Moloch’s screech blasts from all directions. If they’re scouring the area from the sky, there’s no way we can outrun them. We need a distraction so we can get away.
California leads the way, leaving dots of blood on the pavement. Not only that, the metallic smell from either his cut or my bloody shirt lingers.
“Do they have a sharp sense of smell?” I ask, running beside him.
“That, plus laser sight.”
“Then we need to wrap your arm or cover it somehow. You’re leaving a trail.” In this light, against the pale pavement, his blood won’t be hard to spot.
He stops near the stucco wall and pulls his jacket sleeve up to inspect his arm. The cut looks gaping and deep. I stifle a gasp. Without pressure, he’ll be in serious trouble. “Here.” I rip the clean hem of my torn shirt. “Give me your arm.” I tie the fabric around the wound on his forearm.
He breathes between his clenched teeth. “Thanks.” He bites on the end to pull the tourniquet tighter. A thought hits me. The back of this building has a few exit doors with lamps overhead. We tried going in once before. Maybe we can buy ourselves some time if we get the birds to think this time, we did enter the building.
I tear another piece of my shirt. This time I rip off the bloodstained part, feeling cold air brush against my bare stomach. “We need to throw them off our scent.” I jiggle the door handle. It’s locked.
“We’ve got to keep running.” California catches his breath as he checks the sky. “You’re right about them trapping us. They already know we’re somewhere close.”
“That’s exactly what we want them to think.” I stuff the torn piece of my blood-soaked shirt in the crevice of the door jamb near the handle. “You said it yourself—we can’t outrun two of them.”
“That’s genius . . . at least, I hope it is.” He pulls on the door to help me tuck the fabric deep enough to stay put.
“If Moloch isn’t smart enough to notice that my shirt is pushed in and not caught in the door, then it might work.” I will my fingers to stop shaking as I finish the crude job.
“Moloch?”
“The Cormorant.” I ignore his confused look and smear the door handle with the excess blood on my fingers.
An earsplitting screech blasts through the damp air.
“Over here.” California runs around the shipping container. He pulls back a loose part of the chain-link fence and slips into the woods, holding it open for me to follow. As I squeeze through, my feet sink into soft, wet mud. Good thinking. Without the sound of our shoes on the pavement, not only will we be harder to hear, but the wet earth and heavy pine might hide our scent as well. Or at least I hope so.
Hidden under the canopy of swaying tree branches, we navigate farther along the dirt path, getting as far away from the bloodied door as possible. But I feel uneasy.
“We should go deeper into the woods,” I say. California’s sun-bleached hair will be too easy to spot against the murky trees.
“We’ll make too much noise rustling through there. We need to stay along the fence, follow the path back to the main road.”
“But we’re exposed. They can spot us,” I whisper, staying close at his heels.
“Not if we keep under cover. Duck behind tree trunks. If we need to, we can hide behind that trash bin down there.”
The branches block my view of the sky. I’m almost afraid to breathe, afraid my own breath will drown out the sound of these stealthy birds swooping in for the kill.
California crouches behind the large trash bin. It reeks of onions and rotting potatoes that will hopefully hide our scent. My knees sink into the wet earth next to him. A rat scampers over my lap. I swallow my scream. Along the back side of the buildings, clicking nails softly tap along the pavement. They’re here. Walking. My hands tremble and my feet twitch. I’m ready to run.
California presses his warm hand on my knee and gives me a small shake of his head. Against every fiber in me, I force myself to stay still. I swallow hard, straining to listen for the tapping nails over the sounds of a skittering rat in the dumpster, incessant crickets in the woods, and a rumbling train in the distance. The steady nail tapping continues, but it sounds as if there’s only one bird. Where’s the other one?
An icy gust blows over us. As soon as I smell rotting flesh blended with sulfur, I freeze.
Lightning flashes. I start counting. One one thousand. I glance up. Two . . . My insides turn to liquid. Belial’s black talons perch on a gnarled branch two stories above. He hops to a smaller bough closer to the building, which groans and buckles under his weight. Luckily, he’s no longer above us and hasn’t seen us yet. Thunder roars through the sky, shaking the earth. Any breath, any movement, and we’re dead. My resolve for revenge melts. I’m back to being hunted.
California watches through bangs that stick to his sweaty face. Shadows from the dim lights highlight his tense jaw and tight lips. Moloch lets out a shrill shriek. Is he calling more vile creatures?
My feet tingle, turning numb beneath me. My trap with the door didn’t work. Now we’re caught. With Belial overhead and Moloch somewhere in the alley, there’s no way we’ll make it out alive.
Crouching low, California gently leans into me, pressing his arm against mine. I realize my body is shivering, whether from cold or shock. He is too. Maybe he can’t keep his balance perched down for this long, or maybe he needs to feel that he’s not alone before we die. I press back, my shoulder against his arm, affirming that we’re dead together. I still don’t even know his name.
Moloch lets out a series of caws mixed with strange purrs. Belial, perched near us, squawks back and then takes off. Through a break in the branches I watch Belial flying over the roof of the building where I left my bloody shirt.
The sound of scraping metal competes with the hard rain bulleting through the trees.
California shifts to peer around the trash bin. So do I, but I stay behind him, looking over his shoulder. Moloch pops the door off its hinges with his talon as if he’s opened a soda can. As soon as Moloch shoves his head in the building and starts squirming his body through the back door, the skies open, pouring down rain. California turns his head to me and nods.
Without hesitating, I run. Drenched, I take off along the wire barrier, my feet sinking into the mud, faster than ever before. I don’t slow down until the fence ends at the street intersection. Somewhere over the row of shops across the street, a train rumbles. I’m so disoriented, I have no clue where we are or which way to go.
California sprints up alongside me. “Train’s this way.” He slows to a jog, following the tree line. “Two blocks down. Then left.”
Moloch’s and Belial’s shrieking cries ride on the frantic wind as we turn the corner. Lightning flashes. Thunder cracks. I don’t even have time to count. We dodge idling cars with rapid windshield wipers and frantic deliverymen unloading boxes from a truck.
Cold rain dumps over us. Just ahead, the amber lights from the train platform glow, signaling we’re close. Through the blurry rain, the train hisses, holding its doors wide open.
I sit on the train in a numb, autopilot mode as we rocket through town, leaving the Cormorants behind in the pouring rain. California sits beside me. Exhausted, I rest my head against the window. City lights streak through the dark as the glass vibrates. The day is past, and Jess’s cindered body slips further away. Hot tears run down my cheeks, but I don’t wipe them away.
My side throbs, my shoulder burns, and the stinging pain from each scrape, magnified. My breath fogs the window, but it doesn’t matter. I can’t see anything on account of the tears. I couldn’t save Jess. Her wide eyes trusted me, believed me, when I handed her the money. It’s no wonder Mom wanted to move every year. I’m exactly what Dad said I was before he walked out the door ten years ago. No self-improvement list can fix what I really am: “a monster that will cause more destruction than good.” Mom’s drawings showed it. Jess’s death proves it. I sink my head in my hands. The pain digging in
my side is nothing compared to the ripping inside my heart.
My whole life has been a lie. Move after move, attack after attack, Mom knew. She knew I wasn’t crazy but let me believe it. She probably knew the horrible creatures were real and that there were others like me who could see them, but she would never let me have enough friends to find out. I’ve wanted answers for ten years, and she withheld them from me. Why? The door of my life suddenly feels thrown wide open to hell, and there’s no way to go back and close it.
California drapes his heavy denim jacket over my shoulders. “Hey . . . everything will be okay.”
I bristle. His words are exactly what Mom says after I have an attack. Words that are a complete lie.
I press my back against the window and choke out the words, “Nothing is okay. Nothing has ever been okay. So don’t sit there and say everything is okay when it’s not. Jess died. I couldn’t save her. Freakin’ demon birds are out there killing people and hunting us down. I’m on a train headed to who knows where, and for all I know, that beast will be waiting as soon as we stop!”
California looks surprised, but he doesn’t take offense at my outburst. He leans back. “The Cormorants won’t be waiting for us.” His voice is calm. “We lost them for now.” He searches my face, for what, I don’t know. “There’s this place in East Ridge—”
“Is that where this train goes?” I’ve heard the rumors of murders and drug deals in East Ridge. It’s the last place you’d want to be when the sun goes down—but then again, most of those rumors came from Mom. But not all of them. I grip the cold rail in front of me. “I’ll just ride it out till I get back to Wakefield.”
The windows rattle as the train sways. California glances over his shoulder. “They’ll be waiting for us in Wakefield. Better to get you patched up in East Ridge. There’s a safe house there—”
“How could any place be safe now, especially in East Ridge?” The train lurches and I stifle a wince when pain jabs my side. “You saw how those creatures tore into anything that got in their way.”
“Hesperian is safe. Trust me. Plus, we’ll get you help for that cut.”
Hesperian? “The only help I need is in knowing what those evil creatures are, why they’re killing people, and how to annihilate them.” As far as trusting this guy, he won’t look me directly in the eyes. Not a good sign. I can’t read him unless he does.
“Hold up.” He looks confused. “You mean, you don’t know?”
“Know what?” My side throbs as the train vibrates over rough tracks. “I don’t even know your name.”
California shakes his head in disbelief. His wet hair sticks to his jaw. All this time I thought he was older, but looking at him now, I’m guessing he’s about my age. “I’m sorry, I really thought you knew . . .” He finally looks right at me. When our eyes meet, I’m jolted with a paralyzing flutter. He quickly looks away.
I swallow. What was that? He’s left me feeling wobbly and exposed. I press up against the window, putting as much space between us as possible in this cramped seat.
He exhales and rubs his hand over his face. “Listen.” His voice drops low as his gaze sweeps over the empty train. “I know what we just went through seems unreal.”
“You think?”
“The reason you see those creatures—the Cormorants—is because you’ve got a special ability to see this second realm where the beasts wander. You’re an Awakened. Normally we get this ‘second sight’ when we turn seventeen or sometimes as late as eighteen. Being an Awakened also comes with a Bent—”
“Stop right there.” I hold up my hand because he’s slinging way too much bizarre information at me all at once. “Back up a second. So this is all real?”
At that moment Milton barges in with the verse: “Millions of spiritual creatures walk the earth / Unseen, both when we wake and when we sleep,” confirming California’s words. I can’t concentrate with two people talking to me at once. I press my fingers against my temples, hoping to quiet Milton.
California nods. “By realm I mean a layer over our own physical reality. The Awakened have the ability to see what everyone else can’t. Not everyone is an Awakened. We don’t know why. We call the ones that aren’t ‘Commons.’ Usually Awakened are artistic types, but that’s not always the case.”
I sit in silence for a second and process what he’s told me. As crazy as this news sounds, for the first time, the answer doesn’t feel like a lie. “Do I see into this other realm all the time? ’Cause I don’t always see those beasts everywhere I go.” But then again Mom would move me after each attack and maybe that’s why. I look out the window. Dim lights in the distance grow closer, but nothing looks unusual, and the only disturbing sound is loose siding rattling somewhere in the rhythmic train.
California reaches over and wipes the fog off the window. “You won’t see anything right now, because the creatures aren’t around. When they are, we can see the destruction they cause. They’ll do anything to stop us.”
My mind races, leaping ten paces ahead. “You called them predators a while back. They hunt us because they know we can see them. If that’s the case, we can stop them, right?” As I speak, Mom’s warning flashes through my head. She had said not to face “them.” I have a strong feeling this is what she meant. I sit up. “Tell me how to kill them. I’ll do whatever it takes to stop those beasts from hurting anyone else.”
“So would I.” He glances at me for a quick second, but avoids eye contact. Then, suddenly aware that his leg is touching mine, he straightens. He’s so tall, his knees hit the seat in front of us. “And I’m Maddox, by the way.”
I glance at our warped reflections wrapped around the metal bar in front of me. My head spins, trying to process—and believe—everything he’s just told me. “I’m Cera.”
“When we get to East Ridge, we’ll patch your side. You can meet the others, and I’ll hook you up with Devon. I’m sure you’ve got a ton of questions, and he knows more than anyone, except Gladys, who runs the place, but she’s usually not around this late.”
There are others? My mind can hardly wrap around the concept that intuitively I know is true. Something thumps against the outside of the train. I recoil, pushing away from the window.
California—I mean, Maddox—stiffens and glances out. “We’re just entering the tunnel.” His shoulders relax as he leans back in the seat.
My whole world feels upside down as this random guy talks about beasts, creatures, and other realms as if it’s perfectly normal. If it weren’t for the throb in my side, I’d think I was dreaming. “You seriously mean . . . you have answers as to why I see what I do and what’s wrong with me? I’m not really . . .”
“Losing it?” He shakes his head. “There’s nothing wrong with you. You’re Awakened, just like the rest of us.”
The rest of us. As far as I’ve ever known, there’s never been anyone else like me before. I blink at the insanity of it all. “So, what am I . . . ? Besides being awake, or whatever. You said something about being broken?”
“It’s called a Bent. You’re a Guardian or possibly a Blade. I can’t tell for sure. Devon will know.”
“Is Devon some guru who slaps these lovely tags on people?”
“No.” Maddox laughs slightly. “He’s a Caretaker. Part of his Bent, besides shepherding our group, is identifying Bents so he can pair you with a mentor.”
“Will this mentor teach me how to kill the beasts?”
“If you’re a Blade, then sure. Blades are warriors that attack the beasts. Guardians like me, and possibly you, we’re supposed to protect the Awakened from the beasts. Not really attack them.”
I cross my arms. “Then I want to be a Blade.”
A smile curls in the corner of his mouth. I’m not sure if he’s smirking at my ignorance, thinks I’m joking, or what, but either way, I’m not insulted. He’s the only one willing to tell me the truth. “You don’t get to choose. You’re stuck with whatever you’re born with. Although the Bent doe
sn’t show up in its full form till you’re about seventeen or so.”
I frown. “You don’t get a choice? That’s not encouraging.” I debate mentioning the visions to see if that makes a difference, but as the train slows, I decide against it. I know better than to spill stuff about myself, especially to a total stranger. I search for my bag. It’s not here. Panic flashes through me. Oh, that’s right. I left everything at home when I ran out the door. I’ve got nothing but the clothes I’m wearing, and they’re in pretty rough shape at the moment.
“This is it.” Maddox sits up and glances out the window as the train lurches to a stop. I stay put as he stands. Sure, I want answers, but I’m not totally sold on the idea of walking around East Ridge.
“Come on.” Maddox stands in the aisle, waiting. “Follow me.”
As I clutch the jacket closed and glance out the window, Milton intrudes with the verse: “…follow me, / And I will bring thee where no shadow stays.”
I take a breath. Fine, Milton. I shut you up once already. If bringing me “where no shadow stays” means getting the answers I need to bring clarity through the lies and avenging Jess’s death, then I’ll get off this train and follow some guy I just met, even though the idea seems totally insane. I’m pretty sure Milton’s not using Adam’s pick-up line to compare me to Eve. When she looked at her reflection in the pond, she was so stunning she couldn’t tear herself away. Me? I look as attractive as a drenched alley cat.
As the train chimes, signaling the end of the stop, Maddox leans over. “You okay?” he asks, ready to help me out of my seat, but I’m already on my feet.
“Yeah, I’m fine.” Even though I’m light-headed, I push my shoulders back and don’t let on how bad my side hurts. With Milton as my North Star, I refuse to let pain stop me from getting the answers I need.
Mortal Sight Page 6
