Whatever is headed my way right now is different, though. This creature moves fast, bounding, covering yards and yards at a time.
Worse yet, it’s just leaped out of the alley and into the air.
Chapter 2
I scream, expecting a monster to swoop down on me with huge, leathery talons. Instead, I realize it’s a man, leaping like a giant ape, pushing with elongated arms and too-short hind legs. His teeth are bare, his hands aiming for my throat. His flat, wide nose flares.
“You ain’t going nowhere. We gotcha!” Mr. Smirk yells in an excited tone, as if I’m some sort of piñata and candy will spill out of me when I burst open.
Years of training kick in, and I throw a front kick. My foot connects with Ape Man’s jaw. His momentum dies and he stumbles backward. In succession, I release a roundhouse kick that slams into his temple and sends him sprawling onto the pavement. Wasting no time, I twirl and drive an elbow right in the middle of Mr. Smirk’s stomach, knocking the wind out of him with an audible whoosh.
I go for the bike’s keys in my front pocket and run to the other side of the bike to place a barrier between me and them. But, too quickly, Ape Man recovers and jumps back to his feet as if I didn’t just kick his face with a thousand pounds of pressure.
He bounds from the blacktop and flies in a diagonal line. Mouth agape in a hideous cry, he soars straight over the bike and wraps his arms around me. I fall backward, the back of my helmet slamming the ground, my neck bending painfully.
My eyes blur for a moment, enough for my attackers to get the upper hand. Quickly, Ape Man pulls me by the wrists to a sitting position, while Mr. Smirk slips an arm around my neck and puts me in a chokehold. I try to kick back, but Ape Man pins my legs under his huge weight.
“Help!”
Mr. Smirk snaps my visor shut.
“In the alley.” Ape Man grabs me by the ankles.
As they lift me, I writhe and buck. My struggle slows them down, but it doesn’t stop them from dragging me into the shadows. Once under the cover of dark, they slam me to the ground next to a foul-smelling Dumpster.
Ape Man straddles me while Mr. Smirk pins my arms over my head. My helmet scratches the ground as I thrash and wriggle. The smell of dead whale is so strong it finds its way into my helmet. I blame the seafood restaurant for the lovely perfume.
“Settle down, little girl.” Ape Man’s flat nose flares. “We’re only trying to keep our territory under control. You don’t belong here. Answer our question and we may let you go. Who are you with?”
Their territory? What is going on here? He sounds as if they’ve carved Seattle up like a pie at an all-you-can-eat buffet. This city is not theirs to divide. This city doesn’t belong to Eklyptors.
“Who are you with?” He gets his face right up to mine. His meat-ridden breath makes me gag.
I turn aside, cringing. “I’m by myself.”
“You sure are. Let me rephrase. Who would care if I decorate this alley with your intestines? They can make very pretty garlands, you know?”
A piece of corroded pipe that lies next to the Dumpster catches my eye.
“Answer my question while you still can.” Ape Man grabs my helmet, yanks it off and throws it aside. It rolls toward the sidewalk, making a hollow sound. He wraps gnarled fingers around my neck and squeezes.
“E-Elliot Whitehouse.” I make a strangled whisper and fight for my next breath, which gets past my throat with a weak whizzing sound. I focus on the pipe. It doesn’t move.
“Whitehouse, huh?” Ape Man spits the name out. “What do you do for him?”
“Nothing.”
He squeezes harder. My eyes feel as if they’ll pop out of their sockets right into the fetid clam chowder juice that leaks out of one corner of the Dumpster.
Move, I command the pipe, but it mocks me.
Shadows enter the edge of my vision, like curtains flapping at the edge of a window.
Cinnamon kisses.
Dual core processors.
Murdering pipes.
My thoughts jump at the speed of light, chasing each other down a rabbit trail of random, loosely connected ideas, doing their best to stay away from the ravenous specters.
“So I guess he won’t notice when you go missing.” Ape Man laughs, his lips pursing then opening wide in an ooh-ooh, aah-ahh. My skin prickles with fear. It’s a jungle out here, with beasts marking territories, leaving their rank odor at the bases of trees and walls. Hardly a place to fight for, especially when there’s no one to fight with.
“Die.” he constricts my neck until blood pounds in my jugular, fighting for a way into my brain. My tongue lolls out, a dead thing. My eyes cross as, in one last effort, I stare down the pipe.
The pressure around my neck abruptly ceases. I gasp. Chilled air rushes into my lungs, burning, prickling, filling me with glorious oxygen. I cough and gasp, cough and gasp.
Ape Man cocks his head to one side, his brown eyes giddy. “Or … you could tell me something useful.”
My face tingles as blood rushes in. I eat two mouthfuls of air, feeling the way a newborn must feel when pulled into the nightmare of life. My head clears. My vision sharpens, bringing the rusted pipe into startlingly clear focus. A ball of power surges from my core and floods into my mind. What a second ago seemed impossible, becomes a pulsing certainty, an undeniable truth. And here it is. This is what I needed to be able to do, what I’ve failed to accomplish for two weeks. No hours of sweating and self-inflicted pain—just very real, very deadly imminent peril.
I can do this.
The pipe vibrates for a split second, emitting a faint rattle. Then, as if infused with a life of its own, it shoots up into the air with a zing. Ape Man looks up in shock. The excited flush of his cheeks turns paper-pale and, as the pipe plummets back down, his eyes go round and fill with innocent wonder—the kind of awe of a child at Santa Claus or the Easter Bunny. “Look, there’s an honest-to-god flying pipe headed my way,” his eyes seem to say. “And wouldn’t you know, it’s about to impale me.”
With a wet crunch, the rusty tube pierces through his clavicle and embeds itself deep into his chest. He hovers for a moment, then falls limp to one side, wearing the same childlike expression.
Even though a part of me twists with primal guilt and horror for what I’ve done, I do my best to ignore it. I know better than to dwell. Guilt and uncertainty about how moral it is to kill an Eklyptor have no room in my world. Kill or be killed. That’s the edict by which I now live. Them or us. The choice is easy because there isn’t one.
So I rock from the hips, swinging my legs up and back over my head. Like a pair of wild scissors, I wrap them around Mr. Smirk’s head and pull back down as hard as I can. He rolls over me and lands with a thud, back slamming onto the ground. I jump to my feet, take him by the lapels of his jacket and heave him upright.
Rage boils in my blood, like acid ready to spill all over his face. I want to disfigure him, leave a lifetime reminder of what it costs to put me in a chokehold. I push backward and slam him against the wall.
“You filthy traitor.” I grab him by the neck with my right hand and squeeze. I want him to feel what I felt, to beg for a gulp of air.
His eyes roll, then look toward the ground in amazement. Something in the incredulous quality of his gaze makes me look down. His feet are dangling several inches off the ground. Panicked, I let him go. He crumples to the ground, holding his neck, regarding me as if I’m much worse that his ape-like companion.
I am not. I am nothing like that.
He gets to his knees. The accusing look in his eyes causes my panic to morph once more. Rage electrifies me. I slam my fist against his jaw, putting all my weight into the punch. He screams—a cry so shrill it makes my ears hurt—then falls to the ground and twists in pain.
“Tell your leader this territory won’t go unchallenged.” My voice is a near growl. “Elliot Whitehouse’s faction will control all of Seattle soon, so don’t get too comfortable.”
“You broke my jaw,” he whines, a hand pressed to his chin as tears spill down his cheeks.
I squat next to his crumpled shape. He recoils, pushing closely to the wall and pressing his forearms against his face.
“You’re lucky I don’t kill you.” As if killing is on my daily checklist next to doing my homework and brushing my teeth.
Other words try to push their way past my lips, but I cage them behind clenched teeth. I want to know how he can betray his own kind, how he can act as decoy to approach unsuspecting members of other factions, why he’s a freakin’ human pet to the Eklyptors. I already messed-up and called him a traitor which to him would make no sense since in his mind I’m fully infected. I wonder what he thinks I meant. Symbiots are a secret to anyone outside of IgNiTe. I can’t risk saying too much.
“Run to your masters and deliver my message, little pet.”
I stand to give him room. He sits, holding his jaw, and looks up at me, full of doubt. He can’t believe I’m letting him go.
“GO!”
He clambers to his feet and hobbles away, slipping on Ape Man’s blood before getting traction and scurrying like a chastised dog.
I stare at a swirl of light as it dances in the depths of the crimson puddle and do my best not to let my eyes wander to the impaled corpse. I picture his rabid expression as he tried to strangle me. He was not a victim. He was an attacker, a nightmarish predator.
“Survival of the fittest,” Kristen would say.
Easy for her to justify killing when all she does is look through her electron microscope, trying to find a cure that will never be enough to avert the chaos that already haunts the city. I turn my back on the inert body. Shutting my eyes, I imagine a different world around me. A happy place where the darkest thing is a night with twinkling stars and a bright moon. A warm home with a family who understand me. A boyfriend I don’t have to lie to and I could talk to about my infection without fear that he would leave me forever. Or, at the least, a group of people who are like me and don’t shut me out, people who let me fight against the horrors that get in the way of the life I want to live.
Forcing my chin upward, I walk to my helmet and pick it up. The custom paint job is ruined. With a foul word on my lips, I slip the helmet on and lower my visor. I’m so late for dinner there’ll be no understanding at home tonight.
Chapter 3
On my way home, I zoom through empty streets that used to have a decent amount of foot traffic just a week ago. The well-to-do Seattle citizens sure consider it advantageous that the presence of hookers and drug peddlers is on the decline. The authorities must be doing something right, for once, right? Well, think again. The cure is certainly worse than the disease. I don’t have to think too hard to know where these people ended up.
I park my bike, rush up the porch steps, open the door and skid to a stop in the foyer. With a deep breath, I turn to the entrance mirror and run twitchy fingers through the flat mess in a vain attempt to get rid of my helmet hair. Not that it makes much of a difference. I’m wearing my leathers, anyway.
“The hell with it,” I mumble as I start to turn for the kitchen, which is when I notice the finger marks around my neck. I swallow, feeling the ache deep in my throat. The sight makes me want to kill Ape Man all over again. I cringe at my cavalier thoughts. Death should never be the butt of a joke, even one nobody gets to hear.
I zip up my jacket all the way to the collar to hide the marks. My hands shake. I don’t need this family stress right now. I could have been killed tonight. My nerves are shot. But what choice do I have? Besides, I’ve promised myself to try. For Dad. It’s what he would expect of me, if he was still with us. I brace myself for Mom’s murderous blue eyes and Luke’s “I don’t mean to be such a good son” expression.
I picture them waiting for me in unprecedented mother/son bliss:
“Oh, Mom, you’re such a good cook.” Yum, yum.
“Well, thank you, son. I’d cook an orca whale for you, if you’d ask me.” Blink, blink, charming blue eyes.
What I get when I step into the kitchen is nothing like that. And I mean: nothing like that. Instead, I find mom sitting at the table by herself, staring at the flame of a half-spent candle, her eyes rimmed in red and smudged mascara. Untouched food platters are expertly positioned behind empty porcelain dishes and wine glasses I didn’t know we owned.
I freeze and look over my shoulder, wondering if she has noticed me, if there’s the slightest possibility I may sneak to my room without finding out what happened here. I take a step back.
Mom’s chair scrapes across the tile floor. I wince and look back. She’s staring straight at me, her expression a petrified mask of disappointment.
“So finally someone shows up.” She barely looks at me as the wavering flame of the candle holds her attention.
“Uh, sorry. I ran into a bit of trouble,” I say, my tone as apologetic as I can manage—which isn’t much in this strained relationship.
“It’s always the same with you, Marcela. Nothing is ever as important as what you want.”
“I guess that’s why you have your model son now,” I say, matching her bitterness.
Her eyes twitch visibly, then her gaze falls on a bowl of mash potatoes in an oddly repressed expression.
“Wait …” I look around. “He’s not here, is he?” I want to laugh, but even I’m not that heartless. “He’s not here and you’re giving me a hard time about being late.”
She lifts her nose defiantly, but says nothing.
“At least I showed up,” I say. “At least I remembered and would have been here earlier if I hadn’t been delayed. Did he even call to say he wasn’t coming?”
“I’m sure he has a perfectly good reason.” Her tone is a weak parody of the one she was using just a moment ago.
I doubt Luke has been attacked by Eklyptors. He’s only in danger of being assaulted by blonds and brunettes with well-proportioned limbs, and not ape-like creatures with a proclivity for strangling.
Mom lets out a heavy sigh. “I want so badly for us to be a family, a real family. I’m trying. Is that so bad? I know I’m not perfect. I have my faults, but no one seems to remember I have feelings, too.”
I blink, taken aback by this unexpected, candid moment.
Have I disregarded her feelings? My insides twist into knots, because I know the answer is yes. I’ve been too busy being jealous of Luke to remember that all I’ve wanted from the beginning was for us to be a family. Guilt straddles me like an expert jockey.
“I’m sorry, Mom.” My voice breaks, but my sincerity is clear enough. Mom gives me a sad smile and something passes between us through a connection I thought had died forever. I smile back and take a step forward, a step in the right direction.
“It would be a shame to let all this good food go to waste,” I put in.
We don’t say much after that, but the fact that we get through an entire meal without a mean word gives me hope for that family I’ve been craving.
After helping Mom with the dishes, I enter my room and close the door behind me. Luke is still missing and, after the last hour with Mom, I’m even angrier at him. It’s only been a month since Luke moved in, but I think—for his part—the rose is way off the bloom. Not that I can blame him. Mom has been extremely overbearing, expecting him to abandon his previous social life for his newfound family, more specifically his new mom. Now, more than ever, a serious chat between us is in order. He has to make an effort. He will make an effort. He’ll get a taste of black belt if he doesn’t.
I wonder where he is, though.
More out of habit than anything else, I log into my computer and check Luke’s email. I hacked into his account two weeks ago and have been monitoring his every move, hoping not to catch him in any illicit activ
ities that may mark him as a spy, as James suspects. So far—to my relief—I’ve observed nothing but normal jock/popular guy behavior. I’ve told James that much in countless emails, but no matter how much I assure him he’s wrong, his decision to keep me out of IgNiTe hasn’t changed, that’s assuming he’s even had time to think about me.
I browse Luke’s inbox, sifting through what is mostly junk mail from sporting goods stores. A read email from almost an hour ago catches my eye. The “Subject” reads: “We need to meet NOW!” Clearly, the culprit for his absence.
Clicking it open, I read the message while holding my breath. Dread fills me every time I do this. I don’t want one of these emails to prove James right. I don’t want to find out that Luke isn’t the brother I’ve longed for, or that he’s a monster with a plan that somehow involves my family. Because, in spite of everything, I still feel a connection with him, something unique that I can’t explain.
Luke,
Meet me at the same place as last time. I’ll be there in thirty minutes. Don’t make me wait. I promise you won’t regret it.
Xoxo,
Zara H.
Really? What is this? A booty call? This girl is desperate.
She has been trying really hard to get Luke to succumb to her charms. I think this is her fifth email. I don’t know. I’m losing count. I followed him to what may have been their first date. She was all over him, flipping her blond hair right and left like she was trying to shoo away flies or something. Luke, for his part, couldn’t have looked more disinterested, which was kind of a shocker given his philandering history. Still, her emails keep on coming and I’ve no idea if he’s rising to the challenge—pun intended—or blowing her off. Either way, she’s definitely a non-suspect. She’s just another horny admirer, ready to offer all her physical goods to the handsome jock who seems determined to taste every pretty girl in school.
Eclipse the Flame Page 2