by Patti Larsen
His body is new to this form and remembers the bitter rush of panic and terror. They may be foreign to who he has become but those old feelings break through enough to drive him onward.
The pack joins him, outdistancing the hovering helicopter, weaving their way clear of the light. He moves on toward the goal, only then understanding the air attack isn’t the only obstacle in his way.
The ground shakes beneath his feet, the rumble of heavy machines reaching him through his connection with the earth. He pauses, part of his awareness focused on the pursing helicopter while the rest digests this new information. He calls out a warning to his pack, hears them answer. They know already, what he knows.
These are new soldiers, not jailers this time. These ones are here to kill them.
The gate is close, so close he can smell the last of the smoke from the earlier explosion. But the exit is blocked, filled in by men with guns and heavy tanks girded with wide steel tracks that force their way through the trees and down the paths made for hunting.
The pack has to retreat. It’s the only hope for survival. He calls out again, his message clear. Fall back, fall back. They are reluctant, these sisters and brothers of his, unwilling to fail when freedom is so near. But he is their leader, and they must obey. And yet there are more gunshots, more lost to the angry, shouting soldiers and their roaring equipment before his will is done.
He turns and returns the way he came, moving fast and staying well inside the trees. If they will not listen, he will go alone. It feels fitting somehow, as though alone is his way, so it doesn’t trouble him. Survival is his only desire.
He feels them joining him, sees them as they do as he ordered them. They break and run with him, the hunters now the hunted, spread out but staying close. Dodging, weaving, making their own paths, using tree trucks as leverage to bound over undergrowth and the sides of exposed boulders to reach high limbs for swinging forward.
The sound of pursuit falls behind, even the call of the metal birds above losing volume as the pack surges back into the forest that has sheltered them since they were created.
The edge of the fence looms but he knows escape over it is no longer possible either. He can feel the hum in the air from the deadly rush of power flowing through the steel.
The pack does not pause or take time to regret this truth. They move as one, him leading them forward, their last chance calling them on, the only other exit so far yet just within their grasp.
He knows about it because they do, though in his old life he was sure it existed, sought it to no avail.
There is a second gate on the other side of the mountain.
They no longer call to each other, whisper quiet as they run their forced retreat. He lets them slow, stop at the base of the worn cliff towering over them in the dim moonlight.
The large cousins hover close, chuffing softly, heavy bodies impatient, gaping mouths dripping strings of saliva on the ground. And yet they too remain quiet despite their animal natures.
He feels the pressure of light against his skin and looks up. The sun is cresting the tops of the trees, enough his slitted pupils shutter closed, returning his vision to normal. He misses his night vision and the rush it gives him as the orange light chases across the edges of the sky, warm on his skin. As good as it feels, this light is the enemy. They need to move. Daylight will make them more visible to those who track them.
He waits for the last of his siblings to escape before following through the edge of the brush at the bottom of the massive rock face, into underbrush so tight even they have trouble maneuvering. A thin, black gap winks a welcome, his pack sliding inside one at a time. He goes on, the sudden black no match for the rapid adjustment of his vision. The way is tight but he is liquid and dark and within moments he stands in a stone tunnel.
There is a gap, recently cleared of rock. The pack moves inside, the cousins close on their heels. He knows this place, feels a shudder run through him tied to memory, as quickly forgotten. The rubble is clumsy underfoot even for such as he. But the large room beyond is empty, save for a gap that smells like water and another beckoning him toward a gaping cage door.
It takes four trips to lower them all into the mine. He goes last, choosing to stay, to guard the passage, though doing so means fighting off flickers of memory. Of a small prey child with a broken arm. Of climbing and pain and being wet and cold.
One of his brothers snarls at him, herding him toward the elevator. He snaps back, claws lashing out at such insolence, taking the offender across the side of the face. The other backs down, lets him pass before joining him in the cage for the ride down.
The maze is still and quiet when they reach the bottom, the pack waiting, unmoving and tense.
He takes his place in the front again. They cover ground in a rapid lope, reaching the first crossing within moments. The left branch is sealed, a cave in obvious from the smell of the dead air. He suffers a moment of choking fear, can taste dust and feel it in his lungs, remembers the sensation of being trapped, sees a pair of sneakers so still in the low light of a flickering bulb. His mind shutters back to the present and discards the memory, instincts carrying him up the right passage.
They leap a narrow chasm and he looks down, expecting the silver eyes of a sibling. But there is no one, just a skim of dust on the stones below. And then they are past, climbing hard, upward and onward. The tunnel is still only faintly lit but he can smell freedom and fresh air and the part of him that was a terrified kid kicks himself for picking the wrong way.
Outside calls to him as strongly as the pull of the pack. He runs on, putting out more speed, eager to return to the forest, uncomfortable with the closed space, the trapped and horrible air below ground.
The tunnel levels off, narrows slightly before widening into a large cavern. He races across it, his siblings around him, toward the glimmer of daylight on the other side.
He runs right to it, pauses just before the exit, falling into a crouch. They gather around him, their bodies close to his, breathing softly around him, filling him with the feel of the pack. But his focus is on the rectangle of shining blue sky and deep green treetops.
“We must stay and wait.” One of his brothers speaks up.
“We must move on.” The same sister as before. She watches, waits.
He knows they are judging him, searching him for weakness. Despite his position, leadership is only his as long as he dominates.
He considers their options. They could stay. Take advantage of the shelter until darkness falls. Even as his mind decides, he feels their impatience, knows their need but feels their hesitation. When the brother who spoke moves to settle in, he chuffs at him. The sibling listens as he knew he would, had no doubt of it. The rest watch him, restless and unhappy but understanding his dominance.
They could wait until darkness. But it might be too late.
He growls to them to follow. And runs out into the day.
***
About the Author
Everything you need to know about me is in this one statement: I’ve wanted to be a writer since I was a little girl, and now I’m doing it. How cool is that, being able to follow your dream and make it reality? I’ve tried everything from university to college, graduating the second with a journalism diploma (I sucked at telling real stories), was in an all-girl improv troupe for five glorious years (if you’ve never tried it, I highly recommend making things up as you go along as often as possible). I’ve even been in a Celtic girl band (some of our stuff is on YouTube!) and was an independent film maker. My life has been one creative thing after another—all leading me here, to writing books for a living.
Now with multiple series in happy publication, I live on beautiful and magical Prince Edward Island (I know you’ve heard of Anne of Green Gables) with my very patient husband and six massive cats.
I love-love-love hearing from you! You can reach me (and I promise I’ll message back) at [email protected]. And if you’re eager for your next
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Last—but not least!—I hope you enjoyed what you read! Your happiness is my happiness. And I’d love to hear just what you thought. A review where you found this book would mean the world to me—reviews feed writers more than you will ever know. So, loved it (or not so much), your honest review would make my day. Thank you!