Anathema

by Bowman, Lillian

  “What the…” Wolfman Savage growls. “Hey! Someone get the lights back! We can’t film this.” But no one answers. All the surrounding beach houses have gone black as well..

  Wolfman Savage’s grip freezes on my arm.

  I hear him mumble, “What is…”

  The air fills with howling.

  The sound rises from the darkness all around us, hair-raising, chilling. It’s just like Wolfman Savage’s signature yell, but it comes from everywhere, from so many voices I can’t count them. Wolfman Savage lurches to his feet, pulling me with him. His knife bites at my throat. He barks at the rest of his people, “Find out what that noise is! Find out!”

  He jerks me back one step, another. The shadowy forms of his killers spread out across the beach, the howling of fifty, maybe a hundred voices all around us. Taunting. Like the ghosts of Wolfman Savage’s old victims come back to haunt him. Except this is real. Very real.

  And first a man screams. One of Wolfman Savage’s. Then another scream. Savannah shouts out, “Trent, it’s—” Her words disappear into her scream, and then goes ominously silent.

  “Honey? Honeybunch?” Wolfman Savage yells, his chest rumbling against my back.

  I stare into the impenetrable blackness, searching for what’s happening. Wolfman Savage begins to drag me along the beach. He’s instinctively holding me before him like a shield. It hits me suddenly that everything is changing and my fate is not so set as I believed.

  The thought electrifies me with energy, with defiance. I twist and pull at his grip. One tremendous stomp on his instep, one twist at his wrist, and I’ve broken his headlock just like Alexander taught me.

  I begin to run across the lumpy sand. I run faster than I have in my life, and he shouts, “No! Get back here!” And then I’m plowing into a dark shape. It catches me.

  A scream fights its way to my lips, but never escapes. I know this person cradling me to his chest, these hands feeling for my injuries. This voice whispering in my ear, “It’s okay, Kathryn. I’ve got you. I’ve got you.” Warm lips press to my hair, my forehead. Tears of joy and relief flood my eyes.

  Alexander.

  I cling to him desperately like he’s a lifeline and I’ve been adrift in a furious ocean. His strong arms sweep me up, cradling me to his chest. The night is too overcast to see him. There’s no starlight. He’s just a shadow pressed up against me, but he’s my refuge and I feel safe at last.

  “I didn’t come alone,” he whispers.

  The howling has mounted in my ears and I see the other shadows now. There must be a hundred of them. Wolfman Savage tries to run but they cut him off. The howling people swarm him, descend on him. Alexander takes me by the arm and we’re moving back, parting ways from the swarm of shadows. My tear-streaked face presses into the hollow of his neck where I can smell the salt of his skin, feel his pulse leaping beneath mine. In my ears, chaos rings: there are the shouts of people in overlooking beach houses, deprived of their entertainment. There are screams and cries, and then silence from Death’s Disciples.

  And then the howling fades. The only sound left ringing above the waves is the haunting laughter of Liam Dashwood.

  CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

  Alexander’s grip is firm and steady, carrying me effortlessly as though I weigh nothing. I hunker into the refuge of his arms. I sway across the sand as Liam’s laughter trails off into the blackness. Alexander’s steady breathing causes his broad chest to rise and fall against me.

  “How did you find me?” I think to ask.

  “Wolfman Savage posted about tonight on his Twitter feed,” Alexander answers, his voice hard and dark. “He wanted an audience.” He carries me up a sandy slope towards a line of waiting cars.

  “That howling was the Wasters?”

  “Yes.” His voice is tense.

  “Why would they help me?”

  “I went to them and asked for help. I made a deal.”

  “A deal? What sort of…” It hits me then just what he had to trade. What he could have offered them in exchange for saving me. His leverage. His flash drive with information about their boss. It’s the only thing keeping him alive. The only thing saving Noelle. “Alexander, no! Tell me you didn’t give your leverage to them.”

  The red brake lights of nearby cars illuminate his stark, beautiful features now. His grip tightens around me. “Why,” he says, “would you imagine you’re the only one allowed to make sacrifices?”

  “But Noelle—”

  “Agreed with me. I told you you’re not alone. We’re in this together from now on.”

  A sick, sinking feeling settles inside me. My head feels like it weighs a thousand pounds. It sags against his shoulder. I’m dreamily aware of Alexander dipping us into the warm refuge of a car. My head throbs. My entire body scorches with pain, the remnants of the terrible beating Wolfman Savage administered, trying to provoke me to fight.

  I’m alive, and Wolfman Savage is obviously dead. One problem has been resolved. But Alexander has no leverage and the Wasters and their mysterious boss are still our enemy. More problems lie ahead of us like a stretch of unending, murky road.

  It turns out the Wasters aren’t done with us. I rouse in Alexander’s arms as our car takes off, two of Liam’s underlings in front. We begin to drive, a long retinue winding away from the beach. The lights snap back on behind us. In the distant night I hear screams from the onlookers as they see what remains of Death’s Disciples. Bodies must be scattered across the beach.

  “Alexander…” I gasp, suddenly afraid of where they’re taking us.

  “Shh,” he tells me, still holding me close. He presses his lips to my forehead. “You’re safe.”

  All the terror I’ve been repressing seeps into me. I press my face into his shoulder so he can’t see my tears, but his hand caresses my back. He knows. He doesn’t say anything to embarrass me.

  Instead, he whispers to me that Liam planned the attack, and planned to have all the cameras destroyed, too. My mind picks over that. There were hundreds of onlookers in those beach houses to witness the dark shapes battling below them. There are people who can testify about the mysterious howling of so many voices. They’ll know a hoard of anathemas swarmed in under cover of pitch darkness and destroyed the most fearsome hunting guild in the country. All to save me.

  It takes me several minutes to feel my ears popping, to realize we’re traveling upward in elevation. The same place Liam took me before when he was planning to kill me. Panic flutters inside me, but Alexander’s grip remains steady and sure. When he’s here, I feel calmer. His heartbeat thumps steadily against my cheek. Whatever we face next, we’re facing it together. I’m not alone.

  The cars wind to a halt at the edge of some jagged cliffs, and anathemas pour out of the other cars. The two in our front seat turn their hard faces towards us. “Out.”

  I look up at Alexander, but his face is calm. Neutral. He begins to carry me out of the car, but I don’t know what’s ahead. Adrenaline makes the pain of my injuries recede in my awareness, and my legs feel steadier. I want him to have his hands free if there’s trouble ahead. I want to be able to walk, to face it on my own feet. I splay my palm on his chest, and Alexander catches my eyes. He understands instantly, and sets me gently on my feet. He steadies me as we totter out. Icy wind batters me. The flimsy red dress offers little protection, so Alexander peels off his long black coat and drapes it over my shoulders.

  My eyes seek his in the darkness. “Are they going to…”

  His fingertips brush the bare nape of my neck, sending goosebumps racing down my skin. “No. They didn’t bring us here to kill us.”

  “Then what do they want?”

  He set his jaw and shakes his head, unable to answer that either. Maybe he just said that to make me feel better. And then his long, callused fingers twine with mine. Strange how we’ve never kissed, we’ve never spoken of anything, yet this understanding has grown between us like we’re totally in sync with each other. When my ste
ps falter, his arm slips around me to steady me.

  The roar of the water beats far below us. The anathemas have already lit a furious bonfire at the cliff’s edge. Liam holds up a jug of some sort of liquor, crowing with delight after a night’s slaughter.

  “Ah, and who have we here but the man who made this all possible? Come forward, my friend. Let’s celebrate together.” Liam waves Alexander forward, and Alexander warily draws us closer, still gripping me. His blue eyes are veiled, cautious. Liam wears his usual deranged, delighted grin. Blood soaks the front of his shirt.

  He immediately slings his arm around Alexander’s other shoulder. Alexander is significantly taller than he is, so Liam looks slightly awkward doing so— yet doesn’t seem to care. His eyes are snapping with excitement.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, you may know that we’ve had our disagreements with young Metz here. He was in a bit of a fix tonight, so he kindly agreed to bury the hatchet and surrender some property back to us. We’ve done our part. Now you?” He holds out a palm.

  Alexander’s jaw ticks. He pulls a flash drive out of his pocket, presses it into Liam’s hand for all to see. “Get anyone to look at it,” he says softly. “Anyone who knows how. It hasn’t been copied. It hasn’t been viewed. I never decrypted it. I don’t know the name.”

  “And you’ve kindly handed it back over. Well done, mate! You’ve bargained yourself into a very fine position.” There’s honest admiration in Liam’s voice. “Doesn’t this make things simpler? We can all be friends now. You’ll come live with us again, I presume.”

  Alexander says nothing. He just gazes at him, his eyes remote like distant storm clouds.

  “We’ll talk that over later.” Liam’s grin grows voracious, and he waves his arm. Suddenly, to my shock, some anathemas haul out a blindfolded figure. The man struggles between them, his shirt torn, his jeans caked with blood and dirt. There’s a sodden gag in his mouth, but I know him.

  Wolfman Savage.

  The cheering around us takes on a brutal, animalistic edge. My muscles go rigid. They’ve left him alive. Spared him. For what?

  Liam strides away from us, then reaches forward and yanks out the gag.

  “Please,” Wolfman Savage begs.

  Liam cackles gleefully, then pulls out an enormous knife. Anxiety chokes my heart. the anathemas cheer even louder at the sight of it.

  “You kill on camera. I thought it only fitting you die on camera as well.” He tears down Wolfman Savage’s blindfold, and an anathema steps forward, camera fixed on him.

  Wolfman Savage scrambles to his feet, his hands still tied behind his back, and tries to bolt. Anathemas block his way. He tries another direction, others block his way.

  I curl in closer to the shelter of Alexander’s arms. I don’t want to see this.

  Wolfman Savage breaks through the crowd only to come to a sudden, abrupt halt. He’s right at the edge of a cliff. He whirls around, but more anathemas have closed in, keeping him there.

  Liam whirls towards me in the leaping firelight, his grin savage. Frightening. He holds out the blade for me. “You do the honors.”

  “W-what?” I stutter.

  The anathema with the camera still has it fixed on Wolfman Savage, where he huddles alone by the edge of the cliff. Helpless. As helpless as I was earlier. As however many anathemas he’s murdered have been in the moments before their demise.

  “We’ve made our deal with Metz here,” Liam says. “You can live. And after questioning this one, we found out you weren’t willing to divulge more incendiary information about us, so to speak. So you’ve earned your life. But if you’re going to be a proper anathema, you need a higher hazard index. It will dissuade others from going after your bounty. You’re not getting that unless you get a few more kills on your record. Here’s kill number one. Go on. Give it to him.”

  I swallow hard, looking at the blade. I understand what Liam’s point is. I was a risk to them before because I have a high bounty and low hazard index. The Wasters were sure the hunters I’d attract would get information from me about their guns. Since I hadn’t told Wolfman Savage, though, I’d earned a reprieve. And now I was going to seal this bargain of ours.

  With Wolfman Savage’s death.

  I pull my hand from Alexander’s grip and step forward. I take the knife, swallowing hard. My eyes fall upon Wolfman Savage.

  Panic electrifies his face. “Please.”

  I stare at him. He can’t really expect me to pity him, can he? He would have murdered me.

  “Please, I really didn’t kill all that many anathemas,” Wolfman Savage pleads. “My boys did it. It was all my boys.”

  “Shut up.” Anger makes my voice shake. I draw closer. I have to do this. More importantly, I have to be seen doing this. My mind keeps replaying his band of serial killers. His insane wife. The people who were going to chase me through a maze for an audience then kill me in agony.

  If anyone deserves this, Wolfman Savage does.

  “I didn’t even get the scar on my face hunting. I fell off a bike as a kid. I lied.” Wolfman Savage is suddenly in tears. “My name’s not even ‘Trent’. It’s Theodore! I changed it to impress people!”

  It amazes me to see what a coward he truly is.

  “Please don’t. Please!” And suddenly he’s on his knees, all dignity gone. The Wasters all begin laughing, but Wolfman Savage has no shame. “Don’t kill me. Don’t kill me. I won’t hunt again. Please, I told you I don’t even eat hearts. I just pretend. Please! Aw, look what I just did. Look!”

  I gape at the dark stain spreading over his pants. He’d actually pissed himself in fear. There are tears over his face. He’s sobbing now. He falls onto his stomach on the ground, weeping like some pathetic, frightened worm. Laughter rings in the air, the leaping firelight exhibiting his debasement for the world to see. I glance once at the camera, still filming.

  Then I realize it. It’s just like the beach. If I’d fought through the maze like Wolfman Savage demanded, I would’ve been killed long before the Wasters arrived. Survival does not have to mean reducing myself to the level of Wolfman Savage and hunters like him. Sometimes the blow not struck can be more powerful than the one that is.

  I bend down and cut off the ropes binding him.

  “What are you doing?” Liam demands. “Are you mad?”

  Weeping with gratitude, Wolfman Savage crawls to his knees. His lips form piteous words of thanks as he paws at my feet reverently. Full of contempt and disgust, I step out of arm’s reach.

  “I’ll do it.” Alexander steps forward and reaches for my knife. “I’ll kill him for you.”

  “No, Alexander.”

  “We need to destroy him, love,” Liam insists, drawing up besides me. “If you don’t have the stones, one of us will do it.”

  “He’s putting this on, Kat. He’s humiliating himself in hopes you’ll spare him,” Alexander tells me.

  “So what if he is?” I look towards Liam, then Alexander. Then I point my knife blade at the camera the nearby anathema has trained on us… The camera that has captured every moment of Wolfman Savage’s breakdown, his groveling. “It doesn’t matter if he’s putting on an act. We have it all on film. He’s finished.”

  The fearsome leader of Death’s Disciples. The most notorious hunter in America. An icon of fear and terror. And we have him pleading, begging, and utterly debasing himself on camera, pleading for mercy at the feet of a teenaged girl. We’ve seen it and soon the whole world will, too.

  We’ve already destroyed him in the way that matters the most.

  CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

  We upload it Friday night. By Saturday morning, the video has had two hundred million hits, far exceeding the number of subscribers for the Death’s Disciples YouTube channel. The story of Wolfman Savage’s destruction in Cordoba Bay is the hottest news in the hunting world. He didn’t die gloriously in battle against lawbreakers. He succumbed to one young girl. That’s what people see in the video: Wolfman Savage begging and
pleading for his life from the same anathema he came to hunt.

  A martyred hunter has power. But an icon of fear reduced to a coward? That’s something else entirely. It seems to frighten hunters more than death or destruction could have.

  I am the anathema in the video with him. Now I am truly frightening.

  Instead of seeing glory in seeking me out in Cordoba Bay, hunters on message boards see a much more humiliating prospect than death. My hazard index shoots up to a ten. History of violence. High likelihood of death when hunting this anathema.

  That’s the only aspect of this whole mess that seems to reassure my parents.

  Mom and Dad rushed to the door when I knocked after that long Friday night. By the time I eased away from their frantic hugs and looked behind me, Alexander had already retreated back to the waiting car. Liam drove them off down the street.

  My parents let me sleep.

  Saturday, they wake me up early. They fuss over my injuries. They demand an explanation for everything that’s occurred. The Wasters had patched me up a bit, but Mom insists on applying new bandages. I explain everything.

  “You should have told us about all of this sooner,” Dad says when I’ve finished.

  “What could you have done?” I reply calmly, and that silences both of them.

  There was once a time when my parents could have fixed anything for me. Anything. My problems have grown too large for that now. My dangers are too acute. They can’t reach in and fix my world.

  I’m the only one who can do that now.

  On Monday, Mom takes off work and brings me to the doctor to check the gashes on my back, to set the bones in my hand. It costs far too much now that I don’t have insurance, but she doesn’t say a word about that. The rest of the day passes in a sleepy silence. I wander into her room late in the afternoon to find her sitting on her bed, watching old videos of me dancing. There are tears on her face.

  “You used to be so happy,” Mom says.

  I settle on the bed next to her, gazing at ninth-grade me decked up for one of my weekend competitions. I’m a pretty blonde girl on the screen, twirling across the stage. I’m covered in makeup, a smile plastered on my face. My face used to hurt after a day of dancing just from forcing myself to smile so much but judges ate it up. I still remember the stress that made my head feel like it would burst, rushing between competitions with the Cordoba Bay Dance Studio, and the games I spent cheering with the dance squad.