Farris saw no way out. There were two tornadoes in the vicinity and the pack of dogs spread out through the field. She couldn't go back, couldn't go forward.
Lights speared the night, flipping-twisting-flashing. In the back of her mind, Farris understood what it was. What must be causing it.
She couldn't move. Couldn't breathe.
The truck, a newer Ford in silver and blue, fell out of the sky and tore a swath through the corn field as it rolled like a toy. It missed her and Larissa by less than fifty feet.
However, it didn't miss the dogs. They scattered when they realized the truck was coming down. Not all of them made it out of the way.
“C'mon!” Farris pulled Larissa into the field at an angle, trying to bypass the truck and any remaining dogs. Wind whipped the stalks with such ferocity that some snapped and became projectiles. Farris batted leaves out of their way, holding onto Larissa's hand to guide her through the field. She wasn't sure where she was going other than away from the chaos.
Growls surfaced behind them. Larissa screamed.
“Don't look back! Run, run!” Farris shouted. She refused to look back, wouldn't expend even an ounce of energy to see how many dogs were on their tail or how close they were.
Larissa's hand slipped from hers. Farris stopped and glanced back, fumbling for Larissa. She saw one of the dogs with her pantleg, the ripped one, in its mouth. Larissa, on her hands and knees, sobbed once and met Farris' eyes.
It was one of those moments Farris would never forget. A frozen second in time when she read Larissa's sacrifice in her gaze, knew without being told what she meant to do. It horrified Farris into immobility. For several beats of her heart, there was just the vicious wind, snapping corn stalks, six snarling dogs on the trail they'd made through the field and Larissa urging Farris to run without ever saying a word.
“No! Come on, Larissa. Don't give in! I won't leave you--” Two more dogs advanced, teeth bared threateningly, ears pinned back.
Farris met Larissa's eyes again.
“Go, Farris. Hurry while you still have a chance.”
“It doesn't have to be like this. We can--” Farris yelped when one of the dogs leaped over Larissa and landed five feet away. It stood between her and Larissa. Farris felt the hair stand up on the back of her neck as a fresh wave of adrenaline swept through her. She just needed a weapon. Something to drive the dogs back.
There was nothing but corn.
Larissa lunged and grabbed the dog's back leg. “Go, go, go, Farris!”
With a sob caught in her throat, Farris turned and fled. With the flat of her palms, she batted leaves and stalks out of her way. In her wake she heard the unmistakable sounds of attack. Utilizing the gift of time Larissa sacrificed for her, Farris picked up speed. Finding a lane between rows of corn, she ran as fast as she could toward the tree line in the distance.
The tornado didn't seem to be coming her way. She couldn't hear the roar past the rush of blood in her own ears, didn't feel bits of flying debris. Ahead, she saw the edge of the field. Three rows to go before breaking free of the corn. Between the end of the field and the trees was a forty foot swath of flat ground, easy to traverse on her way to cover.
Halfway to the trees, something picked her up off the ground and propelled her forward at a high rate of speed. She spun through the air, screaming, grabbing at nothing while the world flipped end over end, ferrying her on a ferocious current straight into a tree trunk.
She must not have been far enough out of the wind path of the tornado.
It was her last thought before everything went dark.
. . .
Rowley's reappearance told Emerson many things. It told him that Devon was desperate and that she'd either made alluring promises or threatened him to the point Rowley didn't feel he had a choice but to continue.
Emerson couldn't conjure Chaos of his own, not now, not while Rowley had the atmosphere so active. Two Weavers going against one another often ended up in a lot more damage than what they had here.
Breaking into a run, Emerson charged Rowley. He tried to come in from an angle, out of Rowley's peripheral vision.
The Weaver saw him at the last second, or sensed him, and turned into the attack with a fist flying. Emerson caught it under his jaw when he bulldozed Rowley to the ground. He applied as much pressure as he could, forcing a whoosh of air from Rowley's lungs.
Not knowing whether Farris was alive ate at him, made him more volatile than usual. Rowley and Devon were directly to blame. He threw a flurry of punches and took a few in return.
“What did she promise you, Rowley? Huh? Was it worth it?” Emerson shouted. He didn't expect an answer, and got none.
Rowley snagged a handful of mud and threw it into Emerson's eyes. Emerson faltered for a second, just one. It was enough for Rowley to flip them. They rolled into tall grass along the side of the road, grappling, until Emerson wound up with a knee in Rowley's back and one arm twisted behind.
“This time, you better stay gone. Say hello to Driscoll for me.” Emerson opened another Rift and shoved the sputtering, protesting Rowley into it.
“Don't send me there! Emerson!”
Instead of some far off location, the Steel Room split open below Rowley.
It would not be so easy for Rowley to leave if Driscoll was there to stop him. Closing the ripple after shoving Rowley through, Emerson got to his feet. He smeared grime out of his eyes and off his face while jogging across toward the farmhouse.
Without Rowley guiding their path and enforcing their strength, the tornadoes came apart at the seams. The viciously spinning cyclones ended after all the debris fell out of the air straight to the ground. In the aftermath of the roar and the violence, the night became eerily still.
“Farris! Farris!” He saw bodies on the ground as he shouted. Stopping at each, he found they were the boys with bats. Some of them. Others crept out of hiding places.
“Emerson! You all right?” Theron called as he jogged around the end of the farmhouse. He had several new bruises on his cheek and a cut in his lip.
“Yeah, I'm fine. Where are the girls? Where is Farris?” Emerson ignored the groans and complaints and fears of the others. Renee and Cait, whimpering and crying, crawled out from under a vehicle.
“I don't know. I went looking for them and haven't found either one. Maybe the house.”
“Farris isn't in the house. I saw her running that way last.” He pointed toward the other direction that Theron had come from.
“I saw her go that way, too! I didn't think I could make it and went in the ditch.” Beelah crawled up out of the shallow impression next to the road and ran over.
“You all get out of here. Get out,” Emerson shouted at the group of kids. He turned to face Beelah with Theron, checking her over for injuries. Other than being dirty with a few scratches, she looked no worse for wear. “Show me where you saw her, Beelah. Let's go.”
Beelah, proving herself more tenacious than Emerson would have first thought, led he and Theron around the end of the farmhouse toward the corn field. “This is where I broke off and went to hide in the ditch. Farris and Larissa had a lead on me and the tornado was coming.”
“Wait, Larissa was with her?” Emerson asked.
“Yes. Running behind, screaming.”
Jogging over debris, Emerson scanned the corn field, looking for breaks in the stalks.
“Farris!” he shouted. There was no answer. Just stillness. He spotted a break in the stalks to his right, almost lost in shadow. “Look, maybe they went this way.”
“You want to split up? I can search another direction,” Theron asked.
“Not sure splitting up is a good idea. The dogs might come back.” Emerson glanced behind them when he heard footsteps. Eight boys and two girls approached, expressions wary. Confused.
“What do you want?” Beelah asked with a frown.
“Larissa's missing. She's not with us,” one boy said. He had blood trickling from the corner o
f his mouth.
Emerson looked from face to face. Splitting off into groups would cover more ground. Then again, the wild dogs could be out there somewhere and that might put their lives in danger.
“You heard about the wild dogs that attacked us out here last night, right? They could still be around. You want to take the risk and split up in smaller groups?” Emerson figured he couldn't stop them if they decided to search for Larissa anyway. Better to let them make their own choices.
The girls, huddling near the boys, seemed hesitant.
“We'll split up. Everyone grab a stick or something to defend yourself,” a redhead boy said, gesturing to the large debris field littering the ground.
Emerson didn't wait longer than that. He snagged Beelah by her elbow, gentle in case she had injuries, and headed into the break in the stalks that had caught his attention before. Theron brought up the rear.
“Farris! Can you hear me? Farris!” Emerson released Beelah and cupped his hands around his mouth to project the sound further. “Larissa!”
The night, once filled with the roar of tornadoes, was now filled with desperate calls for the girls.
Chapter Twenty-Six
“Why isn't she answering,” Emerson muttered, growing impatient with searching. The clear path into the corn field ended abruptly. They must have taken more care not to knock over stalks on their way through the rows, which frustrated him more than he wanted to admit.
In the last ten minutes, fear had started to eat at his stomach. No one had found Larissa, either, judging by the shouts echoing through the evening.
Beelah, walking in the row next to him, called out again. Theron was somewhere ahead to the right within shouting distance.
Several yards back at an angle to his position, screams of a different kind split the air. One of the girls, Renee or Cait, had found something. They were the screams of anguish and terror, the kind that sent chills racing along Emerson's spine.
He spun around and crashed through the stalks, heart hammering in his chest. In his haste he forgot to check on Beelah or Theron. The latter could take care of himself—it was the former that needed watching.
The rest of the group blustered through the field as well and they converged almost at the same time around a body Cait had come upon. The mangled clothes and spatters of blood, coupled with the mussed strands of silvery-blonde hair could only be Larissa.
Emerson, as horrified as he was to see her in that state, was nevertheless glad it wasn't Farris. It looked to him as if animals had brought Larissa down. The dogs. It had to be the wild pack.
A chorus of pleas, prayers and sobs from Renee joined Cait's screams, the noises smothered by the boys who hugged the girls to them as they stared down at what remained of Larissa.
“What could have done that? Not the tornado? It looks like bite marks on her leg,” one boy asked.
Emerson, grim faced, caught Beelah around the waist when she whimpered seeing Larissa. “The dogs. They must be here somewhere. We need to find Farris.”
“Do you think the same thing happened to Farris?” Beelah gasped, voice rising an octave higher.
“I don't know, Bee. I don't know. Let's go.” Emerson propelled Beelah around, away from the grisly scene. Theron, frowning, went with them.
“Farris! Farris, where are you?” Beelah called out. She broke into a run, using her arms to lash out at the leaves on the stalks.
Emerson jogged at her flank, searching the ground with increasing dread. This couldn't be the way it ended. This wasn't how Farris died.
“Over here! Emerson!” Theron's urgent call came from somewhere ahead to the right.
Emerson crashed through the remaining rows and burst out of the field. The sight that greeted him sank his heart to his stomach. Crumpled against the base of a tree lay Farris. Even in the gloom he noticed the paler color of her skin, the lifeless splay of her limbs.
“Farris! Oh my gosh, Farris!” Beelah, who stumbled out of the corn field right after Emerson, rushed forward.
Emerson caught Beelah around the shoulders and pulled her against his chest while Theron crouched down and laid two fingers on her pulse.
Or where her pulse should have been.
Beelah went still, breathing as hard as if she'd run a marathon.
Theron glanced up and met their eyes. Then he shook his head.
“No! No! Let me go! Farris!” Beelah fought Emerson's hold, struggling to get free. Tears coursed down her cheeks.
“What time is it, Theron? What time is it?” Emerson asked. He sent up a silent prayer that it was past midnight. In all the chaos, he'd lost track.
Theron glanced down at his wrist. “It's about ten to one.”
“Emerson, let me go! Why won't you let me go! We can save her!” Beelah sobbed in his arms, twisting her body this way and that to get free.
Emerson sank to his knees with Bee and held her tight. He stared at Farris, waiting for whatever divine intervention would come any second now to restore her to life. He thought this was when Merwen might show up. Merwen would appear and make everything right. Farris needed her to explain, to guide her in a new direction.
“Emerson! Let me go! What are you doing?” Beelah, sinking to a crouch with him, shouted between sobs.
“Shhh. It'll be all right. Just...wait a minute,” Emerson said. “You'll see. She'll be fine.”
“She's not breathing! Let me go, we can help her! Why are you just sitting here? Theron, do CPR!” Beelah battered Emerson's arms with ineffectual fists.
Theron glanced at Emerson. He shook his head and tried to soothe Bee. “Trust me, she'll be all right. Shhh.”
The clouds cleared; out came the moon, shining a pool of gauzy illumination over the scene. It touched Farris' face, highlighting the contours. Her skin looked even milkier, another shade of pale.
Beelah squirmed and writhed in his grasp, sobbing her frustration. Emerson refused to relinquish his hold, wouldn't allow her to touch Farris until either Merwen arrived or Farris sucked in the first breath of her new life. It was critical, Emerson thought, to allow Farris this transition time.
“Man, are you sure we shouldn't try--”
“No. Just wait,” Emerson said, cutting Theron off.
“You're killing her! We have to breathe for her, Emerson. Look—look, her lips are starting to turn blue! Emerson!” Beelah struggled to get free, voice breaking over his name.
Tension made Emerson's shoulders as tight as steel. He wouldn't take his eyes off Farris, couldn't shake the fear that even though it was her birthday, and that she was slated to die this day, that something had gone terribly wrong. Tightening his arms around Beelah, he rested his mouth near the girl's temple and whispered.
“She's coming back. You have to trust me.”
Theron reached out to lay two fingers against Farris' throat again, testing for a pulse. Finding nothing, he brought his hand up and rubbed it over his mouth, then glanced at Emerson.
“She's dead, Emerson. How long are we leaving her that way?”
Beelah gasped and cried, ducking her head down with a final kick of her leg in anger.
“It's not up to us. It's up to her.” Wasn't it? Wasn't this Farris' time to take control of her Destiny? He glanced out at the corn field, looking for Merwen. Where in the world was she?
A frightening thought struck: what if Merwen was supposed to bring Farris back? What if, just...what if...it wasn't Farris that brought herself back from the brink but another? He wished he would have asked Driscoll more questions. He wished he would have demanded someone fetch Merwen to come, to make sure this all worked out the way it was supposed to.
“What are you talking about, Emerson? What do you mean? You're talking crazy--” Beelah paused when Farris twitched.
Emerson unwrapped his arms from Beelah and scrambled across the ground to Farris' side. Beelah, right behind him, crawled around Theron to kneel near Farris' head.
“Farris, can you hear me? Farris, it's Emerson. Beela
h's here, Theron's here. Farris, wake up.” He hovered over her, afraid to lay a hand on her just yet. This close, he could see the faint blue color of her lips. A blue streak painted the skin under both Farris' eyes.
With a sharp gasp, Farris opened her mouth and sucked in a deep breath. Her lids remained closed over her eyes, face slack.
Beelah reached out for one of Farris' hands. Emerson took the other.
“Farris! Ohmygosh, Farris, you weren't breathing. Are you all right? How do you feel? Can you hear me?” Beelah spoke in a rush, her glasses slipping down her nose from the incessant stream of tears.
“How are you, Farris? Feeling all right? We were getting worried.” Emerson hated how cold Farris' hand felt. He tried to rub heat and feeling into her skin.
Farris didn't respond. Her chest rose and fell with shallow breaths.
Theron laid two fingers against the pulse in her throat. “She's got a heartbeat,” he announced. “Man, Farris, you died and came back to life. How about that, huh? Wake up and tell us all about it.”
Emerson shot him a withering look.
Theron, unrepentant, shrugged his shoulders as if to say, It's true, isn't it?
“Can you hear us, Farris? You had a little accident. Don't be scared. All those things I said I couldn't tell you before? Wake up and I'll explain,” Emerson coaxed.
Farris breathed in, breathed out. Slow, measured. She didn't open her eyes.
Emerson gathered her gently in his arms, like a bridegroom. She felt as fragile as a newborn fawn. “Let's see if the farmhouse is in good enough shape to take her inside. We need to get her out of the elements, away from the threat of the dogs.”
“What happened, Emerson?” Beelah asked, scrambling to her feet. “Why won't she wake up? Should we take her to the hospital?”
“No, no hospital. She'll be all right, Beelah. Farris just needs time. She needs to come to terms with it all,” Emerson said, starting away for the farmhouse. He knew they had all just witnessed history.
Right before their eyes, a new Fate of Destiny had been born.
The Fate of Destiny (Fates #1) Page 22
