by Billy Wright
The more he looked at them, the more it seemed they were...moving.
He stood back with a gasp of revulsion. As soon as he tried to focus on the movement, however, it seemed to stop. Almost like catching the movement of a clock’s hands from the corner of his vision.
It was a trap.
Someone had placed those vines deliberately.
But who?
The same people who’d snipped his gas line?
The same people—no, creatures—that had attacked him outside his house?
The little top-hatted figure in Gramm’s storage unit?
The weirdness was too much.
Then he felt eyes on him somewhere in the darkness. Watching.
He shined the flashlight into the bushes, peering as deep and far as his sight could reach.
“What is it, Stewart?” Liz called.
“Nothing.” He turned and walked back to the pickup.
Liz zipped up her backpack and lugged it around her shoulders. “Did you see what blew the tires?”
He shook his head and wouldn’t meet her gaze. From his backpack, he retrieved his hatchet. She would see the lie instantly, but for the sake of the kids, maybe she would let it go. For now.
If he left those vines there, there would be a tow truck tomorrow with shredded tires, and anybody else who came along this road. Not that he expected anyone tonight. This area felt more desolate than he was expecting. The vines were tough, but they yielded to the hatchet’s bite. When they were severed, he hooked the length of the twisted mass with the hatchet blade and dragged it off the road, still loath to touch those barbs without thick leather gloves. They looked venomous, like scorpion stingers.
Back at the pickup, he found everyone nearly ready to start hiking. Each of them had a backpack filled with their clothes, water, mess kit, and sleeping bag.
Two little doll heads poked out of the top of Cassie’s backpack as she slung it around her shoulders.
Hunter said, “You can’t take the dolls. Dad said essentials only.”
“They are essential!” Cassie retorted. She turned to Liz. “Mommy!”
“Sweetie,” Liz said, “when you’re on a hike, everything you carry gets heavier and heavier the longer you walk.”
“But they’re really light! I can carry them!” Cassie said.
“That’s just my point,” Liz said. “They won’t feel so light on a long hike.”
“I’ll carry them and I won’t complain, I promise!” Cassie’s eyes glistened with entreaty.
Liz sighed. “All right then. No complaining.”
All that remained to be carried was their plastic cooler full of food and water.
Stewart hefted the cooler onto the ground. “We’re all going to take turns carrying the food. You kids can share the load when me and Mommy get tired. All right?”
Cassie said, “Are the marshmallows in there?”
Stewart nodded.
“All right, then,” she said.
Stewart slung his own backpack over his shoulders and buckled the straps across his chest and waist. Liz said, “Intrepid explorers! Let us sally forth!”
“Who’s Sally, Mommy?” Cassie said.
“Not a ‘who,’” Hunter said. “‘Sally’ is a verb.”
“What’s a verb and why is it named after Sally?”
Hunter rolled his eyes. “Oh, my God!”
Liz laughed and tousled the little girl’s hair.
Stewart picked up the cooler and led the way up the road, toward the campground that he hoped lay about two miles ahead.
Chapter Fourteen
Overlooking the road, Jorath El-Thrim knelt on the bough of a pine tree, peering between veils of needles, as the four humans hiked off into the night. His dark elf vision saw his prey and their surrounding landscape as clearly as a raptor’s in daylight. For this reason, dark elves preferred the night. Their large, dark eyes were well suited to see in the dark, and they could shift the color of their skin to make it easy to hide. Goggles worn in daylight protected their eyes from the sun but obscured the sharpness of their vision.
The dark, supple leather of his jerkin and boots, mottled to camouflage him in the foliage, was as silent as his tread as he slid along the bough to maintain his view of the human family. Beside him on the branch lay the copper dish wherein he had burnt the knotted rope and rosebuds that had been the material components of his spell.
The rosebush had done its work. The trap had been sprung. Now, without their mechanical conveyance, the humans were vulnerable. The young ones would be weak and easily dispatched, once Jorath’s forces arrived. A being with his powers could slip back and forth between realms easier than most, but less powerful beings required passage through where the Veil was thinner. The tingling weakness still in his limbs from the shift persisted, however. The fuzziness of his thoughts, ever present when he visited the Penumbra, made him feel as if he’d just chewed an entire bale of nightwort leaves. It was a result of his separation from the magical essence of the Dark Realm, which made missions to the Penumbra so distasteful. He could hardly wait to go home.
Of the humans, the father was nervous, wary, with an aura more powerful than any Penumbral human Jorath had ever seen. All of these humans were exceptional, but the large male would be a force to be reckoned with, if he somehow managed to cross into either the Light or the Dark Realm.
It was apparent now why Baron Tyrus was so steadfast in his desire to keep this Stewart Riley trapped in the Penumbra. He would be a powerful ally to whoever found a way to help him unlock his power. No doubt, this was why the enemy had cast its net of defenses around him and his family. Little things, subtle things, things that would be imperceptible to average Penumbral humans.
Jorath had many questions, such as who or what had slain Dorash’s knibling saboteur last night? Kniblings were cautious, wily creatures, but also vicious, which was why they made such effective servants for certain kinds of tasks, such as sabotage. Dorash had been a fool, but he had not shirked his duty. Those who directly served the Master knew the stakes of every decision they made. Jorath did not intend to be a fool like Dorash, or to die like him. The dishonor on their House brought down by his demise would resonate for centuries—unless Jorath could destroy this human and his family.
In the distance, night dogs yipped and sang—here in the Penumbra, they were called coyotes. He raised his voice to the sky and responded to their inane chatter with his magic-laced commands, sounding like one of them to any non-coyote ear.
Once the night’s work was done, the thread of magical command lurking under Jorath’s howls would dissipate and the coyotes themselves would not remember what they had done here tonight. The magical imprint left on the Penumbra would be minimal, untraceable.
But he must beware. These humans might have as many hidden protectors as they had predators.
***
As they hiked up the road, pine trees closed against the sides. Their roots must reach deep to grow so tall in such a dry area, Stewart thought. The road climbed steadily. It was a perfect night for a hike, with a full moon hanging above them like a lantern amid a tapestry of stars, turning the road into a shadowed silver ribbon. The stars were so bright they seemed to shimmer with iridescence. With their path so clearly lit, they didn’t have to worry about wandering off the road, even with their flashlights turned off. The cooling air would make their future campfire a welcome thing. The air smelled of pine needles and resin and the wildflowers growing alongside the road. He kept his eyes peeled for signs of any more of those rosebushes, however. If those thorns could puncture tires, they could pierce the sole of a shoe. How mobile were those vines?
The yip of a coyote sounded high up on the mountainside, among the pines, soon answered by a chorus of coyote voices in the distance. It was almost as if coyotes had the ability to throw their voices. One animal could sound like several. The yips and howls sounded very close, within a couple of hundred yards, so close it made everyone stop and listen.
Cassie stayed close to her mother, while Hunter ranged a few dozen yards ahead.
“You hear that?” Stewart said.
“Are those coyotes?” Cassie asked, eyes wide.
Liz said, “Yeah, and one of them sounds like it’s just up the slope.”
“But they don’t hurt people, right?” Cassie said.
“Right.”
They walked on, while the coyote conversation continued all around them. Stewart had the strong sense that they were speaking a language just as full of information as English, and he wondered what they were saying.
When his hands and arms felt like noodles from carrying the cooler, he called a rest and Liz took over.
“Mommy, I’m tired,” Cassie said. “Are we about there?”
“It won’t be long, sweetie,” Liz said. “You’re an intrepid explorer, right? Like Dora?”
“Dora is for babies, Mommy,” Cassie said.
“You used to love Dora,” Liz said.
“But then I grew up,” Cassie said. She sniffed and marched ahead to catch up with Hunter, who was serving as the party’s scout about thirty yards ahead, while the adults were the pack mules.
As Cassie left earshot, Liz said to Stewart, “So are you going to tell me what happened to the tires?”
“Something weird,” he said, flexing his hands to restore blood flow from gripping the cooler handles. “Are you sure you want to know? We crossed into the Twilight Zone before we even left the house.”
“Lay it on me, buster.”
“It was that rosebush. A really thorny vine stretched across the road. And it wasn’t there by accident.”
Liz stopped and stared at him. “The phrase that comes to mind is, ‘spit just got real.’”
He couldn’t help chuckling even though he couldn’t disagree.
“So, who do you think it is?” she said. “Somebody messing with us? A prank?”
“Pranks don’t ruin a whole set of tires. I think it’s something we can’t see. All the little weird things. Something is going on. Even that old guy at the gas station. He carved a little rune on the putty he used to fix the fuel line.”
“You didn’t tell me that.”
“I don’t want to scare the kids. That’s why I didn’t tell you about the vine in front of them.”
“If the kids are in danger—”
“I’ll protect them. I’ll protect you. No matter what.”
“You are kind of like having my own personal Viking.”
He thumbed toward the hatchet hanging from a carabiner on his backpack. “Brought my axe.”
“Let’s go then, Bjorn the Beefy. The kids are getting a little far ahead.”
They continued on after the children. After about fifty yards, Liz said, “Hey, how about grabbing a handle? This thing is heavier than it looks.”
He took one of the cooler handles, and they carried it in tandem, switching grips when one hand grew tired.
As they walked, however, he couldn’t shake the sense that someone or something was watching them. All he told Liz was, “Keep your eyes open, okay?”
“Right. Someone sabotaged the road. Check,” she said. “Tell me again why we’re not hiking back to the nearest town?”
“Because the nearest town is what, thirty miles? Across the desert? We can’t take the kids across the desert that far.” At least, it wasn’t in the top five options. He checked his phone again. “And still no reception.”
“But we’re walking farther from that town, even the gas station.”
“We need to get a camp set up so the kids can get some rest. If I still can’t get any phone reception, tomorrow morning I’ll hike back to the highway and flag somebody down.” It would be safer for the kids to stay in the shady coolness of a forested mountainside than to march across the scorching desert. He could bring help back for them.
Liz nodded. “Meanwhile, we’re still just having a little family adventure, right?”
“Right.”
About fifteen minutes later, a whoop of exultation echoed from ahead. Hunter called, “We found it!”
“Woohoo!” Liz called.
Liz and Stewart soon caught up with the kids. The Bent Knife Campground consisted of a flattened clearing bordered by weathered logs, large enough for three or four cars to park. There was one cinder-block outhouse, which was characteristically aromatic, and three fire pits. None of the fire pits looked as if they had been used in a while, although one of them had a scattering of dusty charcoal.
Stewart picked a flat spot farthest from the outhouse for their tent.
An owl hooted in the dark, drawing a gasp from Cassie. She stood frozen like a mouse caught in the open.
Hunter hooted back, but the owl did not respond, so he industriously turned his attention to helping with the unpacking. “Dad, can I help put up the tent?”
“Sure,” Stewart said.
When that was half-finished, he said, “Dad, can I light the fire?”
The boy’s earnestness to help didn’t necessarily equate with being helpful, so Stewart said, “First, go gather up some wood.” One look around the campsite showed there were plenty of fallen branches. “Grab as much as you can.”
“Can I chop it?” Hunter said.
“Sure, I’ve got a hatchet right here. But first, go get some.”
Hunter took his flashlight and scampered off into the shadows under the trees. A pang of nervousness washed through Stewart. Was it a good idea for him to take his eyes off any of them? But there was enough old wood lying around to get a good fire started. The boy wouldn’t have to go more than twenty yards in any direction.
Liz called after the boy, “You stay right here where I can see you!”
Big sigh. “Okay, Mom.”
Stewart made sure to keep an eye on the boy’s flashlight as he meandered among the tree trunks, filling his arms with branches.
***
An hour later, the tent was erected, the fire was crackling merrily, and the four of them sat around the fire pit, roasting hot dogs on sticks. Narrow strips of starlight filtered down through the canopy of pine branches, but under the forest canopy it was almost pitch black.
“I’m so hungry I could eat three of them cold,” Hunter said.
“Hold your horses, kiddo,” Liz said. “They’re way better roasted over a fire.”
Hunter sighed. “You hear that growling? That’s my belly.”
“No, it’s mine!” Cassie said, grinning with anticipation.
“Hey, Dad!” Hunter said. “Yours is turning black!”
Stewart blinked and looked at his hot dog, pulling it out of the flames. Even the stick had blackened to the verge of catching fire. His attention had been on scanning the darkness of the surrounding forest. Something in the air, an unnamable tension, had straightened the hairs on his arms and neck. He had quietly laid his hatchet next to him on the ground.
Despite the blackened exterior, he grabbed the hot dog with a bun, pulled it off the stick, and bit off half of it.
“No ketchup?” Hunter said, as if unable to imagine anyone eating just a hot dog in a dry bun.
But Stewart’s taste buds caught fire. The blackened skin of the frank was all the flavor he needed. The bun was simply the delivery truck.
He couldn’t shake Liz’s scrutiny, however. No doubt she hadn’t forgotten the vine, and maybe she even sensed the threat in the air.
The kids munched their hot dogs, fanning their mouths at the heat.
“We should do this at home every night,” Cassie said.
“Yeah,” Hunter said with his mouth full.
“You wouldn’t get tired of hot dogs?” Stewart said.
“Nope!” Cassie said.
Then Hunter pointed into the darkness. “Hey, look. What’s that?”
Beyond the edge of the firelight, under the deep shadows of the pine trees, a pair of eyes reflected the firelight, yellow-orange orbs floating in the black.
“Probably a raccoon,” Stewart said. “M
aybe he smells our hot dogs.”
But unlike any raccoon he’d ever seen, these eyes did not fade away again into the night when they were noticed. They remained fixed on the campsite with a steady intensity.
And then another pair of eyes appeared directly above the first pair, these closer together with a crimson tint, fading in and out of existence like faulty lightbulbs. Hovering there perhaps three feet above the ground, simmering with intelligence, those eyes made Stewart snatch up his hatchet.
“Mommy, Daddy! Look! Over there!” Cassie shrilled.
Stewart looked to where she pointed just in time to see more eyes skulk close enough to catch the firelight. Three more sets of four, each with two above, two below. As if the upper pair belonged to something riding the lower.
Cassie screamed and clutched her mother.
They were surrounded by eyes, and the eyes were coming closer.
Chapter Fifteen
Cassie scrambled up Liz like a cat climbing a tree.
Stewart snatched up his hatchet and stood, tensed and ready, moving to interpose himself between his family and the coyotes. Except that the half-circle was collapsing into a ring.
Liz tried to whisper soothingly to Cassie, but the girl was in a frenzy. Liz jumped up and hoisted Cassie onto her hip. The girl clung to her like a monkey as Liz snatched up a firebrand and held it like a flaming truncheon.
Hunter grabbed a flashlight and shined it toward the encroaching circle of eyes. The circle of light played briefly over sharp coyote faces, but there were gnarled shapes clinging to the backs of the coyotes. Yips rippled around the circle like the spread of laughter, and the coyotes edged back from the light. Stewart couldn’t get his eyes to focus on the things riding the coyotes. They seemed to be made of smoke, or somehow unseeable, or maybe it was like the childhood dreams where he really needed to see whatever dream monster was coming for him but his eyes wouldn’t work, wouldn’t open, wouldn’t focus and the only way to escape was to wake up into the cold blackness of a bedroom shared with other foster kids, and on some of those nights he’d gone to bed hungry rather than submit to whatever degradation the Abusive Foster Parent of the Month had in store for him.