Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Author's Note
CHAPTER ONE - Clarissa -
CHAPTER TWO - Dylan -
CHAPTER THREE - Clarissa -
CHAPTER FOUR - Dylan -
CHAPTER FIVE - Clarissa -
CHAPTER SIX - Dylan -
CHAPTER SEVEN - Clarissa -
CHAPTER EIGHT - Dylan -
CHAPTER NINE - Clarissa -
CHAPTER TEN - Dylan -
CHAPTER ELEVEN - Clarissa -
CHAPTER TWELVE - Dylan -
CHAPTER THIRTEEN - Clarissa -
CHAPTER FOURTEEN - Dylan -
CHAPTER FIFTEEN - Clarissa -
Thank You
Under Wicked Sky
by
S.G. Seabourne
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. No part of this eBook may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the author..
Copyright © 2017 S.G. Seabourne
All rights reserved.
During the process of writing, the plot and world expanded well past the original outline. The projected 50k novel exploded to triple the size with an overarching plot, and my initial efforts to keep the book short made the world feel sparse and the character motivations disjointed.
So, I’ve decided to experiment with a series format. The full story will be told in three parts. I say this upfront because we readers (myself included!) do love our endings all tidily wrapped up in a bow. It will happen, but my characters will have to work for it.
Thanks for coming along with me on my series experiment.
~ S.G. Seabourne
CHAPTER ONE
- Clarissa -
By the time I stomped on the brakes, it was too late. My sedan’s tires screeched as the brakes locked, and the steering wheel became unmovable under my hands.
The back of the old-style, wood-paneled station wagon in front of me was too close. And I was going too fast.
It’s not fair, I thought nonsensically. I just got my license—
My sedan rear-ended the station wagon with a crunch of metal and plastic. I jolted hard against my seatbelt. My right knee smacked the underside of the dashboard hard enough to bruise.
I barely had time to process it, my first car crash, before more tires squealed behind me. I caught a glimpse of an oncoming pickup truck looming in the rear-view mirror. Then my car lurched forward with another snap-crunch of metal. Hit from behind.
My little brother, Ben, screamed from the back seat. Above his voice came more screeching tires and smashing glass. Vehicles all around us struck each other in a chain reaction. Our poor sedan shook from the force of collisions up and down the line.
After what felt like an eternity, it ended. I unclenched my white-knuckled fingers from the steering wheel and took a quick self-assessment. Believe it or not, I didn’t think I was hurt. At least, I didn’t see any blood and nothing hurt badly. That was a good thing, right? The airbag hadn’t even gone off, although the hood of my sedan was buckled like crumpled paper.
I turned to the back seat. “You okay?”
Ben’s blue eyes were wide. “Wow, Clarissa. I think you killed the car.”
Yeah, he was fine. My little brother was a wannabe skateboarder, and made of fifty percent rubber. I’ve seen him trip off his board and roll down a flight of cement stairs just to bounce back up once he reached the bottom.
“That’s not funny,” I told him. Mom was going to be so angry with me. This was our family’s only car.
Then I started to get angry. Why had someone stopped right in front of me on the freaking highway, anyway? Logging trucks traveled this road all the time. What if one came around the corner, couldn’t stop, and hit us?
I unbuckled my seatbelt and looked around. Thick steam poured from the engine and obscured what the scrunched hood didn’t hide. Was I supposed to call 911?
“Grab your backpack,” I told Ben. “I don’t think we should stay in the car.”
The driver’s side door hadn’t been damaged. I got out, helped Ben climb free, and stood to look around.
Highway 50 was a two-lane mountain highway. Normally, there wasn’t much traffic. Now it had turned into a field of stopped cars in both directions. Gray smoke from multiple engines created a thick haze that drifted through the forest of pine trees on either side of the road.
A few people, mostly teenagers around my age, had gotten out of their cars, too. I wasn’t the only one who looked confused.
High, shrill cries filtered in through somewhere in the smoky haze. People were probably hurt. A lot of people. Turning to Ben, I was about to tell him to stay in the car after all—he didn’t need to see this—when a scared voice cut through the air.
“Mommy! Mommy!”
A girl a couple years younger than Ben, about seven or so, tumbled out of a wrecked black SUV which had spun partially onto the gravel shoulder. Scrambling to the driver’s side door, the girl tugged at the handle. “Help! Somebody help her!”
From behind the tinted windows, I saw a dark figure move.
I didn’t know what I could do. I didn’t have CPR training, or whatever. But I couldn’t just stand there. Ben was busy retrieving his skateboard from the car and attaching it to special straps on his backpack.
“Stay here, okay?” I told him.
A dark shadow passed over us both. Instinctively, I looked around. Were medical helicopters landing already?
A large, brown shape swooped down from the smoky sky. For a second, I didn’t know what I was looking at. The thing looked a little like an eagle, if eagles were built the size of small ponies and had twelve-foot wingspans. But the body was all animal. Heavily built, with a thick barrel chest, four legs, and a whippy leonine tail.
What—?
The animal landed between the cars and snatched up the little girl with scaly front talons the length of my fingers. It leapt from the ground with strong, furred, back haunches. Laboring for air, it beat its wings as the girl twisted and screamed. Then the monster reached down with a curved beak and—
I unfroze enough to look away. The girl’s scream cut short.
It was as if my body took over on behalf of my stunned mind. There wasn’t any room for thought, or amazement, or a plan. Grabbing Ben by the wrist, I yanked him out of the car and into a run in the opposite direction.
Ben, busy putting on his backpack, hadn’t seen the monster. He tried to tug away, then pulled me to a stop. “Clarissa! Look! What’s that?” He pointed back to our sedan. The truck that had hit us was rocking. Something large and dark moved around in the cabin. And it wasn’t human.
“Oh my God.” I started to change direction, but the van next to us was jolting, too, as something inside threw its weight around. The tip of a curved, orange-yellow beak smashed through the sunroof.
The more I looked, the more I saw unnatural shapes inside most of the cars. Things that struggled to break out.
Glass shattered outward from a blue car not twenty feet away. Jumping back, I pushed my little brother behind me. People screamed in shock as they took notice. A girl my age pointed to the sky, where more flying shadows drifted in the haze. Other kids flashed by, running in all directions. No one knew where to go, myself included.
“Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God,” I heard myself say over and over, like my brain was stuck in a loop. Clarissa’s not
here right now, but if you leave a message, she’ll get right back to you.
A shadow crossed the hazy sun. I didn’t have time to react before a heavy weight struck my shoulder, slamming me and Ben to the asphalt. I scrambled up to all fours, bits of safety glass and gravel digging into my palms. A second eagle monster, dirty white in color, had swooped down on us and latched its talons onto Ben’s backpack. The edges of its huge wings beat at me like a hurricane as it flapped to gain air.
Ben didn’t move, didn’t scream. He hung in its grip like a dead thing.
“No!” I leapt and grabbed for a loop of Ben’s backpack. Our combined weight dragged the monster back down before it could fully lift off. In sheer panic, I struck it with my open hands and grabbed its dull white feathers. I’d been in a couple girl-girl fights back in middle school, and learned the hard way that yanking and scratching was more effective than punching. “Let him go! Let go!”
The monster screeched in a high eagle’s cry and snapped its razor-sharp beak. I hunched forward to put myself between it and Ben. Hot pain drew a line behind my shoulder. I screamed.
“Duck!” yelled a voice.
I flattened down, Ben under me, and heard a dull wet thwack. The eagle monster jerked.
I twisted to look. A tall boy stood just behind the monster, a tire iron in hand. Side-stepping a taloned paw, he swung like he was going for a home run. The tire iron hit the side of the eagle monster’s head with a sickening crack. The eagle monster thrashed one more time before it slumped and went limp, halfway on top of Ben and me.
I tried to shove the feathery body aside. It was shockingly heavy.
“Ben!” I yelled, throwing my whole weight behind my shove. The monster’s body shifted only slightly. “Ben?”
The tall boy stepped in to help. Working together, we rolled the body away. Ben lay between its two front legs, the skateboard attached to his backpack snapped in two. That could have been his spine. His eyes were open, and he breathed in shallow, rapid pants. He didn’t react at all when I grabbed him into a fierce hug. But he was alive, and that was all that mattered.
“There are more of them, coming fast,” the tall boy said.
Tearing my gaze from Ben, I was able to take him in for the first time. He was a little older than me, with dark hair and eyes, dusky skin, and high cheekbones. Native American, maybe. Handsome, definitely.
Not the time, Clarissa.
Ben still hadn’t stirred. “I don’t think my brother can run.” And there was no way in hell I would leave him behind.
“I’ll carry him. Here.” He shoved the tire iron in my hands. The end of it dripped crimson with blood. “If you see another one coming, swing as hard as you can.”
I looked at it, then at him. “Do you know what’s happening?”
He looked at me with dark, haunted eyes. “I saw someone turning into one of those things.” He shook his head like he couldn’t believe what he was saying. “I think they used to be people.”
CHAPTER TWO
- Dylan -
I cursed under my breath as my father’s black town car slid up to the curb a few feet away. Glancing down the road, I hoped for a last-minute rescue. My older cousin, Terry, promised he’d help me ditch today’s recital, but his truck wasn’t in sight. Terry was late. Again.
My father hadn’t rolled down the window to call me over yet, but he would if I made him wait. Hitching my backpack up on one shoulder, I walked to the town car. In the distance, a yellow bus from one of the nearby public schools drove away in a belch of smog. I envied the kids inside.
Opening the town car’s heavy door, I slid into the backseat. My younger sister, Lilly, was already buckled in. Her all-girl’s Academy let out earlier than my school. She held her violin case in her lap and looked pleased with herself. Never a good sign.
“Dylan, your tie’s crooked,” she sing-songed.
My father’s eyes flicked to me in the rear view mirror, then away. With the car door shut, the tinted windows rolled up, and the leather seats squeaking every time I moved, I was trapped in a luxurious cage.
Scowling, I tugged the knot on my tie straight. “Gym is my last period. I just got my tie back on before the bell.” I hated my private school uniform, with my maroon jacket, red striped tie, and white shirt with charcoal slacks. It looked dorky as hell. The first thing I did when I got home was take it off. But Lilly’s music recital was a formal affair, and it was either my school uniform or a suit I’d outgrown months ago.
Wordlessly, my father turned in his seat and held out his hand. He was a large man, being full-blood Native American, with the same dark, straight hair and tan complexion that me and my sister shared. I’d had the bad luck of inheriting his heavy jaw, stocky frame, and a large nose. Lilly had our mother’s fine boned grace. The only thing I’d gotten from her side of the family, according to my uncle, was her shaman blood. Not that it ever did me any good.
“Aren’t you forgetting something?” my father asked.
I tried not to show any expression on my face as I dug out my report from my backpack. My father could sense anxiety, like a shark scented blood. I handed the papers over.
“B-minus,“ my father said, glancing at it. “You told me you worked on this.”
“I did. I tried—”
“Obviously not,” he said shortly, and then turned back to put the car in gear.
I exhaled in relief. That went better than I’d expected.
But my father wasn’t done yet. “I find it interesting, Dylan, that while your sister is on the honor roll, you never care about your grades.”
Hidden behind the driver seat, Lilly smirked. I wanted to pull a face at her, but that would only make things worse. “I had to study for my calculus test this week. It’s only a history report. I can still make the grade up—”
“Your mother and I worked for years to give you the best start we could. We’ve paid good money to get you into one of the top schools in the state. Yet, you insist on flushing every opportunity we’ve given you down the toilet.”
A dull, familiar sense of grief ached at the base of my throat. Mom never cared about my grades.
My father ran his hand back through his dark hair. “I worry about you, son.”
No, you don’t. You’re embarrassed by me.
I said nothing and stared out the window. The car was passing Lake Tahoe. Today, the water was turquoise blue, reflecting the early spring sky. Out on the lake, a para-sailor rode the winds, attached by a long cable to a speedboat. Looked fun. In a few hours, the sun would set and the moon would be up. I’d read on the local news website that it was supposed to be one of those really big full moons. A supermoon. Hopefully, we’d get done with the recital in time to see it.
A flock of birds flew across the horizon, framed by glacier mountains, and—I squinted. Maybe the angle was wrong, but those looked like large birds. Much larger than the Canada geese that made South Lake Tahoe their home, or the seagulls that sometimes blew in with storms.
Then my father turned the car down a side street, and a stand of Douglas Fir blocked my view. I sank back in my seat, bored again.
Lilly had made first violin this year, even though she was one of the youngest in the program. Excelling came as naturally to her as breathing. She chatted happily with our father. “Jessica was so nervous about tonight, she threw up.”
“Lilly, gossip does not become a lady.” My father’s voice had a touch of laughter in it, though. Encouraging Lilly’s meanness again. Joy.
“But it’s true. Everyone said so.” Lilly straightened in her seat. “I’m not nervous at all.”
Covertly, I grabbed my phone from my backpack, popped in the ear buds, and clicked on my favorite playlist to drown out their conversation.
Of course, once we arrived at the auditorium, my father discovered my phone, and, with a curt gesture, made me hand it over. He stuffed it in his own suit jacket pocket. I probably wouldn’t get it back for a few days.
Lilly led
the way, every step bouncy with excitement. I morosely followed them in.
Bad enough we had to sit through the recital, but we had to arrive early for Lilly's prep. The doors had just opened, and we were one of the first to arrive. A smiling young woman wearing an ushers vest led us to our assigned seats in the nearly empty auditorium. Front and center. Our family’s large donations guaranteed the best spot.
With the last goodbye to our father, Lilly took off to get ready backstage, violin case in hand.
"Wipe that scowl off your face," my father told me as we took our seats. "You could at least pretend to be happy for her."
My jaw clenched. I didn't answer, just stared straight ahead at the empty stage. My father never attended any of my plays in drama club last year because I hadn't gotten lead roles. So I was forced to beg rides from my friend’s parents to get to curtain call in time. Mom would've watched, I was sure.
I hate you, I thought in the safety of my own head. I wish you were the one who died, not her.
More people trickled in over the next few minutes. I didn't pay much attention until a murmur of excitement drifted from the entrance hall. Twisting around, I peered over my shoulder, but whatever caused it was out of view.
The smell of burnt hair tickled my nose. I turned back to see my father rubbing at his left arm, agitated.
Then, an older woman in a floral dress shot to her feet, clutching at her own throat.
Was she choking? I stood. “Ma’am? Are you okay?”
She shook her head, and from here I could hear her breaths coming wet and gurgled. The skin around her neck swelled horrifically. An allergic reaction? Would someone have an EpiPen nearby?
The woman's husband reached to her, but there was something wrong with him, too. The skin on his face was waxen and hard, his nose and mouth looked like they were melting together.
“They’ll have a first aid kit backstage—” I started, but was cut off by my father’s yell.
Under Wicked Sky: Book 1 Page 1
