“Maybe.” I shrug, though I know it’s still too dark for him to see. “What do you think it was?
“Dunno. An engine maybe? Do you think the guy drove off?” I would do anything in this moment to have him take those words back.
“My dad left?!” The girl’s voice is a high squeal of panic, made louder by the enclosed space.
Selena reaches up from her spot on the floor, and fumbles in the dark for the girl’s hand. The girl starts to swat her hand at Selena’s feeble attempt to calm her. “He can’t leave us here! He wouldn’t do that!”
“I’m wrong!” Seth tries to backpedal. “It wasn’t an engine at all!”
“Then what was it, huh? You’re just saying that to shut me up!”
The girl starts to push herself forward to the door. She shoves me back, and my feet stumble on the rough floor, knocking my head back against the wall. I’m momentarily dazed, and the darkness swirls against the bright stars now dancing in my vision.
I can hear her straining against the door’s barricade, and that’s enough to bring reality back into focus. Sheer panic rockets through me.
Nononononono
“Stop! You can’t do that!” I reach out, clutching at whatever my fingers come into contact with. My knuckles graze against the door, splinters wedge themselves under my fingernails. Eventually I feel fabric. I cling desperately and pull back with all my might.
A fist connects with my face but somehow I maintain my hold.
Between the girl’s screeches, I can hear the others’ pleading voices, nothing more than whispers, trying not to be heard. I don’t know why, but staying quiet still seems to matter. As if Lori’s tempest is somehow contained within these four walls. They all try to reason with her, begging, but there is simply no reasoning with the girl’s level of terror.
As I get pummeled with fists and feet, elbows and knees, I tug on that bit of fabric until I catch a wrist.
I can hear someone fumbling with the lamp.
The taste of blood on my lips sets my heart pumping. Rage takes over. Who the hell does she think she is?! We open our cellar to her, offer her protection and she’s about to get us all killed!
My wife’s charred face comes to mind.
I’m not thinking anymore, just acting. I twist the wrist behind the girl’s back and her screeches of panic shift into a cry of pain.
I shove down every iota of guilt and wrap my other arm around her body until I find her mouth and clamp down hard. Now her cries are reduced to whimpers, escaping from between my fingers.
I can feel the collective sigh as silence settles once more over the cellar.
Finally, too late, the lamp is lit. We are disheveled, bloody and torn. This tiny girl was a force to be reckoned with, though now in the light, it’s hard to imagine. She feels breakable in my arms, like a sparrow or a porcelain doll, and she might shatter if I squeeze too hard. I’m tempted to let her go, except for the deep rumble that comes from outside.
I feel the girl go rigid in my arms. Seth and I lock eyes across the dim space. This isn’t happening, I tell myself. Months. We have managed to stay safe here for months. Not now!
Goosebumps prickle down my arms, every hair quivering in anticipation. Cold sweat beads on my forehead, but the air feels too hot, too close.
There’s a sharp rap against the door, almost like someone is knocking, checking to see if we’re home. I somehow don’t think it’s the neighbors stopping by to borrow a cup of sugar.
Another rap, followed by a long grating sound, dragging across the wood. The walls feel closer as we all instinctively push to the back of the cellar, as far from the door as possible.
We wait.
1…2…3…
Silence.
4…5…6…
I begin to feel lightheaded from holding my breath for so long. My heart is slamming against my ribs, begging for oxygen. I allow myself shallow breaths.
The seconds stretch on.
18…19…20…
Maybe they left?
BANG!
We all jump. Beth gasps, but we are otherwise silent.
Another BANG. The boards rattle. Dust trickles down from the ceiling.
Again, it slams against the door, and I can see the hinges loosening.
Sarah. I’m so sorry, but I’m glad you’re already dead. My death is about to be so much worse than yours was.
The wood begins to splinter. Soon enough, something sharp pokes through and begins prying, making the hole bigger.
“Oh God, is that a knife?”
“...It’s a claw...”
The blood drains from my face and I sway. I lose my grip on the girl and she collapses to the ground. How long have I been holding up her limp body?
No one screams.
No one cries.
We knew this would always be the outcome.
Someone extinguishes the light. Not one of us wants to watch our own deaths. We clutch each other’s hands in the dark.
A loud horn cuts through the growls. I open my eyes and swear I can see something in the dark.
The claw retracts from the door and from the hole shines a bright light. “What the hell is he doing?”
“He’s drawing them away…he’s saving our lives.” Seth sounds surprised that anyone decent could be left in this world. But it’s not our lives that he’s saving. It’s his children’s.
The horn blares again, long and loud, before we hear the engine fire up. The headlights start to move as he backs the RV out of the driveway.
“He’s leading them away,” Selena says breathlessly. “Will it work?”
Her question is answered with a squeal. I’ve heard that sound many times in a life long past. It sounds like a car accident, like crumpling metal. The sounds that come next are new. Animal-like squeaking, grunting, clicking. Barking and growling.
The RV headlights are no longer moving. It’s just sitting there. Bait. It has to be getting close to dawn. Maybe the creatures have gone back into hiding. The silence draws out, and the need to know starts itching under my skin. I inch closer to the door, and lean forward to peek through the splintered hole.
Glass smashes, followed by a gunshot. Two more in quick succession. The girl is still passed out at my feet but when David’s screams start, Brent starts to wail. “Noooooooooooo!”
I slam my hands over my ears, but I can still hear everything. The screaming, the crying. Metal tearing. Wet gurgling. Slurping and moans of satisfaction.
I gag, but my stomach is empty.
This isn’t happening. It’s all a bad dream. I’ll open my eyes and see the sun-bleached fields and endless sky.
Or even better, I’ll see my wife laying next to me in our bed. I’ll go put the coffee on and watch the rain batter against the window, get ready for another meaningless day at my meaningless job and forget this awful dream.
I wake to Seth shaking me by the shoulder. “Hey Jimbo. You okay?”
I blink in the dim dawn glow. “We made it?”
Seth looks away and says softly, wrenched with defeat, “We did.”
My eyes settle on Brent and Lori, wrapped in each other’s arms, knuckles white. Their faces are blank, eyes unfocused. I’m vaguely aware of the girl’s guilt. She caused her father’s death. She doesn’t know that he would’ve died anyway. We all would’ve. In another life I would have knelt beside her and reassured her. Comforted her. But I have no more room in myself for pity. Nor do I have room for guilt.
I guess it wasn’t a dream after all.
In silence we take down the splintered remains of our barricaded door. It swings outward with a groan and we step out into the morning.
For months we have slept in that cellar. For months we have woken in the morning to the exact same scene. Greys and browns. Dust and sky.
Today is not every other day. Today, there is a new color to the landscape. Red.
I’m dimly aware of crying. Selena and Beth try to comfort the kids while the others check out the R
V to see what can be salvaged. Seth removes his shirt and lays it over part of the body. He lowers his head and mouths a few words of respect. Maybe a few words of thanks.
Trying to avoid the carnage, we instead turn our eyes to ourselves. We all show signs of the night’s abuse. My lip is swelling from where Lori’s elbow struck, and a few bruises and scratches. I try to remind myself to be grateful that’s the full extent of the damage. Lori seems to have suffered the worst damage. Her fingernails are bloody and torn, and the bandage on her arm has been ripped off, reopening her wound. Blood is slowly running down her arm. The ground beneath her is greedily soaking up the moisture as it drips from her fingertips.
“What’s the point? To anything? They know where we are now. They’ve found us.” I’m not even aware that I’m talking out loud until everyone turns to me, listening. “We have nowhere to hide. Nowhere to go. You can’t change the end game.”
Again, I think of Sarah. She doesn’t feel pain anymore. I should just sit right here and wait to burn. Just like her. No more fear.
Even as I think about ending it all, I shuffle over to my spot in the shade. Because I’m a coward.
One by one, my fellow cowards join me. Brent and Lori follow, slide down the wall and settle into the dust.
Just as we have every day for months, we wait.
“We’ll be fine…”
AUTHOR’S NOTE
Yes, I’m aware there may be a few dangling threads to this story. I’m sorry to tell you this, but it was completely intentional. What can I say? I love to torture my readers.
Prey, book two in the Shade Chronicles, will fill you in on where David and his kids have come from. You’ll just have to trust me that the rest will come in time.
Acknowledgments
I always read the acknowledgments at the end of a book, in which the author gives props to all the boatloads of friends and colleagues who have helped in the creation of their book. This has put a lot of pressure on me, because I swear I don’t even know that many people.
To Lori, my one and only; you have offered me years of support and friendship, and I would not have written this book without you. Literally. You forced me to do it.
To my husband; I thank you for not rolling your eyes too hard. I know it must have been a real effort at times. And thank you for supporting me, even knowing that I’m not going to make us millionaires.
To Erin Hayes; thank you for putting up with my incessant questions about the Indie publishing industry. I would have told me to fuck off long ago.
To the teachers at my children’s school; thank you for taking my kids off my hands five days a week. I love them more than the air I breathe, but it is impossible to get any writing done while in their presence.
And finally, thank you to the B.I.C. writing group for giving me a chance, and for giving me a little nudge in the right direction. Also, it didn’t hurt to have a whole group of people to hold me accountable if I procrastinated for too long.
About the Author
There isn’t much to be said about T.K. Bradley. She lives north of The Wall, in the great white expanse of Canada, with her husband and two children. She has a variety of pets, all with ridiculous names that only children can be blamed for.
Shade is her first publication, so please excuse her stumbling. Even authors must learn to walk before they can run.
Follow her on Goodreads
Shade (Shade Chronicles Book 1) Page 4
