Another waking scream, further off.
Dylan hadn’t stopped when I did, and was a least twenty feet up the trail. "Dylan! Where’s that restroom? We need to find cover!"
He looked over his shoulder, completely unconcerned. Like it was just a stroll in the park, back in the old days. "We're not there yet."
"Dylan!" I hissed. My voice was drowned out by another griffin. I hurried to catch up to him.
Maybe it was my imagination, or something I'd never noticed about late spring, but daylight seemed to arrive much faster than it had before. Soon, golden light lit the crowns of the high trees, and the individual shrieks had become a chorus. Hundreds of voices raised in greeting to the new day. A new chance to hunt.
A tree ten feet away shook all the way down to the ground as a griffin launched itself off and flapped into the sky. I hadn't even seen it roosting. If it had looked down, it would've spotted us.
Dylan was still walking like he didn’t have a care in the world, thumbs tucked into the straps of his backpack.
"Oh my God," I muttered. "Do you even know where you're going?" Hadn’t I said the same thing to Terry, once? What was wrong with the boys in this family?
The glazed look was back in his eye. "I will know it when I get there," he said, calmly.
I had enough. "No, we have to stop now." I grabbed his arm. "They're going to see us."
Dylan was looking past me, totally not paying attention, and I wanted to smack him. But his eyes had lost that glazed look. He tensed.
"What—" I started to turn.
Suddenly, he grabbed me, and with a shove, pushed me a step back and against a tree trunk. The hard, scratchy bark bit into my shirt, except for the small patch of protective feathers.
I tried to push him away, but he shook his head and slowly touched his finger to his own lips. Then he gestured around the tree.
There was something very, very close by. My mouth went dry. I brought the pistol up between us. Seeing it, he shook his head.
"No," he whispered. "It's on the ground. I think... I think there's something about this we should see.”
That was a very bad idea. I shook my head vigorously. "If it's on the ground, it's probably hurt." Like that one which had chased me and Ben the night of the Turning. And if the griffin was injured, it was probably starving.
Dylan shook his head again and ducked down to his hands and knees. I stayed very still as he crept around the tree.
In fact, I couldn't make myself move. My limbs were frozen in place, my heart lodged in my throat. If I looked out from behind the tree, the monster would become real.
Closing my eyes, I listened. There it was, not too far away. Soft shushing of feathers against pine needles. The snap of a twig. Was it coming closer? I couldn't tell.
Dylan, still on his hands and knees, inched to the side to peer further around the trunk. A thorny huckleberry oak bush provided some cover, but he was taking a stupid risk.
He paused for a long moment, then dropped down to his stomach and inched forward using his elbows.
The griffin made a low, almost chuckling sound. Not like a chicken, but with a low thrumming undercurrent. It kinda sounded like a purr. Well, griffins were half lion, right? But why in the world would the thing be purring?
My knees felt weak. If I moved my weight from the tree-trunk, I would collapse completely and give us both away. The griffin would hear. It would come crashing through the low brush, pounce, and...
Dylan twisted and held out his hand to me.
I didn't know why that did it. When my shaking fingers closed around his, his grip was warm and sure. My knees held my weight long enough to sink to ground-level. Tucking my legs under, I crouched so close to Dylan that our shoulders pressed together. Then, I looked out through a gap in the brush.
The griffin was fifty feet away. Further than I’d thought, but this the first time I had seen a live one up close without also running for my life.
Large as a horse, it sat on the ground and blinked lazily in the morning sun. All four limbs tucked under like a cat.
It was almost pretty, I thought.
The eagle head and most of the body was snow–white, the wings, back legs, and lion-like tail, tan. The long feathers along the head and wings transitioned to fur along its back and rump. A creature of both air and earth. It was a thing that should not be possible.
And it didn't look hurt or injured. Just relaxed, as if content to sit there and soak up the early sun.
I heard flapping wings before I spotted the second griffin. Solid steel gray from feet to tail, it dropped in front of the white–and-tan to deposit a limp, yellow furred body. A dead golden retriever.
With a rasping shriek, the white-and-tan darted forward. It raised up and pointed its beak to the sky to swallow the dead dog headfirst. As the griffin stood, she revealed why she had been sitting on the ground.
A mottled blue egg as big as a basketball lay beneath her on the bare earth.
The griffins were breeding. Had the woman been pregnant before she Turned? What, exactly, would hatch out of the egg? A human baby? A Griffin chick or cub?
Was I staring at my own future, sitting on a bare-earthed nest of eggs and waiting for a male griffin to bring me dead dogs and people? I couldn't take it.
Squeezing Dylan's wrist, I jerked my head back to the tree. To my intense relief, he nodded.
I would have gone back without him.
I inched backward, careful over pine needles prickling my knees and palms. By the time we were safely behind the tree again, I was trembling.
"Are you okay?” Dylan whispered.
I started to nod, then shook my head. "It's not fair." My voice came out small. "I don't want that to be me, Dylan. What are we going to do? There are so many of them already, and now they’re breeding, and... and I don't want that to be me."
Hot tears dribbled down to my chin. I wiped them away, not realizing I had been crying until that moment.
Dylan looked uncomfortable. He tentatively patted me on the shoulder in a there–there gesture. “I know it’s scary, but I’m going to do everything I can to make sure you’ll be okay.”
“What can you do?”
“That’s what we’re here to find out.” He paused and looked down. “Uh, do you need a hug or something?”
I hiccuped an exhausted laugh and leaned forward, pressing my forehead against his chest. “You are such a dork.”
With painful carefulness, his arms circled around me. As if he were afraid to hold me close. I knew why.
"It's okay. You won't touch my feathers."
"No, sorry. It's just..." He gave a sort of a helpless shrug. "I don't know much about girls."
He was so awkward, I believed him. Here I was, crying all over this poor guy. I wasn’t normally a crier to begin with, but I’d been doing a lot of it lately. What was wrong with me?
A lot, I decided, but mostly it was that I was hungry, stressed, might be turning into a monster, and hadn't slept in over twenty-four hours.
I shifted and he instantly lifted his arms.
“We shouldn’t stay here,” I said, wiping my eyes.
“Yeah. That silver griffin will probably be back on the hunt, soon.”
I nodded. Using the tree trunk for balance, I stood to my feet. "Let's get going."
Off in the distance, the female griffin purred as she resettled over her egg.
We walked alongside the path to keep under the cover of the thickest trees.
The mountain was practically bald from ash and blackened burned stumps of trees at the top. Here, I guess floating embers made spot-fires. We had to move around burned patches. Even areas that weren’t down to ash had trees where the leaves had become brown and curled due to heat.
I kept one eye on the sky, the other to watch my steps in case I cracked a twig.
My finger rested lightly on the trigger of the pistol. I had to stop every once in awhile to wipe it dry of sweat.
We paused ever
y time we heard a griffin’s call or wing beats above. Most sounded far away, and through the gaps in the trees, I saw the underbelly of griffins flying overhead, sometimes alone, and sometimes in V formations. Others rode thermals thousands of feet into the air.
In other circumstances, it would've been pretty.
It took almost two hours to cover a quarter of a mile. By then I was so tired I was ready to crawl under the nearest bush and take my chances.
Dylan was less jumpy than me. It was like by going on this vision quest, his fear had left him and transferred into me instead.
I was so focused on not stepping on anything that cracked, I didn't notice when he stopped. He didn't point—he never pointed—but he nodded with his chin.
An old historical pioneer cabin sat ten yards off the trail with a bare patch of earth in front of it. It was a small, one–room building with foggy glass windows, and an old-style wood shingle roof. Large cracks ran jagged across gray, wood walls. I had no idea how it had escaped the fire. It looked like a tinderbox.
But I’d feel a lot better with walls between me and the outside.
With one glance to the clear sky, Dylan and I rushed forward. The door opened with a rusty creak that rose all the hairs on the back of my neck. Quickly, we stepped inside and shut it again.
No new griffin cries pierced the air.
The inside had been cleanly kept, with aged wooden furniture. A wicker rocking chair sat on one side, a bed with a thin quilt on the other. Every object was tagged with a helpful metal placard to explain what it was originally used for.
I sat on an, ‘authentic hope chest made of cedar’ and let out a long breath.
“I am not doing that again. From now on, we’re moving at night."
"I don't we won’t have to." Dylan did a slow turn around the cabin as if examining it for flaws. Then he removed his backpack and held it out to me. "Here. You should have something to eat."
“Good idea.” I rifled around until I found the packet of beef jerky I’d been thinking about for hours. I took a medium sized square and then held the packet out to him.
But he didn't take it. "I'm supposed to be fasting." He shrugged. "My uncle said it could take four days to cleanse all the impurities from your body."
"Four days?! Dylan, that's dangerous. That could make you delirious."
He smiled. "That's kind of the point."
What if he went berserk and started yelling?
He must have read the look on my face because he added, "You really don’t have to stay past tonight. Actually, it might be better, safer, if you didn't."
"No, I'm not leaving. Not that I could," I added. "But tonight, I might go back to the house, just to check up on everybody."
Ben would be so worried. Terry... I didn't know what Terry would think about me taking off on a ‘vision quest’ with Dylan. Would he care? Would he be furious?
Or would he be jealous? I wondered. Does he need to be?
Dylan, oblivious to my really deep inner thoughts, arranged himself in a corner of the room and sat cross-legged. He took a few deep breaths, and then closed his eyes.
I wasn't sure what to do. An hour in, and I had read and reread every placard in the hokey historical cabin. (’These authentic metal spoons were based on the ones used by the original settlers.’ Wow.)
Dylan didn't make any noise, other than shift his weight once or twice, but I got the feeling that my pacing was distracting him from communing with the spirits. Or whatever.
I felt kinda awkward eating in front of him, too, when he couldn't.
The sun was hitting the roof of the cabin and warming up the air inside. There was an old pallet by a fake wood stove. (The settlers used one just like it for cooking and eating!)
With a glance to Dylan, I shook out the musty quilt on top of the pallet. Several earwigs skidded away, so I threw the quilt to the side. The bare pallet creaked, but held my weight. I lay down, my back to him, and closed my eyes.
I woke as a rough hand shook my shoulder. Dylan's voice was urgent. "Get up, Clarissa!"
The silent clock in my head told me I'd only been asleep for a couple hours. The cabin was bright with sunlight streaming in through the small windows. I had buried my head under my arm to block it out.
"What?" I asked, muzzily. "Did it happen? Your vision?"
A sharp crack of noise shot through the trees, echoing off the mountains to the north and the lake to the south.
I sat up so fast I nearly cracked Dylan on the nose. "Is that—?"
"Gunfire," he said grimly. "That's the third one."
"Is it coming from...?" I didn't have to finish. I saw the answer in his eyes.
The gunfire had come from the direction of the house.
It had been about three weeks since the Turning. All this time, we’d had no sign of other survivors aside from those doomed cars on the mountainside. It was one thing to make noise at night, but during the day when the griffins were on the hunt? Something must have happened.
Ben.
"We have to go back." I cast a look outside. The bright afternoon sunlight hid nothing. My voice raised in panic. "We have to go, now!"
I didn't know why I expected Dylan to say no. To my surprise, he shoved a water bottle into my hands. "Drink half," he said, his voice calm. "Too much, you'll cramp up. Too little, you will be dehydrated and that will slow you, too."
I opened the tepid water and gulped it down. At the halfway point, I pulled the bottle away and tried to hand it to him. He shook his head.
"What, are you serious? You're still fasting?"
His answer was interrupted by another gunshot. We didn't have time to argue. My brother, Terry, Merlot, and the others were in trouble.
I tossed the water bottle away and bent to pick up the pistol I had laid by my feet. Dylan joined me at the door.
This was pretty much the very definition of a suicide run. But I didn't care. I had left Ben alone, and now he was in very real danger. Everything was fine when we left last night. What could have gone wrong? Whatever it was, my brother wasn’t going to face it alone.
Something in me hardened. "Once we get outside," I said, "we're not stopping for anything. Okay?"
Sorry, Dylan. You’re a great guy, but my brother comes first.
Dylan hesitated, catching on. Then he nodded. "Okay."
8
Dylan
I’m a hefty guy, and PE was easily my worst class. Last year, I had to run a mile in under ten minutes to pass. By the end, I thought I was going to die. That had been on a flat, bouncy running track. Not a hiking trail with hills and rocks.
Not to mention the death from above.
Clarissa easily outpaced me. She turned back, an anguished look on her face.
I motioned her on. "Go!"
What was the saying? You didn't have to outrun a hungry bear. You just needed to outrun your buddy? Well, a griffin in flight could outpace us both.
Their excited shrieks filled the warm, mid-afternoon air. I didn't know if they were riled up because of the gunshots, or if we had been spotted.
I had known something bad was on the horizon. That was the reason I’d left the house last night to try a vision quest. But no way did I think it would happen the next day.
Now, the griffins were on the hunt.
You can't see us, I thought, putting all my concentration into it, just like when they’d been after me and Merlot. I didn’t know if I was crazy, but I had to try something. You can’t see us. We’re not here. You can't...
My thoughts became a rhythm to go along with my running feet. I was so focused that, if not for the flash of a yellow beak as it caught the sun, I wouldn’t have spotted the griffin in time.
Dappled black and mud–brown, its plumage blended perfectly with the shadowed tree that it perched on.
Clarissa, who was further down the trail, was nearly under it.
"Clarissa! Stop!" I shouted.
She skidded to a halt. Twisting, she looked right, left
, and up. But I could tell she didn’t see it.
“There! Above you!” I yelled.
The griffin spread its wings, breaking the illusion of camouflage. Clarissa took a step back, raising the pistol. One foot caught on a fallen branch and she fell backward to her butt. She raised the pistol again, but it didn't go off. I didn't know if it was jammed, or if the safety was on and she was too panicked to think clearly.
I ran faster, but was still yards away. Helpless to watch as the griffin shifted to dropped down on her.
"No!" I yelled. "You can't!" I reached out as if I could stop it.
It felt like I'd thrown something. Something that rebounded right back on to me, evil, sick, and wrong. I staggered, sharp pain flashing through my head that made me see stars.
The griffin hesitated over Clarissa, focus shifting to me. The ring of feathers around its neck mantled like a lion's mane.
Clarissa, scrambling, grabbed onto a railroad tie bordering the side of the path. The parks department re-purposed them to shore up walking trails from erosion. It was basically a mini-log, pounded into the earth. She lifted it, clods of dirt falling away. Swinging, she smacked the griffin so hard it fell to the side.
The griffin was as big as a horse, and she’d used a railroad tie easily half her weight. She’d done it with one hand.
Screaming, Clarissa leaped up and brought the tie down on the griffins head in a death blow.
Reaching her at last, I grabbed her arm and hauled her back. And in that moment I felt, again, the imbalance. It emanated from her shoulder like the representations of black holes I’d seen in science class.
The railroad tie fell from her hand and landed with a thud I felt through the ground. Her eyes were wild. I thought she was going to attack me next.
It wouldn’t be the first time.
Then, she blinked. “Dylan?” She looked at the tie by her feet and stepped back. “Oh, my God. How—?”
“Same way you tossed me across the basement,” I said. “Where’s the pistol?”
“I dropped it. A bullet wasn’t in the chamber. I should have checked,” she babbled. “Why didn’t I check? Oh man, did I really just do that?”
Under Wicked Sky_Book 2 Page 7