick at my cloak and legs, feel my skin blistering as I dart around and past wolves who snap at my ankles wi
th their eyes closed. It's an obstacle course, a sea of flame and teeth. The Alpha is screaming orders, and the wolves are trying to follow but stumble around blindly, falling toward the fire. Eventually there is nothing but screaming and howling in my ears, one steady, horrific cry of agony.

  Keep moving forward, keep going. Ahead I see the stairs, 293but the Fenris by the door struggle less, their eyes becoming accustomed. I hit the steps running, legs burning from exertion and fire, and the wolves dash forward, long jaws outstretched, hunger and anger overwhelming them. I leap above one and punch both feet downward on another's jaw, whirling around to avoid teeth. I think that one nipped my side, but it's not bad. Keep moving, keep moving.

  I break past the final line of wolves as the rush of night air hits my skin, cooling the burns lashing my body. I grab for the makeshift eye patch and yank it to the other side of my face, unveiling the eye that's been shrouded in darkness and covering the one that just saw my way through the firelight. I don't stumble, don't blink with the sudden change--I can see fine. I press forward, feet pounding the pavement of an empty street, and look back to see a few wolves stumble from the smoke-filled tunnel only to be thrown from blinding light to blinding darkness.

  It doesn't matter in what direction I run--I just have to keep moving away from them as they recover. The howls and infuriated snarls of the wolves echo between the buildings on either side of me, but I have to keep moving.