After a silence that is thick with tension, he speaks. “Can you do some research on the portable lap computer regarding the owls?” His eyes are blank.
Deep breath.
“So that’s why you hang around with a naught? I’m just an information source, aren’t I? Is it really worth the risk?” I want to stab myself for being a bitch, but I’m cornered. He says he’s not dating them, but I know he’s keeping secrets.
The emotion that burns in his eyes can only be one thing—anger. Rocks glares at me like I’ve just turned into the wicked witch and eaten Mini whole.
“Do not use that term in my presence. Aeronaught is fine, but you are NOT NOTHING.” His raised voice echoes in my room. The movement in his jaw shows he’s grinding his teeth. I want him to tell me what’s going on. I don’t want him hurt—ever. But my gut is telling me that this isn’t the first time he’s argued that point. I’m desperate to reach out and hug him, but I need the truth about humans, the colony and his sister.
Rocks walks to my open window. He rarely leaves that way, especially when Kelly knows he’s in the house. He speaks without looking at me, “You’ll always be worth the risk.”
But before I can blink, he’s gone.
10.
Enemy
That night I cry silently into my pillow. Fighting with Rocks makes me hate myself. I know he isn’t entirely innocent but I regret saying some of the things I did. He’s keeping secrets; secrets that I know are related to humans, but he didn’t deserve my snarky attack. He also didn’t deserve the jealous undercurrent of my tone when I confronted him about the Camazotz girls.
I ignored my instinct to trust him and hurt him again. He’s not telling me everything I need to know. There’s a history that involves his sister, the colony, and humans. Until I know what that is, I can’t shield myself from the Camazotz girls properly. Information is power. They know it—and have it.
The hole in my chest just seems to vary in size these days. It’s a permanent fixture I’m learning to live with. It’s currently a bottomless abyss. I don’t want Rocks to risk himself Friday night, but I can’t stop wondering if he’ll show up or not. Logic tells me I pushed enough buttons to send him packing, but his parting words haunt me; I know I’m not worth it.
Lunchtime Thursday my phone vibrates with a text.
Your mother does lives in Watkinsville.
My hand flinches around the juice box and sends OJ shooting across the lunch table. Brandy ducks but luckily the juice runs out of momentum before it gets that far.
“All good?” she asks.
My heart is beating in my throat. My mother has been located. That address really is hers. She’s real. I’m so close to getting the answers I need. I can’t speak. The floodgates have opened.
My reply is quick.
You saw her?
My lungs feel like they are refusing to let air in.
Yes. Briefly.
My real mother has been located—at long last. I don’t know whether to laugh or cry. Then my guilty conscious forces me to send another text.
I hope you took Jeremiah with you.
Nothing.
Is your phone on silent?
That gets a response.
No. Sounds like a woodpecker is living in my pants.
The mention of woodpeckers reminds me of the owls. Fudge! He risks his life to check whether my mother lives at the new address and I can’t even do a simple Internet search on killer owls.
What sort of owls?
My study hall is spent on Google learning about the Great Horned Owl. Reading that they eat bats almost sends me to the bathroom to be sick. Their yellow eyes give me the creeps. I’m sure Horror Movie Girl could describe the exact owl that is staring at me from my monitor. They appear in every classic horror film to witness her demise. Think classic creepy owl with a wingspan of over four feet and you’ve got our assassin. Tufts of feathers stick up to form eyebrow horns, arching over their deadly yellow eyes, giving the impression of a permanent angry scowl. Regardless of whether it’s Mother Nature at work, that’s our enemy.
* * * * *
Mini is out of sorts when I collect her. Her little face is red and sweaty. She cries for no reason when I strap her in the car, and big fat tears accompany us all the way home.
She won’t eat. She doesn’t want a bath and hurls the books I open to read across the room.
Kelly finds us rocking quietly back and forth in the wooden rocker when she gets home. Mini isn’t sleeping, but she’s resting comfortably using my chest as a pillow. My homework hasn’t been touched, and my human brain can’t work out how Rocks knows the owl attacks are on purpose.
In the quiet of Mini’s room, I spend the hours trying to work out the constant churning in my gut. Conflict, I’ve decided is my new soul mate. One text from Rocks sent my emotions into turmoil. This can’t be normal or healthy. The emotional elevator that leads to the hole inside of me is no fun. My mood is up or down, or waiting for the next up or down. I need to get a grip. I list my lunchtime elevator rides in my head. The rhythmic back and forth of the rocker helping me think.
Your mother lives there—Josie is real—I’m elated, eager, nervous. The elevator is up.
Your mother lives there—Josie warned me to stay away—I’m apprehensive, annoyed, unsettled. Elevator down.
Your mother lives there—Rocks hasn’t abandoned me—I’m stunned, relieved, ecstatic. Elevator up again. I was so worried he was upset about my stupid dating remark.
Your mother lives there—Rocks risked his life for me—I’m worried, frustrated, angry. The elevator plummets down.
Your mother lives there—He thinks I’m worth it—a good dash of awww, along with honored, and weepy. Up, up, up it goes.
One text caused fifteen emotions to be dumped into the swirling tidal pool. It’s no wonder my chest aches, and my inhaler’s almost empty.
Mini has a temperature, and her parents can’t decide whether to take her to the urgent care medical center or not. Dinner is freezer foraging for me and caffeine for them.
The English assignments I’ve been ignoring get pulled out and stared at some more. Thankfully, I’m up to date on Economics. Circling the essay questions with my red pen, I focus on nothing in particular.
I wake with a gasp.
My neck aches from using my desk as a pillow and my lower back agrees. I know about the owls. My dream was filled with dark wings and strange cries from the trees and low growling rumbles. I was crouched down looking through bars at the surrounding forest—caged.
The caged birds. Those mammoth winged monsters the Park Ranger was obviously about to let go. These aren’t colony attacks. There’s no mystery to solve. The colony has just been given new neighbors. Part of the hole in my chest cavity lessens. There is nobody out to hurt Rocks. It really is just nature at work.
Park Ranger released owls. I saw it.
The reply is instant. Guess he’s not winging it through the forest.
When. Where.
A second later…
Cannot find the question mark. Sorry.
I bite my lip.
Day I visited. About 150 feet from your front gate.
Does not make sense. Keep looking. He replies.
I thump my forehead against the desk. If Rocks isn’t happy, then I keep digging. He has never questioned my methods or hunches in relation to my parents, so it would be unfair for me to call him on his feelings regarding the birds. I roll into bed fully clothed and drift off with the promise of continuing the Great Horned Owl hunt when the sun is up.
* * * * *
I scan the entrance to Wicked Beats between customers. With the worries of the colony going on, I know he won’t have time to dance, but I can’t help myself. Tiff is floating around our tiny space due to the fact that not one, but two college guys handed over cell numbers scrawled on napkins. They were both giant wiener winners.
Wiping mustard from my forearm, I peak out the van door. I didn’t
really expect to find him waiting, but I’d hoped. I’m about to ask Tiff for a lift, but she’s texting wiener winner number one, and her smile is blinding. There’s no way I’m going to be a third wheel.
I start my walk home and pull out my phone to text Rocks. Before work, I located an email contact at the National Park Service and sent them an enquiry about the release of owls in the Helen area.
Cutting through the parking lot gets me home faster; I scan the dark spaces between cars. Walking home alone after midnight isn’t my favorite thing to do, but sometimes it can’t be helped. Confirming I’m alone, I focus back on my glowing screen to finish my text.
Umph!
Something whacks into the back of my head. “Ouch.” My hair is pulled as whatever hit me gets tangled in my long strands. I spin around and feel little bursts of air against my face. Looking up, I can’t see anything. There’s no moon. My spine tingles. Humans are so dependent on their eyesight and yet our night vision is a joke. I twist and turn trying to find whatever slammed into me.
“Rocks?”
A loud screech echoes from above. He’s here. Another screech, higher above this time. But instead of the calmness I feel when Rocks accompanies me home, a spike of adrenaline surges through my veins. I fill my lungs to capacity and let the air out slowly through my mouth. Maybe it’s just being out alone at this time of night. My gut is telling me something isn’t right. I hurry, crossing the street and heading away from the shops and into suburbia.
Before my eyes can focus properly on the shadowed sidewalk, Camazotz-Rocks collides with the side of my face. I resist my urge to scream and duck down, crouching on the grass. He swoops past my head, repeatedly dipping and rising and I feel the wind from each pass move my ponytail. I turn my head this way and that, trying to catch a proper glimpse of him. He’s too quick.
He won’t hurt me, I chant inside my head.
His flying form flashes before my eyes, and I stand up not wanting to lose sight of him. Whack! He’s slammed into the side of my head again. I raise my arm to protect my head, but he whacks me from the opposite direction.
Whack! Whack!
“Stop it. Ouch! Rocks, don’t.” I really want to scream.
Fur and wings and claws all blur in front of me. Rocks is screeching at an earsplitting level. A wing wraps around my head, claws tangling in my hair. Trying to protect my eyes, I stumble, and his claws rip open the flesh above my eye. The shooting pain makes me gasp. Before I can register why Rocks would do this, more wings and cries and flapping surround my head. I’m hit again. I lurch back and warmth trickles down my face. Bright blood drips from my hand when I pull it away. Seeing the blood somehow amplifies the sting from my eyebrow.
In front of my face is a jumble of leathery wings, fur and biting heads. The screeches intensify, and I freeze. There are three—no—four bats all caught in a tumbling ball of wings and chaotic movement. Almost in slow motion, I watch one bat chomp down hard on the neck of one of the others.
Eeek!
I recognize that call.
Help me!
Two words echo in a man’s voice inside my head.
“Shit!” Doubling over, I cover my ears. I just heard a man’s voice crying out for help inside my head. “What the hell?” Standing up, I feel dizzy. Great, now I’m hearing things.
The tumbling quagmire of bat limbs dips before one bat breaks free, pumping its wings to gain height. Two others break apart in chase. I’m left holding my eyebrow trying to stop the constant trickle of blood and facing a lone bat at eye level.
Rocks.
The other bats screech and tumble onto someone’s lawn and to my shock are very agile on the ground. They jump and wrestle with wings catching on limbs and I worry about deadly tears across the fragile membranes. The bats launch themselves into the air and the three of them take off across the sky.
When I turn back, Rocks is standing before me.
“Oh my God, are you all right? Why didn’t you scream when he attacked you? You should have defended yourself.” He’s moved my hand and is fussing over my eye. His handkerchief covers half my vision, and the applied pressure is oddly comforting.
I'm quivering worse than the abused kittens I’ve seen at the shelter. It hurts. Rocks grabs me. “Connie?”
I focus on his face. He’s bending down still holding the handkerchief but pushing my head back. “I thought it was you.”
The pressure on my forehead vanishes. I blink. Rocks is standing before me holding the bloody cotton, his mouth ajar. “I would never attack you!” The tone of his voice cuts me, and the look in his eyes hurts more than the wound above my eye. “Why would you think I’d attack you? God.”
Blood dribbles down my cheeks. Rocks tips my head back and applies pressure again.
“I’m sorry. I don’t know, it all happened so fast. Last time I saw you, you were pretty mad about me and the whole dating stuff.”
I want to take the words back as soon as they leave my mouth. The eel is doing gymnastics or something crazy in there. I’m an idiot who never learns.
“Come on, I’ve got to get you home.” I’m walking, being supported by Rocks. His body is stiff against my side, and looking up, I notice blood trailing down the side of his neck.
“You’re hurt.”
“It’s nothing I’m not used to.”
At my house, Rocks leads me up the porch steps to the swing. The bleeding has slowed from the pressure he’s applying. Head wounds suck. I swap my hand for his, and he kneels in front of me with his hands on my knees.
“Are you okay?”
I nod. “Who was that?”
“I don’t know, but I hope Jeremiah and Decker caught him. I’m so sorry.” Moving my head hurts. I wince. “Easy. Don’t move.”
“Sorry, I thought it was you. I’m so confused these days I don’t know what I’m thinking, and it’s always the wrong thing no matter my intention. My instincts were telling me to scream, but I didn’t want to knock you out again. I never listen at the right time. I just …” Tears join the streaks of blood on my face. I’m pretty sure I now resemble Horror Movie Girl at her finest.
“We have to work on that, Beans.” I can’t even muster a smile. “Listen. You need to recognize me as a bat. Why didn’t you look for my tattoos?”
I frown and wish I hadn’t. “Ow, what? You think I can see black tattoos on black wings that are moving rapidly toward my face in the dark?” I stare at him with my good eye. He shrugs. “Yeah, you obviously have no idea what aeronaught eyesight is capable of seeing.”
He’s in a t-shirt tonight and holds his arms out straight between us displaying his tatts.
“You can see these clearly when I’m a bat.”
I roll my eyes and regret it. “No, I can’t.”
“Shit.”
Crouched in front of me, I notice every muscle in his body is hard with tension. I’ve never seen him this on edge. His bat senses are on high alert. At the slightest noise, his head jerks and his eye dart away. I’m not used to seeing a Rocks who isn’t calm and at ease. The animal within him is barely being contained.
“I’m sorry. First, the owls and now you. I don’t know what’s going on. Or who’s behind this.”
“The girls?” I suggest. Rocks meets my gaze. Instead of dismissing my accusation, he rubs his finger along his lip.
“I don’t know. Better not be.” He shakes his head. “They wouldn’t dare. I didn’t recognize that male, but they do know plenty of other Camazotz.”
Rocks stands and eases me up with him. He knocks on the door, and when Dad V2.0’s eyes land on the bloody freak show on his porch chaos ensues as my attack become a storm in a teacup.
“Connie, what …” His hands are on me much the same as Rocks’ before, examining every inch of my face to assess the damage.
“Sir, it’s my fault.” I flinch. He can’t possibly be going to say what I think he is. “She was attacked by a bat. I’m sorry I couldn’t prevent it, sir.”
The woman who has patched me up over the years has joined his side in her nightgown, and the pitch of her voice, I’m sure, is going to make my ears bleed as well.
“Oh, Lord, the blood. What. Oh honey. Chad, get the car.” It’s an endless stream of mostly nonsense.
“I take full responsibility.” I hear Rocks continue.
Chad allows Kelly to take over first aid duties and glares hard at Rocks. “A bat did this you say.” The rise of his eyebrow shows he doesn’t believe us. Ironic that when I actually tell the truth it sounds more like a lie.
“Guys, he saved me,” I add. I’ve been pulled into the living room and am resting on the love seat with my head forced back to stop the bleeding.
“Bats? Did you say a bat did this?” she asks, looking frantically between Rocks and I. He nods. “We’re going to the hospital. Rabies!”
Rocks lets out a strangled laugh before ducking his head. It’s every girl’s dream to spend her Friday night in emergency getting unnecessary rabies injections. Right now, if I could punch Rocks and get away with it, I would.
* * * * *
The numbers on my alarm clock show it’s three in the morning. The painkillers the doctor gave me have worn off. Two neat stitches sit above my eyebrow. Now who’s going to be called scarface? I wonder. My head is pounding and it’s not from the wound. No matter what I said to any adult present, none listened. I was given the first of four rabies injections. My arm is red and a little swollen; my stomach is trying to revolt, and my head is thumping. The worst part is that I’ll have to go through this again in three days time. The lecture I received from the doctor about never touching a bat is still ringing in my ears. If only they knew.
After grabbing a drink of water in the bathroom, I push my window up. The darkness obscures my vision, but the cool night air helps my face relax. I rest my hand lightly on my forehead. The bandage is annoying and looms as a dark spot in my vision. I need to lie down. Before I make it back to bed, I hear three loud thumps and a cool hand from behind covers my mouth. My body is pulled back against a hard form. I try to suck in air in preparation.
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