by Susan Ee
“You think anything you do would get a guy like him to look at you twice?” Anita flings the wet shirt back at me. “You’d be lucky to get a one-legged grandpa to be interested in you.”
Okay. Turns out I can do this.
I lean a little to make sure the shirt hits me.
Then, we go at it in all our feminine glory. Hair pulling, face slapping, shirt ripping, nail-scratching. We squeal like cheerleaders who fell into a mud pit.
As we stumble around in our drunken dance, we bump into a wash basin. It comes crashing down, spraying the whole area with water.
She trips over it while clinging onto me, and we come tumbling down. Our bodies contort around each other as we roll in the mud around the wash basins.
It’s hard to look dignified when your head is being pulled down to your shoulder by your hair. It’s embarrassing. I do my best to look as though I’m really fighting
The crowd goes wild with their cheering and clapping. I catch a glimpse of Dee-Dum as we roll. They’re practically hopping with glee.
Just how does somebody lose a fight like this? Should I break down crying? Land in the mud face-down and let her scratch me a few times while I curl into a ball? I’m at a complete loss as to how to tap out of this fight.
All thoughts of the fight are shattered by a gunshot.
It comes from somewhere past the crowd, but it’s close enough to make everyone freeze in silence.
Two more shots go off in rapid succession.
Then a scream echoes through the woods. A very human, very terrified scream.
CHAPTER 21
The wind rustles through the treetops. My blood pounds in my ears.
For a few heartbeats, everyone stares into the twilight with eyes wide as if waiting for a nightmare to come to life. Then, as though a command had been given, chaos bursts through the crowd.
Soldiers run to the trees in the direction of the scream, gripping their guns and rifles. Everyone starts talking, some crying. Some rush one way, others rush another. It’s a crush of noise and confusion bordering on panic. Like the dogs, these people aren’t as well trained as Obi would like.
Anita climbs off me, the whites of her eyes showing all around her irises. She takes off, running after the biggest crowd which is stampeding into the mess hall. I get up, torn between wanting to see what’s happening and wanting to hide in the relative safety of numbers.
Raffe is suddenly beside me, whispering. “Where are the wings?”
“What?”
“Where did you hide them?”
“In a tree.”
He sighs, obviously trying to be patient. “Can you tell me?”
I point in the direction of the scream, where the last of the soldiers disappear.
“Can you tell me how to find it, or do you need to show me?”
“I’d have to show you.”
“Then let’s go.”
“Now?”
“Can you think of a better time?”
I glance around. Everyone is still scrambling to grab gear and run into a building. No one gives us a second glance. No one would notice if we disappeared during the chaos.
Of course, there’s whatever it is that’s causing the panic.
My thoughts must show in my face because Raffe says, “Either tell me or show me. It has to be now.”
Twilight is sliding fast into full dark around us. My skin prickles at the thought of wandering through the forest in the dark with whatever it was that caused an armed soldier to scream like that.
But I can’t let Raffe run without me. I nod.
We slip into the darkening shadows for the closest path to the forest. We half-tiptoe, half-run through the woods.
Gunshots fire in rapid, overlapping succession. Several guns fire simultaneously in the woods. Maybe this isn’t the best idea.
As if I’m not freaked out enough, screams echo through the oncoming night.
By the time we run across the camp and reach the hiding tree area, the woods are quiet. Not a single rustle, no birds or squirrels disturb the silence. The light is fading fast, but there’s enough to see the carnage.
About a dozen soldiers had run toward the scream. Now there are only five still standing.
The rest lie scattered on the ground like broken dolls tossed by an angry child. And like broken dolls, there are body parts missing. An arm, a leg, a head. The ripped joints are ragged and gory.
Blood splatters everything—the trees, the dirt, the soldiers. The dimming light has leached the color out of it, making it look like oil dripping off the branches.
The remaining soldiers stand in a circle with their rifles pointing outward.
I’m puzzled by the angle of their rifles. They don’t point straight out or up, the way they would for an enemy on foot or in the air. Nor do they point to the ground the way they would if they weren’t about to fire.
Instead, they point midway down as if aiming at something that’s only as high as their waists. Mountain lion? There are mountain lions in these hills, although it’s rare to see one. But mountain lions don’t cause this kind of slaughter. Maybe wild dogs? But again, the slaughter doesn’t look natural. It looks like a vicious, murderous attack rather than a hunt for food or a defensive fight.
The memory pops into my head of Raffe mentioning the possibility of kids attacking that family on the street. I dismiss that thought as soon as it comes. These armed soldiers would never be this scared of a gang of kids, no matter how feral.
Everything about the survivors looks freaky spooked, as though the only thing containing their panic is their paralyzing fear. Their white-knuckled grips on their rifles; the way they hold their elbows tight near their bodies as if to keep their arms from shaking; the way they move shoulder to shoulder, like a school of fish clustering near a predator.
Nothing natural could cause this kind of fear. It goes beyond a fear of physical harm and into the realm of mental and spiritual. Like the fear of losing your sanity, of losing your soul.
My skin prickles watching the soldiers. Fear is contagious. Maybe it’s something that’s evolved from our primeval days when your survival odds were better if you picked up on your buddy’s fear without wasting time to discuss it. Or maybe I’m sensing something directly. Something horrifying that my reptile brain recognizes.
My stomach churns and tries to reject its contents. I swallow it back, ignoring the acid burn on the back of my throat.
We huddle out of sight behind a large tree. I glance at Raffe crouched beside me. He is looking at everything but the soldiers, as if they are the one thing in the forest we don’t need to worry about. I’d feel better if he didn’t look so uneasy.
What spooks an angel who’s stronger, faster, and has keener senses than man?
The soldiers shift. The shape of their circle changes to a teardrop.
The men ooze nervousness as they back slowly toward the camp. Whatever had attacked them seems to be gone. Or at least, the soldiers seem to think so.
My instincts aren’t convinced. I guess not all the soldiers are convinced either, because they look so freaked out that the slightest sound might be enough for them to open fire, spraying bullets every which way into the dark.
The temperature is plummeting, and my wet t-shirt clings to me like a sheet of ice. But sweat trickles down my temples anyway and pools greasily in my armpits. Watching the soldiers leave is like watching the basement door close, shutting out the only light in the house and leaving me alone in the monster-filled darkness. Every muscle in my body screams to run after the soldiers. Every instinct is frantic not to be the lone guppy separated from its school.
I look at Raffe, hoping for some kind of reassurance. He’s on full alert: his body tense, his eyes searching the darkening forest, his ears perked as though listening in stereo.
“Where is it?” His whisper is so low I’m reading his lips almost as much as hearing his words.
At first, I assume he’s talking about the monster that
could do such damage. But before I can ask how should I know, I realize he’s asking where the wings are hidden. I point beyond where the soldiers had been standing.
He silently runs to the other side of the circle of destruction, ignoring the carnage. I tiptoe-run after him, desperate not to be left behind in the woods.
I have a hard time ignoring the body parts. There aren’t enough bodies and parts to account for all the missing men. Hopefully, some of them ran off and that’s the reason there are fewer of them than there should be. I slip on the blood in the middle of the carnage but manage to regain my footing before I fall. The thought of falling face-first on a pile of human intestines is enough to keep me moving to reach the other side.
Raffe stands in the midst of the trees, trying to find one with a hollow. It takes a few minutes before we find it. When he pulls out the blanket-wrapped bundle of his wings, the tension leaches out of him, and he hunches his shoulders and head protectively around the bundle.
He looks at me, and there is enough light for me to see him mouth the words thank you. It seems to be our fate to continually pass our debt back and forth.
I wonder how long it takes before it’s too late to reattach the wings to his back. If it was a human body part, it would be past the expiration date already. But who knows about angels? And even if the angel surgeons or magicians or whatever manage to reattach them, I wonder if they’ll be useable or just decorative, the way a glass eye is just decorative so that people can look at your face without cringing.
A cold wind teases my hair, making it brush against the back of my neck like icy fingers. The forest is a mass of shifting shadows. The whipping of the leaves sounds like a thousand snakes hissing above me. I look up just to make sure there aren’t really snakes above me. All I see are redwoods looming under the blackening sky.
Raffe touches my arm. I practically jump out of my skull but manage to stay quiet. He hands me my pack. He keeps the wings and the sword.
He nods in the direction of the camp and walks in that direction, following the soldiers. I don’t understand why he wants to head back to camp when we should be running the other way. But the forest has me so creeped out that I’m not inclined to linger alone, nor am I eager to break our silence. I slip on my pack and follow.
I stick to Raffe as close as I can manage without having to explain why I’m hugging his back. We reach the edge of the woods.
The camp is quiet under the mottled moon shadow under the camp’s canopy. No lights glow from the windows, although if I look hard enough, I can catch a glimpse of metal glinting in the moonlight in some of the windows. I wonder how many rifles they have trained through the glass, seeking targets?
I don’t envy Obi having to maintain order in those buildings. I’m sure panic in a confined space can be pretty ugly.
Raffe leans over to me and whispers so low I can barely hear him. “I’ll watch to make sure you get safely into the building. Go.”
I blink stupidly at him, trying to make sense of what he is saying. “But, what about you?”
He shakes his head. It seems reluctant, for all the good that will do me. “You’re safer in there. And you’re safer without me. If you’re still set on finding your sister, head for San Francisco. You’ll find the aerie there.”
He’s leaving me. Leaving me at Obi’s camp while he goes on to the aerie.
“No.” I need you, I almost blurt it out. “I saved you. You owe me.”
“Listen to me. You are safer on your own than with me. This is no accident. This sort of ending…” He gestures toward the massacre. “It happens too often to my companions.” He runs his hand through his hair. “It’s been so long since I had someone to watch my back…I’d fooled myself into believing…things could be different. Do you understand?”
“No.” It is more of a rejection of what he’s telling me than an answer to his question.
He stares into my eyes for a moment. His eyes are so intense.
I hold my breath.
I swear he’s memorizing me as though his mental camera is firing, capturing me in this moment. He even inhales deeply as though filling up on my scent.
But the moment passes when he looks away and leaves me wondering if I imagined it.
Then he turns and melts into the darkness.
By the time I take a step, his form has completely merged with the darker shadows. I want to call out to him but I don’t dare make that kind of noise.
Darkness closes around me. My heart hammers in my chest, telling me to run, run, run.
I can’t believe he left me. Alone in the dark with a demon monster.
I clench my fists, digging my nails into my skin to help me focus. No time to feel sorry for myself. I’ve got to concentrate if I’m going to survive long enough to rescue Paige.
The safest place to spend the night is the camp. But if I run to the camp, they won’t let me go until they’re ready to move. That could be days, weeks. Paige doesn’t have weeks. Whatever it is they’re doing to her, they’re doing to her right now. I’ve already wasted too much time.
On the other hand, what are my options? Run through the forest? In the dark? Alone? With a monster that tore apart half a dozen armed men?
I frantically beat my brain for a third option. I come up with nothing.
I’ve hesitated long enough. Being found by the monster as I stand frozen in indecision is the stupidest way to die that I can think of. Rock or hard place?
I steel myself to ignore the creepy sensation crawling up my back. I take a deep breath and let it out slowly, hoping to calm myself. It doesn’t work.
I turn away from camp and plunge into the forest.
CHAPTER 22
I can’t help but look to see if there’s anything I need to worry about sneaking up behind me. Not that a monster capable of tearing apart armed soldiers would bother sneaking. I wonder why we didn’t evolve with eyes in the back of our heads?
The farther I walk into the woods, the tighter the darkness closes in on me. I tell myself that this isn’t really suicide. The woods are full of living creatures—squirrels, birds, deer, rabbits—and the monster can’t kill them all. So my chance of being among the majority of living things in the forest that will survive tonight are pretty good. Right?
I move through the dark woods by instinct, hoping I’m heading north. Within a short time, I begin to have serious doubts about which direction I’m moving. I read somewhere that when lost and left to their own devices, people tend to walk in large circles. What if I’m walking the wrong way?
Doubts erode my reason and I can feel the panic bubbling in my chest.
I give myself a mental slap. This is not the time to panic. I promise I’ll let myself panic when I’m safe and sound, hidden in a nice house with a stocked kitchen with Paige and Mom.
Yeah, right. The thought brings a twitch to my lips as if I might grin. Maybe I really am losing it.
I see menace behind every rustle and shifting shadow, behind every bird taking flight and squirrel scrambling on a branch.
After what feels like hours of trekking through the woods in the dark, one of the shadows shifts from a tree like so many wind-blown branches. Only this one keeps moving away from the tree. It separates itself from the larger mass of shadows, then merges into another, greater darkness.
I freeze.
It could have been a deer. But the shadow legs didn’t move right. It might have been something on two feet. Or more accurately, several somethings on two feet.
My hunch proves right when the shadows fan out, surrounding me. I hate being right all the time.
So, what stands on two legs, is three or four feet tall, and growls like a pack of dogs? It’s hard to think of much other than those bodies scattered about the forest floor with missing parts.
A shadow rushes toward me so fast it looks like a dark blur. Something bumps into my arm. I step back, but whatever bumped my arm is already long gone.
The other shadows shift. Some dart
forward and back, looking like shadows beginning to boil. Something bumps my other arm before I register that another shadow has darted out.
I stagger back.
Our neighbor Justin used to have a set of needle-like piranha teeth displayed on his mantel. He told us once that the carnivorous and sometimes cannibalistic fish are actually quite shy and usually bump their prey before attacking, gaining confidence as their schoolmates do the same. This feels eerily like his description.
The chorus of growling rises. It sounds like a mix of animal growls and disturbingly human grunting.
Another hit. This time, a sharp pain stabs up from my thigh, like I’d been sliced by razors. I shiver as a warm pool spreads around the pain.
Then I get bumped twice more in rapid succession. Is the blood whipping them into a frenzy?
Another hits my wrist. I cry out this time as soon as I feel it.
This one isn’t just a quick slice. It’s a lingering one, if a flashing shadow can be said to linger. The burning hits me a second after I realize I’ve been—bitten? I’m sure I’d be less scared if I could just see what they look like. There’s something particularly terrifying about not being able to see the things attacking you.
My panting is so loud now that I might as well be screaming.
CHAPTER 23
I catch motion out of the corner of my eye. I don’t even have time to brace for another hit before Raffe stands before me, muscles tense around his sword, facing the demons. I hadn’t even heard the rustle of leaves. One moment he’s not there, the next moment, he is.
“Run, Penryn.”
I don’t need another invitation. I run.
But I don’t run far, which is probably not my smartest move. I can’t help it. I hesitate behind a tree to watch Raffe fight the demons.
