Roaring

by Lindsey Duga

  She continued to mutter and shake and rock back and forth as if the clasp on her sanity had finally snapped.

  Colt’s jaw tightened. “Eris, go take the kids outside. Don’t wait for me. Keep walking.”

  I was reminded of the time I’d found a sick kitten in the alley and took it to Dr. Boursaw. He was a veterinarian. He could help her. But instead, he told me that it had contracted an infection and it was too far gone. It kept mewing and mewing in pain. In the end, he stuck a needle into the kitten and it went quiet.

  I cried for a week afterward.

  “Make it stop. Make it stop. Make it stop,” she whispered over and over again.

  Colt leveled the gun at the girl hunched over the office floor, moaning and trembling.

  With numb legs, I ankled over to the children and guided them up with gentle hands. I ushered them outside through the front door of the telegraph company.

  We got ten steps when the sound of a gun pierced the still night air, and a howl quickly followed.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  The Agent

  Millie’s body fell to the floor. I’d shot her right in the third eye. Right in the spot that had tormented her until her last breath. I promised myself then and there that once I’d gotten through all this mess I would hunt down Gin and drive a stake through her heart.

  Even though it was too late to take back what I’d done, I was already asking myself if there had been another way to save her. Yet I knew deep down there wasn’t. You can’t remove a cyclops eye—it’s too close to the brain—and the poor girl had suffered long enough. Even so, I had pulled the trigger. She was another name to add to my list. Another face to haunt my nightmares. Another sin to mark my soul.

  This time, I didn’t dismantle the gun. I tucked it into my jacket and reached down and closed Millie’s eyes with two fingers.

  Then I ran out of the telegraph office. Down the street, heading in the direction of Lake Michigan, I could see Eris, her white dress glowing in the gloom, and three smaller figures around her.

  I caught up to her just as the third howl ripped through the air.

  A pack of ten men—turned monsters—rounded the corner. The gaslight bounced off their coats of brown fur and shiny bull horns.

  Reaching down, I picked up the smallest kid and drew out Millie’s gun in my other hand. Without a word to each other, Eris and I turned our walk into a run.

  The monster horde gave chase.

  We were a block and a half ahead, but Navy Pier was still a ways to go and we had two younger children with much smaller strides than the monsters after us.

  As we ran down the shadowy, lamp-lit streets, I tried to turn and aim a shot at the oncoming monsters but quickly realized it was too risky. There was a one in a thousand chance I could hit my mark while running.

  The office buildings and skyscrapers shifted into steelyards and warehouses and factories. The stench of fish permeated the air, replacing the scents of oil, coal, and the occasional sour dumpster. The pier was well within reach, but the monsters were now so close they were practically on top of us.

  The kids were stumbling and exhausted, and when the boy tripped and Eris had to catch him, I knew we wouldn’t make it.

  Growls, yips, snarls, and howls grew to a dull roar. The alley we were in was wedged between two large warehouses on either side. They were abandoned, or maybe just closed for the incoming winter months. A clang resounded overhead, like feet hitting a fire escape.

  They were above us now.

  Moonlight stretched down into our little alley, illuminating an open door into the warehouse just ahead on the right.

  A block away, there was the pier. We were so close, but we wouldn’t last even twenty more yards.

  Making a snap decision, I grabbed Eris by the elbow and jerked her into the warehouse. The two kids came after her and I led us toward the massive building’s center. The monsters followed like fire ants swarming a piece of cake at a picnic.

  Some burst through windows overhead, some leaped onto crates piled ten feet in the air, and some followed in our exact footsteps.

  The warehouse looked to be some kind of storage for ship parts. Ropes and cables and big steel contraptions poked out of crates and boxes. Windows made the perimeter of the warehouse, two stories up. Large cranes hung from the ceiling and big trappings dangled above like an abandoned training facility for trapeze artists.

  As we ran across the open concrete floor stained with oil, I scanned the back of the warehouse. Shit, if there isn’t…

  But I found it. A back door.

  “Kid!” I yelled at the little girl. “See if that’s open!” I pointed to the shadowy door nestled in the corner.

  Without a word, the girl raced ahead, tired but spurred on by a mission.

  The door opened at her touch.

  Seeing beyond the doorframe into the dark wharf—the waters of Lake Michigan reflecting the glow of the moon and streetlights scattered along the piers—a sort of calm washed over me.

  It was right there. I could get them out.

  I stopped and pivoted around, still holding the little boy in my arms. He clung to my neck tightly as I surveyed our pursuers.

  They were just feet away. I counted three minotaurs and seven werewolves. They were more wolves than men at this point. Three had fallen on all fours, their back legs transformed into haunches. Their shirts were gone and rich chocolate-brown fur coated their back, chest, arms, and their elongated snouts. The minotaurs were slower, all on their two feet, panting and stomping, charging ahead.

  A tight hand grabbed my arm, yanking me close. Eris. I passed the child into her arms and pointed to the door. “Get out of here!”

  She looked back at the open door, then at me, and then at a werewolf crouched on a tower of crates just two feet away, mere seconds from pouncing.

  I could see the anguish in her eyes. Our roles from ten minutes ago reversed.

  The little boy pressed his face into her neck as another howl ripped through the air. She closed her eyes briefly and tears spilled down her beautiful cheeks. Decision made. Then she turned for the back door and ran.

  The werewolf lunged, his claws scraping against the crates, sending wood chips into the air. I met him dead-on, twerking my hips to punch him square in the throat. With a yip, he flew backward into a rack of steel tools.

  That’s when they all attacked at once.

  I took a deep, deep breath and surrendered to the heat.

  The burning in my chest that had begun since I first met the siren had grown insurmountably in the past hour, building and building until I could no longer hold it back. Thankfully, I no longer had to.

  Smoke curled out of my nostrils as my shoulders sagged with its release. I took one step, leaned forward, and roared.

  A column of flames exploded out of my mouth. Fire, red and angry, and all-consuming blasted into the crates and the oncoming monsters.

  Howls and cries bounced off the walls and the ceiling of the warehouse as the inferno consumed the four nearest werewolves. They fell on their backs, thrashing, as their screams turned into that of men, not monsters. It just went to show—we all burned the same.

  The other werewolves and minotaurs hesitated to come after me, especially once they saw how the flames had taken hold and danced across the bodies of their brethren.

  But I did not hesitate.

  Once I let go of the flames, they were damn near impossible to contain.

  The fire poured out, rolling across my tongue and lips, and I tilted my head to angle the flames upward. It traveled up the shipping crates and into the hanging trappings. I swiveled left and right and let the flames roll across every surface until the entire warehouse was ablaze. Glass windows exploded and smoke pressed into each crack and crevice.

  And then the burning within me faded, like the light dy
ing on a candle run out of wax. I was spent, the old scars on my back no longer aching, but roaring with agony. My body collapsed amidst the flames and I let it take me—I deserved a death of my own making.

  The darkness came swift and easy and I welcomed it.

  …

  “Try to use them, Colt. They’re just like arms and legs. They’re yours to command.”

  “Get them off. Please.”

  “Colt, this is what you’ve been training for. Remember? You wanted to be a soldier. This is how you serve your country.”

  “No, I never wanted this. Get them off.”

  “Use your damn wings, boy!”

  The bones on my back that did not belong to me…twitched. A soft shhh sound filled the air as the red leathery wings trembled then flapped, brushing the clean white linoleum.

  The cold hand of the devil touched my soul. These…these things on my back were mine.

  God? If you can hear me, please save me.

  …

  A soft light tickled my eyelids and, for a while, I resisted its pull. The longer I could put off hell, the better.

  Because that’s where I was. I had to be. I mean, if there was an afterlife, then I certainly wasn’t in the good place.

  Except when I finally opened my eyes, I was proven wrong.

  A warm yellow glow backlit the figure of a young woman with delicate features and gentle waves of autumn hues. She was straightening the curtains of white lace, trying to stop the morning sun from getting through.

  I moved my head to the side to get a better look and felt the soft cotton of a pillow under my cheek. Blinking, I slowly evaluated the rest of my body. It appeared I still had feet and arms and hands, but every single inch of me hurt.

  I could count on my hand the number of times I’d released my flames, and it always took a gigantic toll on my body. This time, I hadn’t been expecting to deal with it.

  Yet, here I was, lying on a fluffy mattress in crisp cotton sheets, watching Eris straighten my curtains.

  Alive.

  I tried to lift myself onto my elbows, but pain shot through my muscles and they seized, making me fall back into my previous position. At my groan, Eris turned around, and when she saw me awake, her face lit up with a big beautiful smile.

  She dropped to her knees next to my bed and took my right hand in both of hers.

  “The kids?” I croaked, my voice raw from all the fire and smoke.

  She nodded with a smile.

  So, she still couldn’t talk. I wondered if she’d ever be able to talk again. Then again, if Gin had intended to hand her over to her creator then it couldn’t be irreparable.

  “Where are we?” I asked.

  Eris pointed to something on the wall, and I glanced over at the ornament, quickly recognizing it with a drop in my stomach. A crucifix.

  “A church?” That’s right—the church Millie mentioned. We must’ve made it.

  Eris nodded, still smiling.

  “How did…how did you get us here?”

  Her brow furrowed.

  “Sorry, no, you don’t have to explain. I can wait.”

  Eris shook her head and held up a finger. Then she turned to the nightstand next to my single bed, grabbed the pad of paper and pen, and started to scribble furiously on it. While she wrote, I shifted just slightly to check my wound. It was bandaged properly, and even though I was naked from the waist up, I felt clean and…safe.

  An odd feeling after believing I’d been dead only minutes ago.

  Eris drew my attention back to her when she held up her pad of paper.

  It explained how Kenneth, Eugene, and Marion—the three kids we’d saved—had found the man with the dingy, while Eris had returned to the burning warehouse and dragged me out. With the old man’s help they got into a boat that took them up to St. Agnes Catholic Church. The nuns here promised we could stay until we were back on our feet.

  I wondered if that would be true if they knew we were monsters, but I didn’t point this out to Eris. She just seemed so pleased to be here. And happy to see me awake.

  Which didn’t make sense, either.

  She had to have seen what I’d done. The truth of what I was, and what I could do. She’d watched me burn down an entire warehouse, and still she looked at me without fear or judgment.

  “You shouldn’t have gone back to get me. That was dangerous.”

  She scowled at me, then flipped over a new page in her notebook and wrote in all caps, WE’RE EVEN. “Even” was underlined three times.

  I couldn’t get too mad at her, since I had done the same. But the idea of her running back into a burning building and dragging me out…it made my stomach clench with worry and my skin grow icy with fear.

  Eris set down the paper on my sheets and leaned forward, taking my hand again. It was only then that I noticed new bandages on her fingers and palms. I encircled her delicate wrists with my fingers and lifted them closer to my face.

  “You burned your hands.”

  She pulled away, letting loose a small sound of protest in the back of her throat.

  Pressing my head back into the pillow, I stared up at the blank white ceiling, picturing her grabbing my coat doused in flames, touching the searing hot doorframe as she dragged me outside…

  I felt her gentle touch on my bare arm, just above my elbow.

  “You know what I am now?” I asked the ceiling.

  I could hear the sound of her picking up the pad of paper and her scribbling again. She held up the paper. The word was in all lowercase script this time. As if she didn’t want to yell it. As if she wanted to whisper it.

  dragon

  The word seemed to taunt me. It was something that I’d been, and still was, in many ways, yet it felt so distant. I’d had my wings for hardly a week before they were removed because they believed me to be too dangerous with them…and they were right.

  After what felt like a full minute of staring at the word, I lifted my gaze to meet hers. I fully expected to see fear there, but instead she was staring at me in earnest. Somewhere between pity, empathy, and something…intense. I wasn’t quite sure what it was, but it wasn’t fear.

  “How are you not scared of me?” I asked her in disbelief.

  She’d watched me blow flames. I’d turned ten seven-foot-tall monsters into piles of crisp skeletons and flecks of ash.

  If the devil ever walked the earth, then maybe I was his cousin.

  Her brow furrowed as she looked down at me and her mouth opened and closed, then she shook her head and put her pen to paper.

  You saved me. And the children.

  I blew out a breath. “You make me sound like a hero. I’m not.”

  More scribbling.

  I know what you are now. You’re not a monster.

  I’d told her on the train that she didn’t know what I was. Now she knew what but she didn’t know everything.

  Eris wasn’t a priest or a nun, but we were in a church and there was no one else I wanted to confess my sins to. I closed my eyes and began my confession.

  “The Treaty of Versailles ended the Great War, but it didn’t end the government’s intense paranoia of the next biggest threat. The army went out to orphanages and picked up young boys, telling them they could fight for their country. For peace.” I licked my lips and closed my eyes, seeing that day where the orphanage lady came in and pointed at me and said, this one is the biggest. “But that wasn’t why we joined. We joined because we wanted a family. Brothers who would watch our backs. I’d had every intention of joining the army, but then the BOI came to my orphanage. They wanted me to be a new kind of soldier. A special operative. I was twelve.

  “They taught me how to fight, how to read people, how to fire a gun. But it was more than just agent training, there were medical tests, too. I didn’t understand why, but
they took samples of my blood and hooked me up to an IV with weird glowing blue liquid that made me feel sick, weak, and very strange. One morning they wheeled me in for a surgery.” Wincing, I pushed myself up onto my elbows and gingerly turned to the side. The sheets slipped down, exposing my bare back and the thick, ropelike scars right inside my shoulder blades. There was a sharp intake of breath, then soft fingertips brushing my scars. I shivered from the gentle touch and her skin on mine. It was an area that had never been touched except by a surgeon’s hands.

  It took me a long couple of minutes to find my voice again. “The next thing I remembered was waking up on my stomach with wings attached to my back.” I let myself fall back into the pillows and trained my gaze on the ceiling. “There was clapping and cheering once they saw that I was awake—it was like they hadn’t even believed I’d survive the surgery. Maybe there were others before me. I don’t know.”

  “The wings…I didn’t handle them well. They were a part of me, like my own arms, but they also felt like they had a mind of their own. I don’t know if it was all in my head, or if the wings really were alive, but I swear I could hear them whisper at me. In just a week, I felt like I was going mad.”

  I thought of Millie, cringing and twisting and crying on the floor. I’d felt the same.

  Get them off. Get them off.

  It hurts. It hurts.

  Kill me.

  “And they kept telling me to use them. To try and…and fly.” The ceiling grew blurry and a new kind of burning started in the back of my throat. It reached my eyes, too. Not wanting her to see, I laid my arm over my eyes and continued, pressing on, “They didn’t even know what dragon wings could do, but they wanted to see it. Whatever it was. They grew impatient. They wanted to see a dragon’s power. They pushed and pushed and before I knew it, my chest was so hot. Hot like I’d swallowed a mouthful of burning coals. I opened my mouth and…”

  My throat caught, and my words stuttered. For several long moments I said nothing.

  You never forget your first kill, McCarney had told me once.