Thunder cracks through the sky. I sink next to her.
Tires screech, and then a deafening crash follows. The ground shakes beneath me. I glance up. As if in slow motion, the mangled truck flips high into the air, spinning directly above. I scramble to my feet, even though it’s too late to run. The underbelly of the truck will come crashing down on me any second. I’ll die alongside Jess. And I should . . .
Out of nowhere, a figure attacks me from the side, smashing against my ribs and knocking all wind out of me. Caught in an iron grip, we’re airborne. Everything’s a blur as we crash and then roll onto a patch of grass just beyond the sidewalk. Whoever holds me takes most of the hit. I fight. Kicking. Punching. Screaming to break free. The ground shakes as the truck craters into the road a few yards away, crushing Jess.
I lay stunned. I’ve been saved, but Jess . . . I can’t abandon her. I shove away and scramble to my feet.
“We have to get out of here, now!” a guy’s voice shouts over the hissing radiator as I’m grabbed from behind.
“Let go!” I surge every bit of strength and deliver a hard elbow to what proves to be a solid stomach.
He loosens his grip but takes hold of me again. “You can’t go back.”
I break loose. A mix of adrenaline, panic, and shock numbs the burning in my hands as I claw through the heated debris desperate to find what’s left of my little friend. Part of me knows she’s not alive and there won’t be a trace of her in that fire. The other part can’t accept it.
The guy takes a hold of my arm and drags me back.
I kick and wrestle out of my shredded jacket. “I said, let go!”
“If we don’t get out of here, we’ll die.” His voice grinds against my ear. The frenetic crackles and sizzles of the radiator underscore his urgent plea. Something sputters. Then I hear a faint click. He iron-grips my wrist and yells, “Run!”
The truck erupts into a fireball. I’m thrown, midstride. Searing heat laps at my heels. I dive through spearing glass and flying metal. I smash onto the sidewalk several car lengths from the wreckage and hit an electrical box bolted to the concrete.
I lay on the cold cement, dazed and battered, with a deep throb pulsing in my side. Large drops of cold rain pelt my head and gashed shoulder. Flames creep through the intersection but remain a good distance away. I push up on my elbows and drag myself behind the electrical box and take cover. The stench of burnt oil and the sweltering heat reaches even here. Plumes of black smoke rise from the wreckage. Moloch lands, hiding somewhere in the smolder, and squawks as if he’s proud of the mayhem and relishing his kill.
Jess’s tiny body is trapped and alone somewhere under that pyre. The vision came true—all of it except for the fire. Why didn’t I see the fire? Not that it matters. Jess was killed just how I imagined she would be; everything was detailed in Mom’s drawing. Mom will have one more article to clip. She will write confirmed on the bottom corner of the paper the same way she’s done with all the others. If Mom hadn’t lied to me, I would have had more time to save Jess. She’d still be alive.
Hurried footsteps crunch over broken glass somewhere behind me. “Are you okay?” The guy kneels beside me. “You’ve been hurt something bad.” He has no idea how right he is on so many levels, but he’s probably talking about the bright red smudge bleeding through my T-shirt. Seeing the blood makes everything real. “Can you stand? If not, I’ll carry you.” He puts a hand on my arm, ready to scoop me up.
“I’m fine.” A total lie, but I brush his hands off. My dad was the last person to carry me, and I was seven. There’s no way I’m letting some random stranger carry me now. I force myself to sit up, looking at his face for the first time.
His crystal-blue eyes stare through shaggy white-blond hair as they study my wounded shoulder. It’s the guy who was playing guitar in the square, the one who looks like a surfer from Southern California.
“Let’s get you help.” He scans the road for a solution with a determined look chiseled across his face. His eyes narrow, and I follow his gaze back to the fire. Moloch holds what’s left of my charred jacket between his sharp teeth. The beast, about fifty feet away, looks as if he’s about to toss my jacket in the air and devour the fabric. He doesn’t. Instead he lays the fabric at his side like some souvenir and flaps his wings, shooing away the smoke. A blistering heat wave billows in my direction and burns my eyes.
“We have to go,” California whispers, but I’m too focused on Moloch to respond. As sirens approach, the creature rummages through the debris, searching with fierce intensity after Jess. My chest tightens. She’s already dead. Leave her alone. Does that vile monster want to rip her apart as well so they won’t find a trace of her? I’ll stab the beast through the heart, gouge out its eyes. Split apart every shred of feathery skin so he won’t hurt anyone ever again.
I grab a twisted piece of metal lying near me. Fire doesn’t kill him, but a skewer into the chest might. I push my knees underneath me and grip the hot metal in my fist. Before I can stand, California presses his hand on my good shoulder.
“What are you doing?” he asks, sounding shocked. “Nuh-uh. You can’t go after it. You can’t let it see you.”
“I couldn’t care less if . . .” I freeze. It? What does he mean by it? We’re all alone on the narrow side street. The voices that carry through the wreckage come from the main road, on the other side of flames. The only thing I can see besides the burning truck is Moloch. “It will see me?” The word sticks to my throat.
“The Cormorant.” California lowers his voice. “It thinks you’re caught under the truck. It won’t be long before the beast figures out you got away. Good thing you dropped the jacket. It’ll buy us some time. C’mon, hurry.”
An icy chill runs through my veins. I can’t be hearing right. “Wait.” I’m light-headed. “You can see that demon?”
California doesn’t flinch. Through those shaggy bangs, his tense eyes lock on Moloch’s every move. “Yeah, and if we don’t find a way out of here soon, that demon’s gonna see us too.”
I gawk at California in disbelief. Kneeling beside me, he is staring at the disfigured bird-beast as it walks through the fire. He can see Moloch? My heart pumps fast, knocking out all my breath. Someone else sees this warped creature wandering the earth?
Moloch’s back is turned. The creature flaps his silken wings, stirring up the flames. Before I can peel myself off the sidewalk, California slips his arms under mine and lifts me to my feet.
“I got it,” I say. “I’m fine.” I’m really not. My head spins. I’m light-headed and I’m leaning to the left, but the last thing I want is to be treated like an invalid or worse, a patient.
“Let’s go, then. But be quiet.”
“I won’t abandon Jess . . .” I’m hyperventilating.
“You knew that girl.” He never takes his eyes off the Cormorant. “I’m sorry. But there’s nothing you can do for her now. We need to get away while we still can.” He glances at my side. “I know someone who can look at that wound. We gotta go now or the EMTs will take you to a hospital.”
He’s right, and the set look on his face tells me he knows it. Almost on cue, an approaching ambulance siren wails a few blocks away.
I nod, even though any step away from the scene, away from Jess, will thrust a dagger deeper into my soul.
“C’mon.” California raises his black denim jacket, creating a canopy to shield us from random raindrops and floating cinder. As he hovers over me, a warm ocean scent invades the space. He’s a little too close. I grab a corner of our makeshift shelter and shift, giving him room.
As California steers me away from the fire, I look back over my shoulder at Moloch. About ten yards away, the beast squawks and sifts through the flames. There’s not a scratch on him. “How can we kill it?” I again look for something that might do the trick. When I let go of the jacket, Moloch tilts his head in my direction. His yellow snake eyes narrow as he stares right at me. My blood turns cold. He’s seen us
.
Moloch lets out a piercing cry—one that’s so loud, my eardrums might split. “Go, go, go!” California drags me as he runs. Smoky wind burns my eyes. As if that’s not enough to blind me, the violent flap of Moloch’s wings whipping my hair in my face does. My feet somehow manage to stay underneath me as California hauls me down the street. He grips my wrist so tight, I can barely feel my fingers. He needs to let go. I can run faster if he does.
Moloch’s shadow flies right over us as we reach the corner. I yank my hand out of California’s grip just as sulfur-scented wind whooshes against my arm. I gasp. Moloch almost sliced my arm off! I peer through gritty strands of my hair. The slimy tip of Moloch’s talon, oozing black blood, tilts down, ready for another swipe. Run. Faster!
“This way.” California grabs a fistful of my T-shirt and pulls me around a white contractor van. We weave around the truck parked at the end of an alley and leap over a pile of trash. Moloch stays on our heels until we enter a back lane latticed with metal balconies and dangling fire escape ladders. Moloch isn’t entering the narrow pathway. He’s suspended in midair at the entrance, beating his wings. Smart move, California. Moloch’s wingspan is too wide for the cluttered path. He can’t get through—or so I think.
Using his bird legs, the stealthy creature lands on the van and tries to jump down. Luckily he hits the fire escape ladders, which slows him down and puts more distance between us. I speed up, but our lead is cut short when we hit a cluster of air conditioning units blocking our path.
“We’ll have to climb over.” California looks over his shoulder. Moloch is writhing himself between the brick and the truck and still can’t get through. He backs up. For a brief moment, I think he’s given up—that we might be safe—until, with one swipe of his talon, he yanks the van back and tosses it aside. He’s found a way in.
When I reach to pull myself up, a stabbing pain streaks through my abdomen. I yelp.
“What’s wrong?” California asks.
My knees buckle. I lean against the cold metal and suck in the deepest breath I can muster as my skin turns clammy. “Just keep going.” I grip a handle near the top of the air unit, despite the throbbing in my side. One look back at Moloch, at the hate brewing in his fiery eyes, tells me we’re out of time. He’s knocking away bits from the fire escape like they’re nothing but paper straws.
In a matter of seconds, California is on top of the rusted air units, reaching down to help me, but I’ve already managed to tuck the tip of my tennis shoe in a groove and pull myself up on my own. Moloch screeches. His squawk is so loud, I can feel the metal vibrate. He’s gaining on us.
Lightning flashes, brightening the alley. Out of habit, and so I don’t get caught off guard, I count the seconds before the thunder cracks while I hopscotch on top of the rickety air conditioners, following California’s path. One one thousand . . . Two one thousand . . . Three one thousand . . . Four one thousand . . . Five. Thunder explodes. California startles but he doesn’t slow down. He swiftly navigates the rusted units, careful not to get his foot caught in the tangled wires. I try to do the same, but I’m not nearly as quick.
A brisk wind whips around me, kicking up the smell of tangy metal mixed with rotting flesh. I take another quick glance behind me. Moloch moves down the alley, shrieking as he juts his neck forward. He’s getting too close.
California jumps down first. He reaches up for my hands. I take them. With my bleeding side, jumping seven feet to the ground on my own isn’t an option, and sliding off the rusty metal will only slow me down.
We’re not two steps removed from the rusty A/C units when a pole harpoons from the sky, whooshing behind my back. For a second, I think it’s Moloch, until I take a quick look. A three-foot metal pipe impales the pavement behind me, but Moloch is still ripping through fire escape ladders behind us. That pole came from overhead, which means . . . I look up. Another demon bird. My whole body tenses. This bird is sleeker. His head is pointier than Moloch’s, but he’s just as vicious.
“Why are they trying to kill us?” I gasp, running beside California.
“That beast is a predator. Hunts the Awakened. You’re about seventeen, right?” He shoots a quick glance my way. I nod. I will be at the end of the week, anyway. “Newly Awakened,” he says in a hoarse whisper. “It’s their favorite target.”
I don’t have time to ask what he means by Awakened. The second bird rips metal poles from the wall, sifting and searching for the best iron bar to harpoon right at us. And he’s found one. California is focused on knocking crates and trash out of our way as we run. He doesn’t see the second beast calculating our every step. We’re too open. Nothing covers us. We’ll have to change course, or the monster will have a clear shot at us.
My tennis shoes slap against the concrete as I will my legs to run faster. “Look out!” I yank at California, but even then, I’m not able to pull him completely out of the way.
The iron bar whizzes down and slices across his forearm. California grunts in pain and grabs his arm as he sees the bird overhead for the first time.
This time I’m the one asking. “Are you—”
“I’m fine.” He ducks around a corner with his arm tucked against his side. “Get to that last door.”
We run, zigzagging through the alley. Another spear launches down but misses us by a good two feet and instead stabs a trash bag California threw aside. With only dim amber lights over back-alley doors, Moloch and the second bird are harder to see. Rats scatter into the shadows. My lack of sight only amplifies the sound of scraping metal coming from somewhere overhead.
California skids to a stop. “In here.” We duck under a flimsy balcony, taking cover as California tries to pry a rusty door open with a bent pipe. “We can’t outrun two of them.”
The second bird sends down another metal spear, puncturing our metal roof with a deafening clang. Belial. The name comes to mind. Oh, you’re so full of it, Milton. You described Belial as a wicked, cunning debater, casually floating on a lake of fire. This bird is actively fighting to kill us.
“As when a prowling wolf, / Whom hunger drives to seek new haunt for prey.” Yeah, you’ve got that part right, Milton. We’re definitely prey.
Another flash of lightning gives me a clear shot of where they are. One one thousand. Belial tries to swoop down the ladders but can’t fit. He squawks—short, staccato sounds, working his way down. Two one thousand. Moloch rips coils from the air units then caws back to Belial as if planning a coordinated attack. Three. Thunder cracks through the sky.
“Come on. Come on!” California urges through gritted teeth as he wedges the pipe in the door.
My eyes stay trained on Moloch. The beast rolls his neck and leans forward to sniff the air. He lets out a series of purrs and squawks. Both creatures slow their pursuit. Every drop of blood in me turns cold. They’re communicating to one another while hemming us in. They watch our every move and creep closer. We’re caged animals—and there’s no way out. An image flashes through my mind from a memory—a vision long ago. These are the same birds that attacked Marcy. The ones that sliced her leg and waited to swallow her whole.
My body trembles. All my life these beasts have been destroying everyone around without my knowing. I refuse to be their prey. They’re the ones that need to be destroyed. California didn’t ever say whether or not they can be killed, but I’d rather die trying than run away and let them live. A skewer right through each of their black hearts might do the trick. My throat tightens as I grab a torn iron handrail off the asphalt. The weight pulls against my scraped shoulder, but I clutch tight anyway.
“Got it!” California says, as the metal door opens, scraping against the pavement. Blood drips down the back of his palm, and there’s a tear in his jacket. “Get inside.”
The door leads to nothing but echoing darkness. “No, they’re trying to trap us.”
Belial is perched overhead, picking apart beams and poles, trying to wiggle himself back up through a tangle of ladd
ers and twisted metal. Moloch sways, focused and ready to pounce any minute, as if he’s waiting. But waiting for what?
Suddenly, Moloch springs into the air. Launching right at us. No—at California. I grip the pole and yell. I race toward the beast, hurling the spear directly for its heart.
The javelin bounces off of Moloch’s chest and rebounds across the cold pavement with a hollow clank. My futile weapon did nothing to stop Moloch’s attack. His curled serpent tongue unravels as he sails toward us. California swings a metal pipe, striking Moloch in the jaw, knocking the creature back. Moloch staggers.
He bashes the pipe against Moloch’s head again while swiftly dodging the vicious swipe of his talons. California gets knocked on his back. Moloch crouches, ready to pounce. I scream over the clashing thunder and swipe another metal pole off the ground before running toward Moloch. The demon bird locks eyes with me. In that moment, California digs his weapon through the beast’s shoulder. Moloch shrieks and California wastes no time. He scrambles to his feet, yanking me with him.
“Go!” He heads back into the deep recess of the alley. Where? My eyes adjust to the rain-soaked curtain of fog. With one kick, California punches a hole through a rotted red fence and crawls through. Lightning flashes. One. Moloch shakes his head as if trying to recover. Two.
Thunder cracks. California pulls me through the opening. A cold raindrop drips down my back. Where is Belial?
“This way.” California picks up speed as he races out of the alley and around the corner to a main road. “The train isn’t far.”
A car honks, slamming on the brakes as we dart across the street. Dusk deepens as we weave around parked cars and humming light poles into another alley. Another alley, is he serious? But this one is shorter and opens to a backstreet. A chain-link fence holds back the woods. Overgrown tree limbs hang over the metal fence, banging branches in the frantic wind, urging us to run faster.
Mortal Sight Page 5