“It’s not rain, it’s a storm,” he said, stressing the last word as if that explained everything.
Clarity climbed onto her seat, dressed but her hair sticking up every which way. She excitedly announced all the things she would do on their day off.
Kal glanced at the time on her communicator. She had hours yet before the shuttle left. She could distract the children with a film and ask Belith to come over to watch.
Amity raced down the steps, her bag thumping behind her. “Kits! I must leave before the storm,” she announced. “Come give me your embraces.”
Dare and Clarity rushed toward hers. “Wait,” Kal said, confused. “You’re not leaving until this afternoon.”
“The shuttle must leave before the storm. The vehicle to pick me up is arriving any moment. Now,” she said, redirecting her attention to the children. “You know you carry my heart. Always.”
A horn blared outside. For a moment, Kal felt like she was back on Earth with an impatient taxi waiting. Amity gave the kids one final hug before opening the door.
“Wait, I need to talk with you,” Kal said, following her out the door.
“There is no time. We’ve exchanged enough words, I think.”
Dark clouds bisected the sky, dividing one half into a gentle morning blue and the other into black. The Apocalypse loomed on the horizon.
Kal stopped in her tracks, stunned. She stared up at the menacing sky. “What’s going on?”
“A storm, of course,” Amity said casually. The driver of the vehicle loaded her bags into the back. “The automated system for the house no longer works so you will have to lower the storm guards manually. The kits will show you.”
“Storm guards?”
“Yes. The winds can be fierce, and it is not unknown to have large debris thrown against structures. You do not want a window to break. That would allow the mornclaws an entry, and you cannot be that foolish.”
This was more than a simple rain storm. Dozens of offhand comments about storms, wind, and the monsters that came afterward, crowded her mind. The Watchtower, the Hunters who carried weapons even in town, the heavy fortification around the mine.
She was woefully unprepared.
“Where’s Merit? I need him,” she said.
“He will be gone for days. This is what he does,” Amity said, tone unconcerned at Kal’s distress.
“But I—”
A small hand tugged at hers. Clarity stared up at her with her enormous amber eyes. “Kalini? Can I sleep with you tonight? I know I’m big now but the storms scare me.”
Bollocks.
Great big bollocks.
Never mind the fact that her ride off planet blithely waved goodbye—she couldn’t leave the children alone and scared.
Amity leaned out the vehicle’s window and shouted, “Remember! Don’t open the door until the all-clear sounds.”
Two things revealed themselves to her at once.
First, this is what he does.
Merit didn’t break a promise and vanish to pal around with his mates. He had a work emergency. The entire town was under a literal dark cloud of that emergency.
She had a temper tantrum and nearly walked away from everything.
An act of God prevented her from ruining everything.
Was it possible to feel the color leech out of your face? Because Kal felt lightheaded. She wasn’t the calm, rational person she always believed herself to be. She came within an inch of disaster and not once did she stop to question her actions.
She jumped to a conclusion, and her wounded pride refused to believe she was anything other than right. How many times had she erroneously jumped to the wrong conclusion before? How many men had she walked away from over a misunderstanding and her wounded pride? Immediately she thought of Roger and that disastrous first date. His wife had shown up. He looked distressed and embarrassed. Maybe he wasn’t the cheating cheater she assumed and was separated from his wife? Maybe she was an ex-wife hellbent on ruining his dating life?
No. Roger lied about knowing Kal from work. Whichever way he tried to explain his complicated relationship with his wife, she had no desire to be drawn into that hot mess.
Merit hadn’t lied. He left without leaving a note and pride prevented her from asking.
She was such an idiot.
Clarity tugged on her hand. “Kalini?”
A lucky idiot.
Kal watched helplessly as the vehicle departed, leaving only a plume of dust.
The second revelation was that she desperately needed an adult. The fact that she was the adult by default in this situation was bonkers. People left her in charge of money, maybe a cat, not actual people.
She squeezed Clarity’s hand. “How long do these storms normally last?”
“Not long. Only a day or two.”
Great big, saggy hairy bollocks.
“All right, I’m a bit gormless here. What’s first?” The wind picked up, hitting her with an unseasonable icy wind. Bits of dirt pelted her face.
Right. Answered that question. First thing, she needed to get the potted plants indoors.
Inside, she marshaled the children. Dare was to lower the guards on the windows upstairs. Clarity turned on the radio for weather reports while Kal dragged the plants into the kitchen. The wind already kicked up something fierce. She didn’t need all her hard work to be blown away.
She didn’t want to think about how inconsistent it was to be willing to walk away from everything one moment and then desperate to save plants the next. Unable to leave Clarity and Dare alone for the storm, that meant she was here for at least another week or two. In the meantime, she intended to save her damned plants.
The sky darkened, and the first fat drops of rain fell. Brushing the dirt off her hands, Kal dragged in the last planter. The kitchen now resembled a greenhouse.
“How do I?” She fumbled at the window above the sink, turning a small hand crank at the bottom of the frame. Gears groaned, and eventually, a metal shutter lowered over the window. She found a similar hand crank next to all the windows and the doors. Old gears did not want to turn, but she managed with a bit of effort.
All but one, of course.
Dare thundered down the stairs because he only had one speed: as fast as possible.
“No running,” Kal said automatically.
“I finished! Only took me thirteen minutes. I beat my record. Hey,” he said, stopping at her feet. “What are you doing?”
Kal struggled with the hand crank. She backed it up, raising the guard, and then tried to lower it again. No good. She had gained a few more inches, but a sizable gap remained between the shutter and the bottom of the window. Something caught on the track. “This thing won’t come down.”
“Clearly you need a male to do this.” Dare pushed his way in, elbowing her.
“I’m not in the mood for your pint-sized sexism.”
“I’m stronger than you,” he said. The boy already had the Isteimlas family cockiness.
Lord, give her patience.
“It’s not about strength. The mechanism is faulty. Let go before you break it.” No sooner had the words left her mouth than the handle snapped in her hands.
Dare stared at it, eyes wide. “Uncle Merit said he was going to fix that. I guess he forgot.”
Fantastic. Kal bit the side of her cheek to keep herself from swearing a blue streak.
“What did you do?” Clarity wailed, her voice climbing in pitch and tone. “We’ll never be able to shut it now, and they’ll get in.” Her chest rose and fell rapidly, moments away from a complete meltdown. Shadow twined herself around the girl’s feet, caterwauling in distressed tones.
Thunder clapped and Clarity jumped, shouting for her mother. Kal rushed to the girl, hugging her tight. She murmured soothing words, stroking her back until Clarity’s grip relaxed.
“We’ll improvise,” Kal eventually said, pulling away.
With only a half-formed plan, she opened the front door.
Rain fell at a steady pace, but it wasn’t coming in sideways. Not yet. Lightning flashed across the darkened sky and an ominous rumble followed. “Let me see if there’s anything caught in the tracks on the outside. Dare, just stay in the door and listen. I may need you to bring me a tool.”
The surprisingly cold for late summer rain drenched her in moments. Swiping a hand across her face to clear the rain, she inspected the shutters. No obvious debris blocked the track, just years of accumulated rust and lack of maintenance. A can of oil and possibly a small brush to clear the rust would fix it. She considered sending Dare to search for the tools until another clap of thunder changed her mind. She did not need to be standing out in this.
Kal pushed on the shuttered, wiggling it up to loosen some of the rust, and then tugged it down again. Working it back and forth, bit by bit, she gained a few more inches. Rain poured down, plastering her hair to her scalp. Still not closed completely, the gap was considerably smaller. It would have to do.
Back inside, Kal dripped on the floor while she lowered the shutter on the door. At one point, Dare handed her a towel, and she gratefully dried her face.
“They can still get in,” Clarity said. Tears rolled down her red, blotchy face.
Kal frowned. “The gap is only three inches high.”
“They can break the glass, and the little ones can get inside.”
Kal seriously doubted that. “We’ll be fine. How about we make chocolate chip cookies? I’ve got a bag of chocolate chips I’ve been saving,” she said in her best soothing voice, already halfway to the kitchen. She’d keep Clarity’s mind off the storm, and all would be well. They’d eat cookies, watch a film, and when Merit came back, she’d have a word with him about proper home maintenance.
“No,” Clarity said, the whine increasing in her voice. “They’ll come and get us like they got Momma.”
Kal stopped in her tracks. So many things clicked into place. The nightmares and middle of the night crawling into bed. Clarity’s obvious terror.
Kal leveled her gaze with Dare. “If we block the window from the inside, will that work?”
“If we block the light. Mornclaws are attracted to light,” he answered.
“All right. Clear a spot in front of that window.” She cleared off the kitchen table and dragged it into the front room. On its side, she propped it against the window. She moved the heavier tufted chairs against the table for support. “There. Right as rain.” She grimaced at her word choice, but Clarity stopped hyperventilating. The girl clutched Shadow to her chest, the animal cooing for comfort.
“The alarm won’t switch on if one of the shutters is open,” Dare said.
“Then we’ll keep an eye on the vulnerable point, yeah?”
“Can we take turns keeping watch?” He bounced on his toes, tail lashing with excitement. “Can we camp out in the front room? I have a sleeping bag!” Before she could respond, he raced to his room.
That boy really did have only one speed, she observed. But camping out wasn’t a bad idea.
Kal crouched down to Clarity’s eye level. “I want to make something really fun that I used to do when I was your age, but I’m going to need your help. Can you help me?”
Clarity nodded, eyes still glossy from tears and nose dripping.
“Good. I need you to go get your blankets and pillows, and Dare’s. We’re building a fort.”
Over the next two hours, Clarity and Dare forgot about the storm as they arranged pillows into a nest and argued about the blanket fort. Kal found a rope and strung it across the front room, forming the backbone of a massive blanket tent. Rain clattered heavily on the metal roof, amplifying the sound into a barrage. As the winds picked up, they watched a film in the comfort of their nest.
While the children were distracted by the film, Kal tried to call Merit. The connection failed. She sent him a text message, hoping that, at least, would get through.
She understood he was busy with work, but he could have told her what was happening before he vanished. Not once did he mention that the schools closed, the security shutters, or the intensity of the storms.
No one mentioned that, actually. As often as the people of Drac casually mentioned the storms, not a one happened to mention to her that it sounded like a hurricane pounding against the house.
When the rain grew too loud, Kal made chocolate chip cookies with the only bag she brought from Earth. The power flickered, which meant a faulty connection with the solar grid or water damage. Considering that the rain came down in torrential sheets, her money was on water damage.
When the sun finally vanished, Clarity brought out a well-worn storybook.
“Honey, I don’t know that I can read this.” Kal flipped through the illustrated pages, every single page written in Tal.
“I’ll help you sound it out,” Clarity said, climbing in Kal’s lap.
“How about you read to me?”
Clarity giggled. “You’re silly.” But she read the story aloud for Kal.
Dare, who only a few nights ago proclaimed himself too big for bedtime stories, scooted closer to listen.
Well past dark, the lights flickered again, this time staying off. Clarity whimpered in the darkness.
Kal dug out an old battery-powered torch and a few solar-powered lanterns. They held enough of a charge to set up around the house. Dare assured her that his night vision was much too good to need the lights. Clarity agreed, brave now that Shadow slept contently at her side. “Well, I need them,” Kal said, knowing full well that the lights kept Dare and Clarity feeling so brave.
Without power for the cooling system and unable to open the windows until the all clear, the heat rose inside.
The children eventually fell asleep. Kal sat up, listening to the news bulletins on the radio built into the lantern. The authorities rated the erosion due to wind and rain damage and advised residents in multiple districts to remain indoors.
The wind continued to howl late into the night, reminding her that Merit was out in the thick of it. She wanted him to come home safe because she was going to tear him a new one.
Merit
The haze of bloodlust gradually lifted. Merit found himself kneeling in gore, smashed egg sacks and dismembered adult mornclaws littering the ground. The stench rolled his stomach.
A round body at the bottom pile moved.
Merit drew a dagger, waiting.
The hatchling lunged. Small, only an hour or two old, it had not yet grown out the segments needed to wrap around his legs and bind him. It was old enough, however, for the shell on its pincers to have hardened enough to sever a hand if it caught hold of him.
Merit dodged to the side, letting the hatchling land. With a heavy boot, he stomped, holding it in place. He plunged his dagger down, into the seam just over the brainpan. It shrieked and writhed before finally falling silent.
One hatchling was not a problem. If a clutch of eggs hatched, they swarmed their intended meal. Fortunately, they weren’t bright.
Unless a monarch hatched. Born with greater intelligence than a typical mornclaw, a monarch could organize the hatchling swarm. He’d personally witnessed a monarch problem solve and unlock doors, a feat the provincial government swore was impossible. Merit almost suspected the rare breed to be sentient.
Almost.
He wiped the blade on his thigh, finally noticing that every part of him was covered in gore.
He had done it again. He lost his mind in the frenzy of battle. When he had been younger, it seemed an admirable quality for a warrior. Tal warriors of legend fell into the bloodlust. They sang songs and celebrated the path of devastation caused by a trick of biology, an excess of hormones. Armies fell to unstoppable, unreasoning, and unquestioning warriors.
Those were the kind of warriors the military wanted. If it did not occur naturally, they made it happen.
When his commanding officers injected him to trigger the bloodlust, he felt honored to be chosen, to be counted among the legendary warrior
s.
He had been short-sighted in his youth. The hormones added strength and endurance but took away his mind. Merit became something different, something out of control. He could not exercise discretion or restraint. He simply continued to fight until the all targets were eliminated, which was the polite way to say he didn’t stop until he killed everything. He became monstrous, unable to tell friend from foe.
Or civilian from rebel.
His knee ached with dull pain, reminding him of the time his own men had to stop him with force. The grenade ended his military career, but Merit remained thankful for their actions. In the haze of bloodlust, Merit had turned on a cluster of civilians hiding in the rubble. He didn’t recognize them as innocent. He only saw another target.
That grenade ruined his knee but saved his soul. What might have happened horrified him down to the tip of his tail. He would never knowingly harm the innocent. Never.
The trouble was that once the switch had been flipped in his brain, it wouldn’t reset. The military doctors assured him the effects would diminish over time, only they didn’t. Stress built up the hormones in his body, waiting for a trigger. If he didn’t purge it, he could fall into the bloodlust over the slightest provocation.
Hunting helped. The more visceral, the more feral, the better. His body burned through the stored hormones and took the aggression out on mornclaws. Every time he hoped that it would be the last.
Merit moved the mornclaw bodies into a pile to be burned. He found his weapons, some discarded on the ground, and cleaned them by the light of the bonfire. With that task complete, he assessed himself for damage. Minimal, as always. Between the flexible body armor suit and his own reflexes, Merit seldom took a hit.
With the fire nearly extinguished, he found his vehicle. The windshield had broken in the storm. Again. The supposedly ultra-durable material used on spaceships couldn’t survive in a storm. Worthless junk.
Brushing off the wet leaves and mud from the interior seats, Merit climbed into the cabin and checked in with his team. They knew of his issue and left him alone in the field, but a full day had passed since his last contact. Sigald was a strong second-in-command and coordinated the teams efficiently.
Have Tail, Will Travel Page 12
