by Tricia Owens
Enhanced or no, invisible or no, the dogs knew exactly where she was and Rogette apparently realized the effort was wasted. Her body turned solid again just as her grip on the slippery, polished bronze gaze way, allowing her body to slide within perilous reach of snapping jaws. She let out a bleat of terror.
The closest thing at hand was a ten foot tall light pole. I ran to it and slapped my hand on it, meddling furiously. The light bulb burst as I meddled the molecules in the metal pole, reforming it into a ladder that stretched and curved, forming an arc as it reached over to Rogette. She saw it approaching and leaped for the rungs. The dogs went into a frenzy, biting at her dangling feet before she managed to swing them up and hook her knees over the rungs. She hung there upside down, gasping, while the dogs tried in vain to reach her.
It wasn’t the most comfortable position to hold for long so I began meddling the ladder to twist over so Rogette could crouch on it rather than hang, when Elliott whistled. I knew exactly what that whistle meant.
I fell back as the dogs charged me. I sprinted for a metal bench yards away. The dogs were fast and I knew I wouldn’t make it in time. I leaped and felt a tug on one of my boots—
My fingers slapped over the nearest edge of the bench. As I skidded painfully across the ground, tearing skin, I meddled the bench into one half of a giant clamshell cage that slammed down behind me. I didn’t pull my leg back in time and its rim landed on my ankle. My scream pierced the angry barking of the dogs as they threw themselves against the cage, trying to break through its bars. Biting my lip against the pain, I heaved my leg out from beneath the heavy rim of the cage, allowing it to fall flat to the ground. The dogs slammed against it, causing the cage to slide, so I meddled the concrete to rise up and seal around the entire rim. The dogs looked like they were trapped inside a metal igloo.
But though I’d stopped them, I’d hurt myself, and my healing factor would need time to mend broken bones. Grimacing, I rose up onto my elbows to see what was going on with Elliott. I got my answer when I heard his trilling whistle and the sudden scurry of thousands of tiny claws.
“Rats!” Rogette screamed. “A giant tidal wave of them!”
“Stay up there,” I ordered.
Gasping in pain, I forced myself to my feet. Elliott stared straight at me, his expression completely blank and his eyes as lifeless as a mannequin’s. It was frightening. I wanted my friend back.
“Elliott, can you hear me?” I tried.
I got nothing from him. Having experienced what he now suffered, I knew he was crushed down somewhere within his own mind, trapped there helplessly while a demented intruder ruled his body. Whatever I did, I couldn’t rely on his help.
But what could I do without hurting him? I had a theory about what the shadow killer really was, but the plan I had to stop it was dubious. It was more likely to fail than succeed.
Still, it was the only one I had.
A quick look around my surroundings offered a bit of hope. I hobbled around the cage full of barking dogs to an ice cream parlor. A touch to the front glass window allowed me to shatter it so I could limp inside the shop.
I quickly scanned the interior of the shop for what I needed. One wall was covered with retail items like cookie and candy jars, packaged sweets, and stacks of colorful T-shirts emblazoned with the shop’s logo. The freezer counter that normally held the ice cream bins was dark and empty. Behind it stood the silver metal door of a walk-in cooler where I presumed the ice cream was stored overnight. The soft hum of its refrigeration unit filled the shop.
I limped behind the counter and stood there as Elliott finally took a handful of steps in the shop’s direction.
“Come on,” I taunted him. “If you want the witch, you have to kill me first. Otherwise I’ll keep saving her.”
When he didn’t move, uncertainty started to well inside me. What if the thing inside him didn’t understand human speech? What if it couldn’t think beyond the basic instinct to kill witches?
Those fears evaporated when Elliott burst into action, sprinting toward the store.
My heart convulsed. I turned swiftly and rose up onto my toes, straining to reach the silver box mounted above the door of the walk-in cooler. I meddled quickly, knowing that with every passing fraction of a second Elliott and the leaper drew closer. Hot air gusted from the side of the cooler and the box beneath my fingers rattled with increased effort. Just a little longer…My calves cramped and gave out, dropping me down to my heels. My fingers slipped off the box. Had I done enough?
I had no time to test it. I heard the crunch of Elliott’s boots over the broken front window glass as he charged inside. He was only feet behind me, but I hesitated, knowing I had only one shot. Just one more second…
Gasping, I heaved open the heavy metal door of the cooler and lunged inside just as his hand closed around my shoulder. I slapped my hand over his, holding it in place, and dragged him inside with me. The door swung closed with a heavy sucking sound as the rubber gasket around the frame sealed shut.
It was freezing. Below freezing. I’d meddled the refrigeration unit to work overtime, siphoning out as much heat as possible. The result was a box of nearly Antarctic chill. My first breath stabbed the tender tissues inside my nose and mouth and seared a trail of acid down my throat and into my lungs where I felt like I’d been stabbed. My cheeks were on fire. My eyes burned as though they’d been rubbed with fine grit sandpaper. The cold was so intense that it actually stunned me, so that my only movement was the involuntary and violent clenching of every muscle in my body.
But I forced myself to move, aware that I was freezing to death. I shuffled around and found Elliott not quite frozen in place just inside the cooler door. His face was ghostly pale and quickly turning blue. His limbs shivered violently in his body’s last attempt to save itself. Neither of us were dressed for this. We would die within minutes.
My teeth chattered so violently I expected the enamel to crack. My jaw was as rigid as a nutcracker’s, the muscles clenched tight all the way down my neck to my shoulders. I’m going to die, I thought, delirious. Why did I bring us in here?
Elliott shook so violently that he looked as though he were having a fit. And then he gradually began to still, and that was when my fear turned my marrow to stone. When the body no longer attempted to warm itself, death was soon to follow.
“D-D-Don’t d-d-die,” I chattered, my breath puffing white before me. “P-Please. Just—just d-do it.”
No response came from Elliott or the leaper. I felt my heart rate slowing. My hands and feet had grown numb. Blinking was impossible because my lashes had crusted with ice. Elliott and I were going to freeze to death inside this box, our bodies preserved like sides of beef.
“D-Do it!” I screeched. Or tried to. The command came out of me as a weak dribble of despair.
What a terrible, tragic mistake I’d committed. Why had I done this to Elliott when there were other options I could have taken? For all my adult life I’d yearned to follow in the footsteps of my parents and my grandmother, yet what I’d done here was no heroic act. By pulling Elliot in here, arrogantly believing that I had the solution, I’d murdered him.
The truth was as glacial and cruel as an iceberg: I was no hero, and never had been.
I felt my mind beginning to drift, growing spacey. This must be what it was like to go through the Crossing Program. I tried to find solace in it, and I couldn’t. Death was still death.
When it happened, I was nearly too numb to register what it meant. I thought Elliott’s body had ruptured from the intense cold. My body felt like it was about to do the same, the cells in my organs swelled to maximum capacity. But Elliott wasn’t exploding. Gray powder shot from his nostrils and open mouth, raining to the ground like thrown gunpowder. The sight was almost pretty, a shimmering cloud of gray crystals surrounded by mist.
What was even more beautiful was the croak of distress that squeezed from between Elliott’s blue lips.
He was
back.
My elation wasn’t enough to warm my blood. I could barely control my frozen limbs, but with all of my strength I slid one leg forward. Then another, oblivious of the pain of my healing ankle. I shuffled toward him with growing momentum. When I finally reached him I fell against him. Our combined body weight hit the door. Dying, we’re dying, I thought. It’s too late…
With a last, desperate surge of energy, I slapped my numb hand against the door. My limb felt like a hunk of meat attached to me. It didn’t register the shape of the door latch, but my eyes recognized it. I pushed down to free us.
Nothing happened. The intense cold had sealed the door shut at the seams.
My wail of fury came out sounding like the squeal of a deflating balloon. I couldn’t even cry; the moisture froze instantly in the corners of my eyes.
I slanted my dry eyes to look at Elliott’s face. If I hadn’t heard him, I would have believed him dead. But he was alive. Barely.
I won’t let you die.
I rested my hand on the door lever and concentrated on the metal. I couldn’t feel it with my fingers, but I could see that I was in contact with it. With the last of my dwindling concentration, I meddled the handle. It transfigured slowly, sluggishly, as if even the molecules were frozen. Finally, after distressingly long seconds, I meddled it into the coarsest of prison shanks.
I won’t let you die, Elliott.
I slid my wrist along the edge of the shank.
There wasn’t any pain. Were it not for the spurting of my blood and its swift, frozen arc in the air, I wouldn’t have known I’d made the cut. I sliced again, clumsily and probably devastatingly. I didn’t care. I’d cut off my hand if I had to.
My blood gushed out more strongly, freezing just a tad slower because of the volume. I thrust my wrist against the seam where the edge of the door met the frame. My blood spurted into the seam, steam rising. At the same time, I shoved mine and Elliott’s bodies against the door.
One tiny moment of warmth against the ice seal. The combined weight of our bodies.
Together, they were enough.
The door cracked open with a sound like shattering glass and Elliott and I tumbled out of the cooler.
We hit the floor. We lay there for a long time. At least it felt that way, though in truth it was only minutes. I was convinced I was dead for most of it. But my accelerated healing factor kicked in and I began to rouse, whimpering with agony as my hands and feet gradually warmed. The shivering began anew and it exhausted me, but shivering meant my body was still fighting for life. It was a good sign, even with all the blood leaking out of my torn wrist.
Then, I heard it: Rogette shrieking.
The sound jumpstarted my adrenaline, prompting me to sit up and then pull myself up using the ice cream counter, smearing blood all over the side of it. I could see Rogette still sitting atop the bent ladder. She had managed to crawl up and over it to gain a more comfortable position. She didn’t appear comfortable now, though, with dozens of rats scurrying up the metal toward her and hundreds more gathering around the concrete beneath her. Even the dogs in the cage seemed shaken, their barks taking on shrill notes of panic, as if they were aware that the rats could eat them, too.
Even if I meddled a gun with a thousand bullets that still wouldn’t be enough to stop the rodents. Only one person could do it.
I dropped down beside Elliott and slapped his cold cheeks.
“Elliott, wake up! You have to wake up!”
He stirred slightly. I slapped him harder. When he opened his rainwater eyes they were dazed. He probably had a touch of hypothermia and couldn’t think straight. But he’d have to, otherwise we were going to be mauled.
“The rats are coming,” I told him urgently. “I need you to send them away, Elliott. Do you understand me? The rats are coming! They’re going to eat us!”
That got through to him. His gaze cleared and fear filled them. “R-Rats?”
“Send them away, Elliott. Do your whistling thing!”
He nodded and tried to put his lips together. But his lips were frozen. He couldn’t purse them enough to produce anything but a gust of air.
With my heart pounding in my chest, I threw myself at the sink and poured warm water into my cupped hands. I spilled half of it on my way back to Elliott, but managed to press a few spoonfuls against his lips, trying to thaw them.
Outside, Rogette’s shrieking intensified.
Elliott tried to whistle again, but now he’d begun shivering.
I cursed and went for another handful of water. I was able to keep more of it in my palms this time and held it against his shaking lips. I felt him move his mouth against my fingers so I lowered the water.
He puckered his lips and blew.
His whistle was thin and reedy. I barely heard it.
“Try again!” I yelled.
Looking as panicked as I felt, he blew again. This time the sound was stronger, but the note trembled due to his shaking.
I heard the scurry of feet over broken glass.
The rats were inside the shop.
I turned, terror rising in my throat as a gray mass scuttled around the counter. I raised my hands in defense but that did nothing as the first rats scuttled over my feet and legs. Tiny, vicious teeth sank through my jeans and into my shins and the softer skin at my calves. I thrashed wildly, kicking them off, but there were plenty more to replace them, their furry weight thumping over my legs and rushing upwards toward my face. I screamed—
A whistle pierced the air. The small bodies froze. I flailed, flinging them off me. The rest of the advancing rats had also skidded to a halt. Elliott, too weak to sustain the note, took a breath. The rats darted forward again. I cried out in despair.
This time Elliott’s whistle rang out clear and strong. It stopped the rats in their tracks. I could sense the change in their demeanor from aggressive and hungry to merely inquisitive. Their whiskers twitched and their heads turned to and fro. After an excruciating handful of seconds, they turned en masse and trotted back around the counter and out of sight. I listened to them cross the broken glass and only when the sound stopped did I dare to peer over the counter. The rats had gone. The dogs barked after their retreat. Rogette, still on the ladder, had both hands over her face and was shaking. I collapsed back on the floor beside Elliott.
“This job stinks,” I declared.
“I d-don’t know w-what’s g-going on.”
I turned my head, suddenly aware of a hundred tiny hurts. “Give me a moment and I’ll fill you in.”
I crawled back to the sink and meddled it and the metal work table beside it to create one giant tub.
“Help me,” I said to Elliott. “You need to get inside.”
Between us we managed to get his stiff and shaking body into the tub. After propping him up against the edge so he was sitting upright, I turned the faucet to its highest flow, making sure the water was set to just above room temperature so he wouldn’t warm too quickly and suffer. While I was doing that I rinsed my arm off so the blood wouldn’t alarm him. The torn skin had closed up and was on its way to fully healing.
“I’ll n-never b-be warm ag-gain,” Elliott chattered.
My smile was faint. “Says the guy in the hot tub.”
He laughed weakly.
The rat bites I’d received were diminishing and the gentle heat in my body told me my healing factor was combating any infection I might have received from the rodents. My broken ankle, though still causing me pain, had healed enough that I could walk on it with only a slight limp. Feeling better with every passing minute, I went to the retail display wall and grabbed several of the logo T-shirts. The cooler continued to run, but because the door was open condensation was beginning to bead on the inside of the door. I spread the T-shirts carefully over the floor of the cooler, over the gray sparkles that I could see there.
Now all I could do was wait.
Elliott’s recovery was rougher than mine, the agony as his limbs warmed up bring
ing moans to his lips. Eventually his shivering subsided and he could lay in the water in relative peace.
“What happened?” he asked me tiredly. “How did I get here?”
I kneeled beside the tub. “The leaper took control of you.” I nodded at his gasp of horror. “But you’re okay now and you didn’t hurt anyone.” I reached up and cupped his cool cheek. “In fact, you saved us all, Elliott. Because you whistled.”
His eyes brimmed with tears. “Did I? Did I do it right this time?”
I thought about the guilt he’d carried all this time. My heart broke for him. “Yeah, partner. You really did.”
He sniffed and dropped his gaze. “Thank you, Arrow.”
“Nah. Thanks go to you.”
“I mean for trusting that I could do it. Your life was in my hands...but you believed in me.”
“Of course,” I said. It was a given for me, even though it could be argued that I was one of the most mistrustful people around. But once I gave my loyalty, it was solid. “We’ve got each other’s backs, Elliott. Always.”
He nodded, still misty-eyed, and looked around. “And the leaper? Is it gone?”
I walked to the cooler. Water dripped from all the hard surfaces and was puddling on the floor. The T-shirts I’d thrown in there earlier were soaked. I carefully dragged them out by one foot and kept the wet garments separated on the floor of the shop for Elliott to see.
“The leaper is in here,” I told him, indicating the shirts.
“But how?” Elliott leaned over the edge of the tub and studied the shirts with a frown. “I thought it was a living being.”
“I think it once was. Or could be. But Mr. Tower tried to use it for his own ends.” I smiled grimly at Elliott. “Remember what he is. He’s an Atomization Arts specialist. Believe it or not, he aerosolized this thing. He turned it into a living gas.”