by David Estes
He catches the grenade in his mouth, as if he’s just showing off, playing a fun game of Frisbee.
Except in this case he gulps at the air and swallows the Frisbee. Only the Frisbee is a grenade. I finally skid to a stop, my eyes widening, my hand instinctively going to my mouth in horror.
No, Hex. No.
Hex lands beside me, his tail wagging, grinning devilishly.
No. Bad, dog. Bad.
“Oh Hex,” I say, feeling ill, not caring that I’m far too close to him for my own safety.
He barks once and then it happens. His body bulges outward rapidly, like a limp balloon instantly going from deflated to filled with air. At the same time, his feet pop off the ground, shooting him up a few feet. He looks like a mini, dog-shaped blimp.
He coughs and smoke pours from his ears and nose, and then a spout of flames erupt from his mouth, narrowly missing me. He burps and the air rushes from him, returning his body to normal size and his feet to the ground.
I crouch down and he runs up, licking me with a tongue that’s black with ash. “Good dog,” I say, scratching him under the chin, not caring that he’s smearing blackened saliva all over my face. “Best dog.”
“Rhett,” Bil says, putting a hand on my shoulder. “We can all hug and cry later. Now we’d better get outta here before Graves finds something else to blow up.”
Graves glares at us as we take off, Bil’s crossbow trained on him the whole time, so he doesn’t try anything stupid.
And I can’t wipe the smile off my face, even as I realize that I’ve never felt so whole or had so much energy in my entire life.
As my fists pump on either side, I barely notice a white pulsing sheen on my skin.
Chapter Nineteen
Laney
I think about what Xave told me for a long time as I try to fall asleep. The sounds of his gentle exhalations, just a few feet away, surround me, so even, so heavy, so human. Until now, I’ve never really considered what it would be like to be magic-born. I’ve been so angry—at my parents for wanting to kill me, at Trish for not talking, at the Reaper and Xavier for hurting Rhett, at Rhett for wanting revenge—that I’ve never really tried to put myself in anyone else’s shoes.
What would it be like to have the ability to do something but not be able to use your talents? Is that what it’s like for Xavier? He sees a corpse and can’t help but want to reanimate it? Like when I used to see a guitar and want nothing more than to strum it, to hear the gentle vibrations of the strings.
I shake my head. What am I talking about? These people…these witches and warlocks…destroyed everything. They tore down the world and NOW they want to build it back up? Screw them. They can’t have it both ways.
I realize my teeth are aching from gritting them so hard. My jaw, too. I try to relax and think. What can I do?
The question swirls a million times, a mind-tornado, as I finally drift off to sleep.
~~~
Trish reaches for me, her hand pulsing with ethereal white light. She looks older, more than just a child, gloriously beautiful, like how I would expect an angel to look.
Her expression is older, too, wiser. The slightest of smiles paints her pink lips, which look softer than clouds.
“See,” she says, and although her message is as cryptic as ever, for once I understand. I see. A vision flashes before my eyes. Fire and stone and smoke and screams. Mostly, screams.
The dying.
Witches killing. Warlocks killing. Humans dying.
But no, I’m wrong. As the smoke clears, I see the truth Trish is trying to convey. Yes, humans are dying, but not just them. The magic-born, too. Witches are broken and bleeding next to humans who are crumpled and twisted. Their screams flow together, joining, a symphony of pain.
A white, pulsing hand passes across my vision and the horrific scene vanishes.
“See?” Trish says again, and this time it’s a question.
My lips feel cracked, my throat tight, but I manage to croak out a single word. “Yes,” I say.
My sister smiles, and the white around her, within her, brightens, pulsing and pulsing and reaching a crescendo of light, blinding me.
The dream fades to the oblivion of deep sleep.
~~~
I awake when the light gets so bright that it penetrates my closed eyelids, as if the dream has chased me into real life.
I squint, trying to keep it out, wondering why I feel like I’ve only slept an hour, more exhausted than I’ve felt in a long time.
When I open my eyes I know immediately that something’s not right, because there’s darkness all around me, on the edges of my vision, and yet it’s like I’m looking into the sun in the middle, the light so blinding I have to shield my eyes with my hands. And when I part my lips to shout to those still sleeping around me, ignorant to my plight, the light pours into my mouth, stifling my voice.
Another dream, I realize, pinching myself, surprised I’m still able to see my thumb and forefinger squeezing the skin of my arm in the dark. I barely feel the pinch, like it’s nothing more than a soft touch, even though I’m squeezing as hard as I can. The effects of the dream?
Where is the light coming from?
A sliver of white light shoots down my arm to my fingers and then back again, like a laser beam.
The voice, just a whisper but so unexpected that it makes me flinch, shatters the silence. Find him.
I twist my head around, trying to see who spoke, who’s awake. From the glow emanating from MY FREAKING SKIN, I can see that the rest of the Necros are sleeping deeply, despite the fact that it’s dark and they should be getting up, preparing for another long trek south. Weird. It takes me a moment to realize both that the whisper was in my head, and that I know whose voice it was.
Trish’s.
The whisper comes again, and this time I don’t startle, although I’m just as freaked out by it. Find him, it repeats. Let the light guide you.
Even as I grab my pack and clamber to my feet, I marvel at the fact that none of my rushed movements seem to make the slightest sound. On impossibly silent footsteps, I steal from the Necro camp, wondering whether the compulsion I’m feeling now is similar to what Xavier and the other Necros feel when they see a dead body:
Like I can’t not listen to it.
Chapter Twenty
Rhett
I used to think the heart of the world was in its inhabitants. In people, in their traditions, in their good deeds and strong wills. Now I know that’s not true, for the heart of the world has been lost to humankind for a long time, closed off and encased in stone. A hard and stubborn thing that’s unwilling to share what it feels, what it hears, and what it sees with those who live on its flanks. The End is proof of that.
Why Graves would immediately try to kill us, no questions asked, after we saved his skin, I’ll never understand. My only explanation is that he either has an empty cavity in his chest where his heart used to be, or the heart that is there has been turned to stone. It’s the last time I’ll help him and his group.
We’ve been running for an hour, getting as far away from The End as we can before nightfall. Bil and I are side by side, while Hex trails along behind us. Hex started as the leader, but kept farting clouds of smoke in our faces, so we politely asked him to stay back a ways. I’m hoping the smoke-farts won’t become a chronic condition of him eating the grenade.
When we reach an intersection in the highway, I start to turn left, while Bil continues straight ahead. We crash into each other, tangling in an awkward embrace where we both sort of hold each other up. “Learn how to run straight, Rhett,” Bil says in between breaths. We’re both good runners these days, but we’re also both breathing heavily at this point.
“I was turning,” I say.
“New Washington is that way,” Bil says. “I’m the one who’s been there, remember?”
Although logically I know that getting to New America is the right move, it wasn’t my brain that commanded my le
gs to turn left. It was something else.
“I want to go this way,” I say, gesturing left. Do I really? Why did I even say that?
“Why?” Bil asks. Now he’s looking at me like I’m the one who’s crazy.
“Why not?” I say. I sound like a freaking idiot, but I don’t know what else to say.
“Are you feeling alright?”
“Yeah, why?”
“Because I saw something,” Bil says, looking away, as if refusing to meet my eyes.
A knot forms in my stomach. “Really? What?”
Bil pokes a stone with his foot. Hex stands ten feet away, waiting for us to decide on the direction. Lazy curls of smoke waft around him. His battle against grenade indigestion continues. “Just after I shot that witch…”
“Twice,” I say, trying to get a laugh.
His lip quirks, but that’s all. “Yeah,” he says. “Well, I saw this strange light.”
And that’s all he says. He finally looks at me, his eyebrows raised, as if expecting me to fill in the blanks.
Well, I won’t. Not when he flat-out lied to me about not seeing the light before. “You said you didn’t see anything,” I say.
He throws up his hands. “Sorry, I—I thought it was my screwed up mind playing tricks on me again. Sometimes it’s easier for me to just pretend that I’m a normal guy.”
What am I supposed to tell him? You know that light you saw, Bil? It’s inside me now. I don’t know what it is or where it came from, but I can feel it pulsing in my chest, right alongside the beating of my heart. And you know what? It’s the light that made me turn left, not my brain. The light is controlling me. Weird, huh? We’re still friends, right?
I don’t say any of that. I say nothing, just meet his eyes, unblinking.
After a few minutes of our silent staring competition, he says, “We’ll go left,” and then veers away, settling into a brisk walk, his strides long and measured, his crossbow bouncing against his back.
And for the first time in a long time, I feel one thing for Bil Nez:
Gratitude.
~~~
As we get further away from the main road and late afternoon stretches to dusk, I get more and more nervous. This is all on me. Well, me and the strange light I know is inside me, guiding me. When we make yet another turn, this time onto what’s little more than an overgrown dirt track, I have the urge to drop to my knees and scream at the sky.
But I don’t. More accurately, I can’t. My legs won’t let me, which is really starting to scare me. I’m not in control of anything right now, and that’s really freaky. The light could’ve been sent from a witch, who’s looking to bag a couple of witch hunters and a magic dog to experiment on. That doesn’t make sense though. I’m a Resistor, surely if this was a witch’s spell I could fight it off. Unless my body doesn’t want to fight it off. For the hundredth time, I lock my jaw and try to push all of my thoughts against the light, trying to take control of it, or at least understand its motives. Also for the hundredth time, all I get for my efforts is a throbbing headache, which disappears within seconds.
So I just shrug at Bil and Hex, who seem willing to let me do the leading, and push through the branches stretching across the path.
When the path ends in a small clearing, my legs decide to stop. There’s nothing around us except trees.
“Uh…” Bil says.
Hex barks.
I feel a mutiny approaching.
I sit down. Well, more accurately, the light sits me down.
“I guess I could use a break, too,” Bil says, flopping down next to me. “Especially since we’ve obviously arrived at our destination.” The sarcasm is heavy in his tone.
Hex rolls onto his back, his legs in the air, pining for a belly rub. Bil fulfills his request, scratching behind each leg, which seems to be an obvious attempt to form an alliance against me. I don’t bother to warn him that Hex’s grenade-gas might not be finished yet. Scratch at your own risk, buddy, I think.
“I don’t know why we’re here,” I blurt out.
Bil stops scratching, which makes Hex whine. You can scratch and talk at the same time, he seems to say.
“I’m sorry. I don’t,” I say. “The light you saw came inside me and now it’s…guiding me. I don’t know how else to explain it, only that my feet know where to go without me thinking about it.”
“You’re right,” Bil says. “We’d never have found this awesome clearing in the middle of nowhere without you.” He says it with a smile, like he’s joking, but I can sense a simmering frustration behind his jovial demeanor.
I sigh. Why can’t I fight this light and how’d it get inside me in the first place?
“Have you ever heard of a curse sent on a sliver of light?” I ask. “Like a curse of eternally being lost in the woods of West Virginia?”
He shakes his head. “First off, I think we’re in Maryland now. And second, technically, if it was a curse, you should be able to fight it off. You’re a Resistor.”
I nod vehemently. “Exactly what I was thinking. So it must be something else.”
“I guess.” He doesn’t sound very confident, nor does he offer any suggestions as to what it might be.
As Hex whines again, I take over as lead scratcher, more as an apology and a thank you than anything else. “I guess we should just camp here tonight,” I say.
Bil plucks a tiny white flower from the dirt, holds it up to his eye. “Is that you saying that or the white light?” He spins the flower rapidly by the stem.
I think hard about standing up. I even try to stand up, using my arms to help lift my legs. No go—they won’t budge. “The light,” I admit.
“Fine,” Bil says. “But I can’t follow you and your new friend forever. President Washington will think I’ve gone rogue, especially after whatever lies Graves tells her. I need to check in soon or the next witch hunter she sends out might be on a mission to kill the both of us.”
I take a deep breath, suddenly feeling alone. “I understand,” I say. “Tomorrow at first light we’ll part ways.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Laney
My feet should be tired and full of blisters by this point. My legs should be aching and screaming for a break.
But they’re not. They feel as energized as they did when I rose from the Necro camp, after seeing the light. Weird, I think.
Weirder still, is the fact that they seem to know exactly where they want to go, both my feet and my legs, and I seem to have little control over it. Scratch that. No control over it.
It’s a little bit freaky—okay, a lot freaky—and yet I don’t feel scared by it. Not after hearing Trish’s voice in my head. Her voice and the light have to be connected. And even if she’s being brainwashed by the Claires or the Changelings, I’d rather find her and talk to her than wander around with the Necros hoping we run into them so there can be a big ol’ witch throw down—my broomstick’s bigger than yours, and all that.
And I’m hoping the strange light and its control of my legs will help me find her, and not trot me right off a cliff.
Daylight arrives and I wonder what Xave is thinking now that he knows I left them. Does he care? Will they try to look for me or continue with their plan to hunt down the Changelings? I push those questions aside because I have no control over the events potentially set in motion by my departure. I can only prepare myself for whatever is coming, whether that’s a showdown with Trish and the Claires or an untimely death.
More hours pass but I’m not thirsty or hungry. It’s like the light inside me is feeding me. A few times I try to stop or change my path, but nothing I do seems to work, even when I’m able to grab a passing branch and hang on. My feet keep moving, stretching my arm awkwardly behind me. A few steps later, something’s got to give, either my arm or the branch, and the branch seems sturdy enough to hang on, so I’m forced to let go to avoid dislocating my shoulder.
An hour later, when the sun is high in the sky and scattering brief p
atches of sunlight through the woodsy canopy, I try again. This time I refuse to let go of the branch, even when I feel my arm stretching, my muscles burning, my shoulder being wrenched from its—
There’s a pop and a sharp craaaacking sound and then an excruciating flash of pain in my shoulder. I stumble, my feet dancing beneath me to try to keep their balance, but the jerky motion of the branch snapping from the tree trunk trips me up. I go down hard, still clutching the branch, my shoulder screaming, my arm dangling awkwardly at my side. It’s clearly dislocated.
What have I done?
I’m alone in the woods, lost, and very very obviously human—none of which you want to be during the witch apocalypse.
I blink and the most impossible thing happens. The pain withdraws and my injured arm reaches for the treetops, seemingly without being told. There’s another pop! and when my arm drops it’s no longer dangling, but hanging normally, firm and strong. The branch drops from my fingers as I let out an enormous, gasping breath.
My entire arm is glowing.
The light fades an instant later and my body works together to pull me to my feet. I start walking again, as if the entire incident never happened. My heart is beating so fast I think it might explode, but if it does I get the feeling the white light will find a way to make it whole again.
One thing is clear: No matter what, I’m getting to wherever the light wants me to go.
~~~
One cool thing about not having to tell your feet what to do or where to go is that you can sleep while walking. Well, not sleep exactly, as I’m not tired in the least; rather, I’m able to close my eyes and think. At first I keep opening them every few seconds to make sure I’m not headed for a tree, but eventually I get so comfortable trusting the light inside me that I keep my eyes closed for whole minutes, and then hours, the sound of my own feet crunching through the forest fading into the background.
