“Stay close to Ellis. Don’t trust Howell.”
A soft chuckle brushes past his lips, and I swear I can feel his breath on my skin. “I haven’t trusted him for years.”
Kenzo lets go suddenly, turns away, and heads to the edge of the crevice in a rush. I watch to make sure that Ellis is there to help him find his footing, and then keep my gaze focused on him as they pick their way through the debris and over to the other side. Up the crevice face, and along the tracks on the other side.
Ellis turns once to meet my gaze. Through his non-verbal vibration, I can feel his intention. He’ll do his best to keep Kenzo safe.
It would be easier to believe him if I didn’t catch a whiff of his own doubt buried beneath it.
As the humans stumble along the tracks, the passenger cars behind me open. The Rippers come pouring out in a stream. They no doubt heard every word spoken out here. Their eyes immediately dart over to the warm-blooded meals walking slowly away into the distance.
I wonder how many of them are calculating their chances of catching up to them, tearing them apart…
Trey barks out, “All of you, attention!” The soldiers turn to him, but the civilians harbor no respect for Trey. My mom, however, gives him a hand.
She steps up and shouts, “Listen up!”
With all eyes turned to them, they rally a hunting party to check this side of the ravine for food. Best to keep them all focused on a task.
For me? Even with the thirst already creeping up on me, hunting is the last thing on my mind. I told Kenzo it would be okay, but I know with absolute certainty that nothing will be okay again.
This is the end.
13
Lori
I stare off into the desert for as long as I can see a speck of their outlines against the midnight sky. And then for good measure, I watch for another half-hour. I tell myself that it’s just to keep an eye out for any of the Rippers who might think hunting them is a valid option, but I think it’s more than that.
Kenzo represents something for me. He feels like the final tether holding my humanity in place. My sanity, my morality. Sure, he’s been feeding me, so I’ve been able to avoid all my guilt, while still keeping a leash on my hunger. But he’s also the only reason I have left to even bother trying at all. I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that I could turn myself over to the monster within, just succumb to the beast, and the guilt would melt away, all transgressions forgotten, forgiven. Probably even praised.
“Lori.” Mom has been patient this whole time, and that was honestly another one of the reasons I’ve been staring off into the distance. Good old-fashioned avoidance.
My mom comes right up to me, her nose just inches from my cheek, and her breath huffs out, tickling my senses. “You’re coming with me tonight.”
“What?” I snap my head around to take her in. “Where are we going? They told us to wait here until tomorrow night.”
“Don’t even get me started on the idiocy of Howell’s plan, but we’re not leaving. We’re just going hunting.”
My gut clenches with something that could be described as nausea, and I wonder… if I throw up, would it be nothing but blood? Do Rippers have bile? Or would my mother crouch down in the dirt and lap my vomit up, loath to waste even a drop of blood.
I close my eyes and turn away. The mental image is nearly as bad as looking at her right now.
“I don’t need to hunt. I’m not hungry.”
Mom hisses at me and moves in so close that her lips brush against my ear, speaking so softly that I can barely hear her. And no doubt, nobody else would be able to hear either. “I’m not stupid. I know what Kenzo has been doing for you. And now that he’s gone, you won’t last long without him.” She clears her throat and then backs off, raising her voice to a normal level. “The other have gone west and south, so we’ll head east. Hopefully find something worth our time.”
She grabs me by the elbow and begins to drag me around to the other side of the train. I could fight her on this if I really wanted. I could dig my heels in, I could thrash and flail like an unruly toddler. I could spit in her face and claw out her eyes. But instead, I follow along like a good little daughter.
There’s a numbness settling into my limbs, and it almost makes it feel like I’m floating along, my feet moving without thought.
In the distance is a stand of skeletal trees, by some miracle left standing after all this time. We head in that direction, hoping to find some small animals that have burrowed in among the tree roots. As we get closer, however, the landscape begins to change. It dips beneath my feet in furrows.
“Look,” my mom says in an awed whisper. She kneels down, and I have no choice but to crouch beside her to see what she’s found.
“What is it?” I ask, because even when I’m at her eye level, I can’t tell what has her so enthralled.
She reaches out a single claw and touches it gently to a leaf. Wait… a leaf?
I focus my gaze on the tiny plant. It doesn’t look quite like anything that we had growing in the garden. It’s small, scrubby and tough, but the deep green color is unmistakable. I lean in and take a whiff of it. Loamy, and a faint freshness compared to the packed dirt around it.
“It’s alive.” Mom sits back on her haunches and gives a sigh.
It’s too easy to forget what my mom used to be like. Before the cancer, before her supposed death and disappearance. She was a botanist, a farmer. She respected life in all its forms. Since we’ve been reunited, all that I’ve been able to associate her with is death and destruction. But in this moment, I can see her former self flitting at the corners of her eyes.
My heart gives a heavy thud in my chest. I don’t know if I’m ready to care about her again. She hasn’t atoned for her sins just yet. I turn my head away so that I don’t have to see this unexpected softness about her, and then I make my own discovery. Almost as incredible as her own.
“Mom?” Something in my voice, an urgency, has her raise up, extending her claws in a protective gesture.
“No, Mom. There.” I point and she follows my finger. There’s a clear imprint in the dusty soil. In fact, there are a whole set of prints, trailing off toward the trees. The animal must have been very heavy to cave the dry dirt in around its paws. There are distinct gouges from its claws. “What is it?”
Her mouth is gaping when I look back at her. She turns slowly in a circle, giving the area a longer scan, taking in the precise details on display. “I can’t believe it… I mean, I always knew it would happen eventually, but that was a hypothetical future, decades… or even centuries. I didn’t think I would live to see it.”
She doesn’t wait for me to understand what she’s talking about, just holds her hands out and gasps, “Some of them have managed to survive!”
She takes off towards the trees at a jog, tiny clouds of dust rising from her footfalls, following the path of the large animal, a new bounce to her step.
“Where are you going?”
“Hunting, obviously!”
“Great, so life makes a big comeback, and you celebrate by eating some of it? Oh, the irony.”
I so don’t want to do this. If you can believe old media, mother/daughter bonding experiences are supposed to be doing each other’s makeup or giggling about cute boys. Nowhere have I read about hunting excursions. And not just that, but hunting with our bare hands, and we will most likely get covered in blood. Ugh.
My stomach gives a painful twist. Stupid, traitorous stomach with its hunger pangs. Yes, yes, I am all too aware of how hungry I am. And yes, there’s a small part of me that finds the thought of hot blood slightly appealing…
But all of me hates that sliver of myself.
I grind my teeth together, feeling my canines pushing against my lips. I don’t want this. But…
My breath catches in my throat. If I starve myself, and then we leave to meet with Kenzo, there’s a good chance I’ll rush him, tear into him before I have a chance to stop myself. I let
the revulsion of that thought wash over me. I swim in it. Hell, I drown in it.
I try to convince myself that I can do this for Kenzo. If not for myself, then for him.
I tell my muscles to move, even as they lock against me, trying to freeze me in place. Sure, it’ll be awful, but it will be worth it in the end. I have to believe it. Go! I finally lower into a trot, following after my mom.
She’s waiting for me at the tree line. I’m not panting from the jog. In fact, as my body enters hunting mode, my breath slows down. I take long, quiet breaths, tasting the air for prey. I come up even with my mom and mirror her low crouch, watching, listening, waiting. No, it’s not a shopping trip, but there is no doubt that my mom is more experienced at this than me. Maybe I should try to learn from her.
I follow her as she threads through the trees. I can hear scurrying, see small rodents darting among the desiccated roots. My mom, however, doesn’t even turn her head in their direction. She has larger prey in mind.
When I breathe in through my mouth, letting the air play across my tongue, I get hit with an unfamiliar taste. It’s not like anything I’ve scented before. I try to put a name to it, find a way to describe something so far outside of my knowledge. Strongly aromatic, sharp, deep, rich… wild.
My mom increases her pace, staying low and nearly silent. I try to follow, to step where she steps, but inside… there’s a slow itching spreading down my limbs. The creature that lives in my skin, that I’ve worked so hard to keep in check, has woken up. And it’s taking the wheel and driving me forward.
I want to go faster, I want to dart past her. I want to beat her to the kill.
I can hear a heavy breathing coming from ahead. A snarl threatens to escape from my lips, but I clamp my teeth down around it. My mom looks over her shoulder at me, just a quick glance, but she knows. For a moment, I’m not sure what to expect from her. Does her inner monster take over like mine? Will she turn on me, in order to keep the kill for herself?
Her feet falter for just a moment, and in that split second, I’m not sure whether I’m about to attack our prey or defend myself from a new threat. But then her pace slows, and I blast past her. She lets me take the lead.
While her survival instincts are telling her to kill, her mother’s instincts are to teach, to guide, to provide for her daughter. And as I brush past, I catch a vibration full of pride from her.
I despise that it takes violence for her to be proud of me. I make a mental note to take that up with her later, but for now, I have more important matters at hand. Namely, this panting, wild animal I can feel ahead.
From between the trees, I catch a glimpse of silver fur. It’s taller than I am, wider, heavier. It has the advantage in every way.
But I have no doubt that I can take it down, and I likely won’t even break a sweat while doing it.
When I round the final tree, exposing the massive creature, I freeze. My breath stutters to a halt too, just as all my limbs lock up tight. The beast rounds on me, aware of my presence at last. Dark, glittering eyes take me in. I can hear it breathing in my scent, nostrils flaring. It doesn’t know what to make of me, but the feeling is mutual. I’ve never seen such an animal in all my life. It has a thick pelt, a dirty white, and each paw is tipped with black claws, several inches long.
For this moment, as we take each other’s measure, I want to believe that there’s a kind of kinship. We are both predators, meeting together on equal ground. Under different circumstances, we might be able to turn away from the fight, give each other a metaphorical nod and a handshake, part on good terms.
But this is not that day. Today, it’s kill or be killed. The creature opens its mouth and gives a great roar. I clamp my hands over my ears, guarding my oversensitive senses.
When it finally stops bellowing, I have only a heartbeat to prepare. It raises up on its back feet, bringing its body far above my height, probably close to eight feet tall. What the hell was I thinking? Did I say equal ground?
Never have I been so wrong in my life.
I can hear my mom enter the small clearing behind me. I’d like to think she wouldn’t let me get hurt, not really, but her track record has been a bit spotty. And even if she doesn’t intentionally fail to protect me, there is a very real possibility that I won’t be the one to walk away from this fight.
And let’s be real for a second. Accidents happen.
Although, can it really be considered an accident if I walk up to this massive creature and pick a fight? And that is exactly what I’m about to do.
The animal has paused in its defence. It doesn’t seem to want to charge me. Maybe it’s not a carnivore? Those claws may look threatening, but maybe they’re used for… cracking open coconuts or something.
I use its hesitation to pounce. Even in my half-starved state, my legs feel strong. My muscles coil and tense, and then spring forward, claws extended. I dart in beneath the raised forelegs. It lets out a massive roar as my claws rake across its exposed torso. Instantly, the scent of blood tickles my nostrils.
My satisfaction stutters when my usual self-loathing kicks in, but all of these emotions become unimportant when the creature retaliates, batting me aside with a massive paw the size of my head.
I go flying under the force, bashing into a tree trunk, splitting the dry wood with a deafening crack.
“Lori!” Mom cries out. She tries to rush over and check to see if I’m okay, but the animal rounds on her next.
I’m dazed from the hit. I wiggle my fingers and toes, and I don’t seem to be injured. It’s gonna hurt tomorrow, though. I shake my head to clear it. My mom is taking a more cautious approach than I did. She’s pacing back and forth, letting the animal do most of the hard work. Maybe it’ll tire itself out.
It’s hard not to be a little impressed with her. She’s in her element here. She’s light on the balls of her feet, crisscrossing back and forth, her eyes fixed on her prey. I wish I could say I’m learning from her, but it’s too soon to say that this is an experience I’m willing to repeat. Right now, I’m thinking no.
Next time, I’m sticking with something smaller. Maybe a squirrel or a weasel. Then I might have a chance.
“Get up!” my mom calls.
“Yeah, yeah.” I stand on shaking legs. Nothing broken. The upside to being built like a tank, I suppose.
The beast hears me and begins to pivot, so my mom yells, “Hey! Over here! Look at me!”
She’s trying to keep its attention on her, and at first, I think she’s just protecting me, until I realize she’s also leaving our target’s back exposed to me. Ah. Right. There are no rules saying we can’t gang up on our dinner. It feels immoral somehow. Like we’re not playing fair. But think about wolves, hyenas. Turns out Rippers are pack hunters.
The beast has lowered itself down to its four paws again, taking swats at my mother. She dodges them with ease, and it seems to be making the animal mad. It’s huffing and snorting, growling and grunting. Quickly burning through its energy stores. It’s obviously running low on food sources, just like we are.
Now is my chance. I coil and spring again, only this time, aiming for height. I arc up through the air and land on the animal’s back. I dig in my claws to hold on as it bucks wildly, throwing its body weight back and forth, trying to shake me off.
Now that I have it distracted, my mom moves in. She darts forward and makes a quick slash, then jumps back before she can get hit with a paw like I did. Again, she dekes in, slash, then back. It’s a kind of dance, almost graceful.
It would be easy to get lost in watching her, but I have to remind myself that I have a job to do.
I can feel the creature slowing down, its attempts to get free weakening. From my spot, I’m in perfect position. Keeping my toes hooked into the pelt, I extend my arms back, and then push forward and down, sinking my talons deep into its neck.
I can feel the precious blood pouring from the wounds, pulsing ever slower around my fingers. Gradually, the animal slows its br
eathing. Its breath comes in gasping pants. And when it finally collapses onto the ground, I slide off its back and come around to stand beside my mom.
“Yeah, I think that went well,” I say with a nod.
Mom rolls her eyes once to me before saying, “Hurry up and feed. It’s bleeding out.”
“Remind me next time to break its neck instead. Less of a waste,” I say sarcastically.
She sighs once before clamping a mouth around one of the trickling wounds.
I lower down onto my knees in front of the beast. I don’t want to do this. This beautiful, majestic creature put up a fight, and with good reason. I dig my fingers into its thick pelt. “What kind of animal is this?”
Mom pulls away, her lips stained with blood. “It’s a polar bear. Not nearly as impressive as its predecessors, but still. The fact that it’s alive at all is incredible.”
I’ve put feeding off long enough. “For Kenzo,” I whisper. “I can do this for Kenzo.”
I lower my head, taking in the gamey, wild scent of the animal’s greasy fur. “I’m sorry. And thank you.”
The feel of it against my lips nearly makes me gag. Like eating my old stuffed bunny, Floppy. I draw the blood into my mouth, and the hot, metallic liquid brings myriad emotions with it. Regret, anger, and sweet bliss.
Maybe, for just this one moment, I could let the monster in me have control. My human half could just settle into the back seat and revel in the joy of it.
When the gore of it gets to be too much, I close my eyes to it. The ripping, the tearing. The chewing, the swallowing. I let it all disappear into the background.
I just eat and drink and allow myself to be filled.
I ignore the fact that this doesn’t taste the same as Kenzo’s blood. It has a bitterness to it, but the fact that I can even tell the difference, let alone have a preference for one, is not something I want to explore. It’s like I’m some kind of blood connoisseur. Gross. I remind myself that I used to eat congealed oatmeal and slimy protein paste on a regular basis. This is the type of meal that was reserved for the elite. Granted, they would’ve cooked it first, but that is just yet another thought that I refuse to entertain.
The Shade Chronicles | Book 2 | Predator Page 12