In the Middle

by S. J. Henderson

  A flood of anger surges through me, and its intensity vibrates wildly across my skin like a bolt of lightning. Feeling sorry for myself won’t do a single thing except kill me faster. I’m no damsel in distress, and this is the furthest thing from a fairy tale. Death will track me to this forest, one way or another. A man can’t stop the inevitable; I feel it as sure as the pulse pounding in my veins. Wiping the blood from my mouth, I force myself further into the green.

  Goosebumps spring up on the back of my neck and ripple down my arms. What in the—? The frantic rhythm of my heart slamming through my body crushes the breath from my lungs.

  My Papa suffered his first heart attack right in front of me as I blew out the candles on my birthday cake on my tenth birthday. I’ll never forget—his eyes bugged out of his head like a fish out of water, gulping for air and finding none. The pressure building up in my chest makes me think of Papa. Will someone come across my body curled at the base of these trees, my eyes wide with fear like my grandfather? My body shudders at the thought.

  No, my body just shudders. Everything around me shudders, too. Far below the blanket of scorched pine needles, the earth rolls as if a herd of stampeding buffalo will plow through the brush and trample me at any moment. There’s something so familiar about all of this, but my mind can’t connect the pieces.

  The rumbling grows louder, like a freight train set on a collision course with my grove of trees. My brain can’t focus on anything, but I know I need to move, and I need to move now. But in what direction? I turn my head from right to left and back again, but all I can see are the pine trees enveloping me.

  An oppressive breeze shivers through the boughs, sending a branch skittering across the back of my neck. The way the heat prickles the skin of my back and then shrinks away almost convinces me that the Devil himself has trapped me in this place.

  Hot. Nothing. Hot. Nothing.

  The stench of death and decay assaults my nostrils, replacing the organic aroma of sap and soot. It smells like I’d stumbled across particularly hideous roadkill left to fester and bloat in the summer sun. I’m afraid to move and set off a chain reaction of horror movie proportions, but I risk looking at my feet. What if I hadn’t stepped in woodland gore, but something else?

  Hot. Nothing. Hot. Nothing.

  I freeze in place, holding my breath as if my stillness will somehow protect me. Breathing or not, I know it doesn’t matter. I am being hunted.

  My hands tremble and I can’t stand it anymore. If I’m going to die, I’m going to do it staring my predator right in the face, not with my back turned. Eyes wide, I whirl around, a branch slicing deep into my thigh in the process. A wayward sprig of pine finds its way into my open mouth when I cry out, and I sputter to spit it out.

  Nothing’s there. It was just me being paranoid.

  My shoulders droop as I release a weak laugh. Back to my Plan A, getting the heck out of Mitte.

  When I turn around, I’m staring straight into the face of . . .

  What stands before me is indescribable—a mass of flames and smoke walking upright on legs like a man. It studies me like a viper trained in on a mouse about to become snake food. I’m not sure this creature has lips, but its tongue slides across where its lips should be, revealing several awful rows of charred teeth. A long streamer of saliva drips from its mouth, landing on my tank top.

  “What have we here?” it rasps, stroking my jawline with one of its fiery claws. My skin blisters beneath its touch, and I bite back tears. The creature nods its head to my right, to someone or something I can’t see. “This one is different. Methinks transportation is the only solution. What say you?”

  There are more of them? The thought makes bile swim in my mouth.

  Another voice. “Master’s orders are clear: any who dare to cross the boundary must be transported.”

  Transportation. Clearly they aren’t talking about heading downtown on the bus. My vision blurs, and I sway on my feet.

  “Aye!” the thing barks, clasping my wrist in its grip. Beneath its fierce touch, my skin sizzles and blackens. My legs buckle as the curtain lowers on my tragic life.

  Chapter 12

  I’m moving. Someone’s carrying me, but I don’t want to open my eyes to find out who it is. The unspeakable, impossible thing I’d just seen—the abomination that had sized me up for its next meal—could be dragging me back to its pit for proper seasoning. The less I see, the less I think about it at all, the better. I shut my mind down, forcing myself to think of nothing.

  Before I completely tuck myself away into stand-by mode, something rubs my cheek. Fabric, coarse against the raw skin on my jaw. I flinch at the contact, but it does not burn. Relief washes over me and I allow the tiniest of exhales, hoping my captor won’t notice.

  The reek of decay has disappeared. In its place is the perfume of the forest and something else I can’t put my finger on, something sweet. None of this makes sense. The monster all up in my face not too long ago definitely lacked a great deal in the hygiene department. Plus, it hadn’t been wearing a stitch of clothing.

  I let my eyelids part enough to make out my captor’s broad chest, covered in a rumpled linen shirt and suspenders.

  No way. No. Freaking. Way.

  “Thank heavens you’re awake, Lucy.” Oliver sighs. Beads of perspiration line his forehead even though he isn’t struggling much under my weight. “I really thought I’d lost you back there.”

  When I try to speak, my throat won’t cooperate. It feels like I’ve gargled a cup full of razors. Finally, I croak, “How . . . ?”

  He shakes his head, his chocolate eyes fixed ahead of us. “Now’s not the time. I can’t take the risk they’ll change their mind.”

  I’m not sure what he means, but I don’t press him with my questions. He saved me again, even though he had every right to leave me to die. There, in his arms, I promise myself I won’t fight against him anymore, and I won’t risk either of our lives again. At least, not today.

  Ignoring the sting from my ruined skin, I rest my head against his chest instead. “Thank you,” I breathe into his shoulder.

  “You would have done the same for me.”

  I don’t share Oliver’s confidence in me. That fire person was, no doubt about it, the most horrific thing I’d ever encountered. Face-to-ghoulish face again, I wouldn’t hesitate to throw just about anyone else into its claws if it meant saving myself. If that makes me a bad person, then I’m guilty as charged.

  Eventually we come to a log cabin hidden under the wings of a strand of evergreens. Jasper grazes near the edge of the cabin’s porch, where the grass has grown tall enough to brush the floorboards. He raises his head in greeting as we approach, then goes back to nibbling. As happy as I am not to be some demon’s dinner, I am not thrilled to see that horse again. I scowl in his direction, and Jasper snorts in reply. The feeling is, clearly, mutual.

  “Now, I wouldn’t be too rough on ol’ Jasper.” Oliver grins. “Truth be told, he did what we should have done from the start. We had no business being anywhere near The Divide.”

  “The what?”

  Oliver eases me to my feet before replying. “The Divide.”

  “Should that mean something to me? You’re forgetting that no one has bothered to tell me a thing about this place. Still.” I take a step forward and stumble, catching my balance by grabbing his arm. Pain shoots through my wrist, and then I remember the creature’s caustic grasp on my arm.

  Oliver’s eyebrows furrow as he steadies me. “Are you okay? You should sit down.”

  “I’m fine,” I snap, then rub my face with my hands. “Sorry. I just really, really want to know more. About this Divide-thingy.”

  Oliver scans the flickering shadows around the cabin before answering. His voice is a low hum and I have to lean in to hear him. “The ‘Divide-thingy’ is what you were trying to walk through. We’re not allowed there. That’s why they came for you.”

  “What in the world was that thing, Oliv
er?”

  Instead of answering me, he places a finger to his lips and helps me up onto the porch. He motions to the cabin door. It’s heavy, solid wood, and opens with a groan. Sunlight streams into the open room through a small window, illuminating dust particles as they dance in the air. Once we’re both inside, he shuts the door behind us and wedges a board across it. I don’t really want to think about who—or what—he’s trying to keep out.

  “That ‘thing’ is a Conductor.”

  Conductor.

  I shiver. Duke used that word earlier when I teased him about driving a car. He hadn’t spoken of them with fear or reverence, the way Oliver does. Maybe Duke had been too young to know better. My heart squeezes when I think of Duke, but I push it aside. I can’t take any more pain. “We’re not allowed to talk about them?”

  “Take a load off.” Oliver nods at a rocking chair in the corner. The chair looks old, like it’s seen hundreds of better days, happier days. Knitting in the firelight, rocking babies while whispering bedtime stories. I hate to break its streak, but I’m still thankful to settle into the seat and close my eyes.

  Beneath the only window sits a table with a white ceramic pitcher and a cluster of dishes resting just out of the sunlight. He pours water into a cloudy glass and holds it out to me. “Here, you must be thirsty.” As I take the glass from him, our fingers brush. A tingle of electricity flows between us and travels straight up my arm.

  Oliver doesn’t move his hand as he studies my face, his lips parted. I almost let the glass fall to the wood floor.

  I blush and pull away. “Thanks.”

  “Back to The Conductors—” He finds a place to sit on the floor, stretching his legs in front of him. “It’s not that we can’t talk about them, I just wanted to be careful. You nearly got transported there.”

  “Yeah, about that . . .”

  He pauses, staring up at the vaulted peak of the ceiling. “When they take you, that’s it. You’re not coming back.” Oliver’s gaze meets mine. “I couldn’t let that happen.”

  The intensity of his eyes is too much and I break the connection. Silence falls around us as I consider all the things I learned today, each bit of knowledge more disturbing than the last. As much as I complained about not knowing Mitte’s crazy rules, knowing the truth is worse.

  “We’re dead.” My voice is cool, disconnected from the panic inside. But being dead makes more sense than the alternative.

  “No. I’m dead.” Oliver pokes his thumb at his chest. “You’re . . . I haven’t worked out what you are yet, to be honest.”

  I’m not dead. I should be comforted by this, but I’m not. “Is this Heaven? Because if this is Heaven, I want a refund.”

  His laugh is bittersweet. “I wish it were.”

  “Okay, so this is Hell?” Hell feels more like it, the image of The Conductor burned in my brain.

  “Not exactly.”

  “Not Heaven or Hell, and I’m not dead.” I bite my lip as I add this up in my mind. When I come up blank, I blurt out, “Are you a zombie?”

  It’s Oliver’s turn to look confused. “A what?”

  “A zombie. You know, the living dead.” Seriously, who doesn’t know what a zombie is? It must be a short list, but Oliver’s on it. I sigh. “Oh, never mind. But I gotta ask—do you think brains are a tasty treat?”

  He scrunches up his face. “What? Why on earth would you think that?” He shudders. “That’s disturbing. You’re pretty weird, you know that, Lucy?”

  “That’s not the first time someone’s called me weird.” I smile, slowly rocking back and forth in my chair and enjoying its creaky melody. “But you make it sound like a bad thing.”

  The corners of his mouth twitch upward and the faint light filtering through the window sparkles in his eyes. My stomach flip-flops.

  Waitwaitwait! This can’t be happening. Oliver just told me he’s living-challenged, expired, kaput. News like that should make me shriek and faint, not turn me on. Then again, the last guy to pay any attention to me turned out to be worse than dead. But, Oliver? Dead Oliver?

  “You’ll stay here tonight.”

  I shift to the edge of the rocking chair in alarm. “But I . . .”

  “Relax. It’s only until I talk to the others and make sure you’ll be safe again at Miss Perdita’s.” Rosy patches on his cheeks betray his businesslike tone.

  “Oh. Oh yeah, sure.”

  “You can take the bed, of course.” He motions to a crude wooden frame shoved into the back corner of the cabin. “I, uh, don’t sleep, so it’s all yours.”

  “You don’t sleep? That must suck.”

  Oliver shakes his head and avoids my eyes. He’s still hiding something, I’m sure, but I’m too tired for any more of his revelations. Pointing toward the bed, I ask, “Do you mind?”

  He blinks a few times and swallows hard before he speaks. “Not at all,” he finally manages, his cheeks flushing again.

  I grin as I push myself out of the chair. There’s something comforting in the fact that even supernatural Oliver finds this awkward.

  Even with the sun streaming through the window, shadows shroud the back of the cabin. I yawn, stretching myself across the bed, not even bothering to pull back the covers. The quilt beneath me is hand-sewn; I trace the uneven lines of thread beneath my fingers and close my eyes. Someone who loved Oliver pieced this blanket together, stitch by stitch by stitch by stitch by . . .

  My breathing slows as The Conductors, The Divide, Oliver the Friendly Ghost, and Duke slip away.

  Duke.

  “Duke’s dead,” I murmur. Beneath drooping lids, my eyes focus, barely, on Oliver.

  “Don’t worry about Duke. He’ll be right as rain next time you see him.” He flashes a tender smile, one I can’t help but return.

  “Anyone ever tell you that you have a smile that could light up a room?” Oliver says as my eyelids slip shut. “You should smile all the time.”

  Chapter 13

  A low groan wakes me up who-knows-how-many hours later. The night hangs like a heavy curtain, hiding all details of the room around me. My heart thuds toward my throat as I fight to remember where I am. Who I am. What I’m doing here.

  There’s the sound again. It’s coming from outside, this time long and drawn out like a dying breath. Even though I’m freaking out inside, I manage to roll my eyes at how fast I jump to conclusions anymore. Just because Oliver’s a—well, just because Oliver’s Oliver, and Mitte’s Mitte doesn’t mean anything. That groan could be anything—the wind howling through a crevice in the crumbling wall. Or maybe a woodland creature that lost a fight with a larger woodland creature.

  As I race through the possibilities, I listen for any movement in the darkness. Maybe Oliver isn’t so perfect after all and has the world’s most disturbing snoring problem. It doesn’t have to always be about ghosts and goblins, right?

  I mentally reach out for Oliver. There’s no way I would really reach for him in a room this dark. Monsters wait for people to stick their arms and legs into the abyss—that’s when they gobble them up. I know it’s a silly fear left over from ghost stories told at slumber parties and my few excruciating hours at summer camp. Silly or not, after my encounter with The Conductors I’m not taking any chances.

  I pull down the quilt, exposing my chin to whatever evil might be lurking in the shadows. “Hey.” My words echo too loudly and I wish I could snatch them back up.

  No one—or thing—answers.

  I suck in a deep breath and try again. “You here?” It’s wishful thinking, I know.

  Somewhere beyond these walls, a cry rings out—this one shrill and piercing like the grind of metal on metal. My heart dislodges from my throat and sinks towards my toes as another strangled groan rises from the forest beyond these walls.

  I don’t know how I know it, but I know it as sure as I know anything else—it’s Oliver, and he’s in trouble.

  How many times have I been warned about going outside at night? More than I
can count. But I can’t just leave him out there by himself, not when I can hear him suffering.

  I bite my lip. Stay safe inside, serenaded by Oliver’s screams, or wander outside to most likely be captured by The Conductors? Decisions, decisions.

  For Oliver, this wouldn’t be a difficult decision. He’d count it a privilege to jump into the middle of a battle for me. Guys are weird and awesome like that. But what if Oliver can’t save himself?

  When my bare feet hit the floor and aren’t immediately severed from my body, I let out the breath I’d been holding. Inch by inch, I shuffle along the boards, cursing out loud when I bang into the rocking chair with my knee, and again when I get a splinter in the ball of my right foot. I’ll have to ask Oliver about the rules on swearing in the Afterworld or whatever Mitte is. My knowledge of the Ten Commandments is pretty rusty beyond “Thou Shalt Not Steal,” but I’m not even sure it matters anymore. I’m not dead, or so Oliver says, but it kind of feels like I’m damned anyway.

  The cabin door’s unlocked. I try not to be offended, but way to keep me safe, there, buddy.

  I ease the door inward and peek around the edge. The forest lies still as a tomb. No creatures scurry in the shadows or hum in the void. If it wasn’t for the whole Demon Task Force, I could almost enjoy camping in a creepy-crawly-free zone.

  Oh, yeah. The Conductors. I need to get my head back in the game.

  The cover of trees blocks most of the moonlight, making it difficult to see anything more than dark shapes and ever darker shapes. Dudes made mostly of flames will be easy to spot in the dark, so at least I have that going for me. Turning a full circle, I find no spawn of Satan. Good. To be sure, I tilt my head upward and sniff the gentle breeze. No toxic-sludge fumes assault my nostrils, only the perfume of dew on the leaves. Relieved but still cautious, I creep down the steps. I want to wait and see if Oliver shows up on his own, but standing in the open very long sounds like one of my worst ideas—and, for me, that’s saying a lot. Historically, I’ve made some doozies.