by Katie Zaber
“Dad! Mom! Chelsea!”
I try to scream, but it’s hard when the air you breathe is on fire. My voice is barely audible because I’m coughing and wheezing. I struggle to scream their names. There’s no response.
The heat subsides enough for me to open my eyes. They burn but can tolerate the heat somehow. I blink as they take in the surrounding destruction.
Everything’s ash. There’s no one, nothing. Crackles of charred remnants are the only noise. Endless piles of smoldering ash litter the landscape. It’s an unrecognizable terrain of broken trees scorched to the core, surrounded by the burnt remains of god only knows what. I can’t distinguish if it’s objects, people, or buildings. My heart breaks—my family is dead.
Was it their screams I heard or the birds’?
Ash rains down from the menacing, black sky. It tickles my skin softly as it sticks to my sweat and tears. If it weren’t so hot, it would look like snow. Delicate little particles swirl down to the dead, dark ground. Soot, the only remains of life, is snowing down upon me. Murky smoke drifts up from the blackened earth into a large plume of smoke. The plume is only a small portion of the enormous looming cloud hovering above. While I study the cloud, it forms into a bird or dragon. It’s hard to tell which. A bolt of lightning flashes across the hazy sky and the dragon of smoke changes into a skeleton.
The dragon swivels its head, searching for me. It finds me and then screeches loud enough to rupture my eardrums. Pain erupts throughout my skull, blinding me. It brings me to my knees. I can’t see straight. My body struggles not to throw up in terror or from the hammer pounding on my skull. I spot a cave to run to, to retreat from the flying terror. My legs won’t work. The smoky skeleton plunges straight down, paralyzing me in fear. Its body consumes the sky. There’s nowhere for me to go, nowhere to run. The colossal nightmare opens its mouth, barreling downward toward me.
There’s nothing I can do. No one can help as the pitch-black sky falls around me. It engulfs me.
Ends me.
Chapter Thirteen - Kevin
Brynjar knows something, but he won’t say. He left again after dinner and said he’d be back soon. He didn’t say where he was going and growled something about a message. I hope that he got in touch with one of his friends and received useful information.
I hate to contemplate whether we should leave after all the construction Dana, Megan, and Tristan accomplished. It’s not safe for us in Capo. We may need to go on the run until we figure out why the Fae are after Megan. I told Dana to pack bags in case we have to flee. It’s better to be prepared than be sorry. I’m not sure who will go or stay. The girls will follow Megan; I’m not sure of the guys. Neither has ever left Capo, unless you count hunting outside of it. They seem to be in love with Sarah and Ciara, but this will test their one-month-old relationships.
There’s no choice for me. Megan’s my cousin and my only family. Where she goes, I go. I must protect my family. Plus, Dana will follow.
However, if we need to run, it’s safer to split up. Megan and I should travel together, and the guys should take the women to safety far away from us. But I doubt anyone will listen. I’m positive it will be seven or eight of us on the run, which won’t be easy, depending on Brynjar. Eight people are an easy target to follow. It’s difficult for eight to blend into crowds, feed, and find rooms for rent. Expensive and inconvenient.
I have so many questions. Why would the Fae attack us, or Megan? Nothing makes sense. I lived in Capo for years and had never seen a Fae. She’s been here a month and has met a Fae.
What’s more bizarre is who intervened and threw the light bomb? I first thought someone meant the light bomb to hurt or kill Megan, but maybe they were protecting her from the Fae. At least, I think the one who threw the bomb tried to save her. That person is the wildcard. Even Brynjar doesn’t know who or what created the light bomb. What else, that isn’t a Fae, can create a bomb of light?
The questions keep piling and I’m left with fewer answers. It doesn’t seem right. Something’s missing.
Knock, knock, knock.
“Kevin, can you get the door? I think it’s Blue,” Dana says, leaving the kitchen to join the girls.
Since they finished the house, Dana has had more free time. Now she cleans dishes, pots, and pans after Ciara and Sarah cook. During the day, she helps Sarah do laundry, but sometimes she finds something to tinker with, something in need of repair. She won’t step off the property, let alone open the door, since the blizzard. Only Megan’s screams compelled her to leave the house the other night. She won’t even step a foot into the courtyard. She’ll ask someone to get her tools or supplies from the shed. I never seen her scared, but to be honest, we all are. It freaks you out when you know fighting is useless. That a Fae will kill you if it so pleases. It makes you hopeless. A strange terrible realization you’re mortal, and life promises nothing.
Knock, knock, knock.
I left a candle lit in the window so Bill would know to come by. I told him to use the kitchen door, not the front, but I still won’t open the door without my ax.
“Hey, sorry it’s late. How is she?” Bill says—I won’t call him Blue.
“No problem. I figured you would stop by around now. I thought you might be busy for the next couple of days, with the weekend. She slept through dinner. Ciara made a meal for you to bring her. To eat dinner together.”
“Thanks. I’m glad she slept. I’ll make sure she eats.” Nervous, he taps his fingers against his legs. “Not too certain she’ll be happy if I call it a date.” He sighs. “I don’t know how to get her to talk. Do you know anything about her?” He bites his lip, uncomfortable having this conversation with her extra big, protective cousin. “Sorry. I have a lot on my mind tonight. Trying to sort things out.”
“Understandable. It’s been a crazy couple of days.”
“She loves the game she plays. I would like to get to know her though, but I don’t want to push her away. She hates relationships, huh?”
“I have no idea what makes her do anything. She’s wild.”
“Damn. She’s a puzzle. Has she always been mysterious?”
“I haven’t seen her since she was a child. I’m still getting to know the adult version.”
“Hmm. Oh, ah, Lilly asked about you and the house. She asked if someone lived with you besides your cousin. She asked many questions. I said nothing.”
Goddamn it, she won’t stop. She strung me along for years and made me feel something that wasn’t real. Now she’s digging around my business. My hands clench, nails digging into my palms at the thought of her. Maybe it’s a blessing though. I don’t want to see her. I planned to never see her again after the other night, but Bill could give her a message. That I am done with her. Nothing hurts me like a woman crying. I hate tears in a woman’s eyes. If Lilly were to cry in front of me, it might make me cave, and she knows to use that tactic on me, that bitch.
“Sorry. I thought you should know.”
“It’s okay. I used to see her a lot. I spent many nights with her. Things changed. Can you tell her that? Tell her I’m with someone, that we live together. Tell her that for me.”
“Sure, whatever you want. I’ll tell her it’s over—”
A rumble, more like a wave of energy, moves throughout the house. Then it shakes. An earthquake.
Pots and pans clatter off shelves, along with plates. Everything not nailed down rattles off mantles and tables, making one hell of a mess. I never felt an earthquake before. The sensation it gives makes you know it’s wrong. The ground feels almost like Jell-O.
“Earthquake!” Sarah yells.
Dana screams, “Get Megan!”
The girls run from the den, scrambling this way and that as they avoid various objects falling off shelves. Without hesitation, Bill and I run through the kitchen.
“No!” Megan shrills.
I swear when she yells, the whole house vibrates.
Braced by the staircase railing, we make our
way up the stairs as the house sways. The farther up the stairs, the harder it is to walk. It feels like we are in a carnival fun house trying to walk up a spinning wall—we barely move.
Gravity doesn’t work as it normally does. My body feels like it weighs more with each step up the stairs. It takes triple the time to climb the stairs, each step a test in endurance. I’ve carried furniture up and down these stairs and it didn’t exhaust me as much.
The stairs don’t compare to the hallway. That’s taken right out of a poltergeist movie. Doors swing open and close. Furniture shoots around inside each room. Objects come bursting out every few moments when one of the doors opens. I can’t walk toward her room—I can hardly crawl. Behind me, Bill is stuck on the top of the staircase, unable to inch forward. I struggle to pull him forward, but my muscles aren’t strong enough to keep us both crawling toward her room.
Shit, my ax.
My ax works well as an anchor. I only wish I had two. Plank by plank, the ax digs into the floor, dragging me closer to Megan. Bedroom doors flail open and slam shut repeatedly, causing the doorframes to splinter—all except Megan’s. Tiny slivers of wood rain on me. Various personal items attempt to escape when the doors open. Occasionally I’m forced to take cover from projectile clothes, brushes, pillows, sheets, and the leg off a chair. I try to warn Bill, but he can’t hear over all the noise. It sounds like a train plowing through the house.
This is no earthquake.
Opening Megan’s door is tricky. Some unknown pressure pushes me down to the floor. It makes it hard to breathe. I inch up the door, one ax stroke at a time. My muscles throb, driven to the brink of use. My other hand turns the knob, slowly opening the bedroom door.
I catch a quick glimpse of a dark room before I’m blasted by a demonic presence. It sends me straight across the hallway, into the other door, knocking the wind out of me. You never know what pure evil feels like until it explodes in front of your face. It sends dread, demise, pure terror, and chills down my spine. An evil sensation spews from the room. Stunned but determined, my ax in hand, I begin the crawl into her poltergeist bedroom.
Her head better not spin.
No spinning head, but a tornado swirls around her bed. Everything in her room flies in a circle, excluding the bed and dresser. Pieces of a broken chair and table whoosh around her bed, their sharp, jagged edges promising impalement with another step. I can’t reach her. A hairbrush, clothing, feathers from a pillow, and other smashed items circle her. If I move forward, I’ll either be knocked unconscious or impaled by an indoor tornado.
“Megan! Megan!”
She’s dead asleep. She’s having another nightmare. It’s impossible to wake her when she has them. How can she be fast asleep?
“No! Stop! No!” she screams. Some words are in a different language, others are gibberish or mumbles. It’s hard to hear over the tornado.
“Wake up! Megan, you have to wake up!”
“Out of the way, fool!”
Brynjar dashes behind me, pushing me over onto the floor. He stands untouched by the tornado. He walks in front of me, blocking the flying objects and my view. The tornado stops and everything drops in place, crashing to the floor with a loud thud.
A second later, the room becomes void of light. All light. Complete utter darkness. I can’t see my hand in front of my face.
“Brynjar?”
He doesn’t respond. Shit. My eyes don’t hurt, so I’m not blind. Brynjar mumbles inaudible words, in a different language. It sounds similar to what Megan was saying, but he says it so quietly that even without the tornado, it’s hard to hear or understand.
I can’t tell what’s happening until a sudden streak appears across the room. Moments later, I can see the window has a thin crack in it. Slowly, a spiderweb emerges across the windowpane until it bursts into tiny glass beads, showering the room. A strong gust of wind sucks the evil out of the room. It vacuums the darkness out, through the window and into the night sky.
All my muscles feel like they’ve been torn, shredded, and ripped from my journey to her room. Too weak to stand, I crawl across the room.
Is it possible she survived?
Brynjar shielded me with his body. How the hell did he do that? What the hell did he do? What is going on? Shit. He shielded me—was he cut by the glass?
There’s no clear path to her bed. I have to drag myself over the shattered ruins of her room. Fear takes over. I’m afraid to look at her—afraid to find her dead. To think my only relative died feet away from me and I was helpless to do anything freezes me for a moment. I take a deep breath and then look at her.
She looks peaceful, completely unaware of the tornado that threatened her life. It looks like she slept through the whole damn thing. I turn to Brynjar. He stands there, pissed, and I don’t know what for.
“Brynjar?” There are no cuts. He looks fine, only tired. “How?”
“Later. Get him out. Tell him nothing. Get everyone inside, and clean up. I’ll move her to the other room till we fix the window.”
“Answers. Now.”
“No time. We’ll talk tonight. Priorities. Find the others. They may need help.”
I hate it when he’s right. I need to find Dana. She and the girls were headed to the kitchen when we went upstairs. I walk into the destroyed hallway. Wood lays shattered, splintered, tangled in clothing and sheets. There’re holes and nicks in the walls. The beautiful sanded wood is now scratched and beaten. Bill lies on the landing of the staircase. A chair leg hit him in the head, giving him a nice-sized gash. He needs stitches. He probably has a concussion. Besides that, he looks okay. His eyes open when he hears me coming down the hall.
“Is she okay?”
“Yeah, she’s fine. We need to check on everyone else. Brynjar is with her. Can you stand? We should get you to the hospital; you need stitches.”
“Can I see her?”
“Tomorrow. She’s asleep. I want to keep her that way until we clean up. If we wake her now, she’ll want to help. We need to find everyone, see if anyone else needs to go to the hospital.”
He nods, not happy, but he listens to my reasoning. He never even questioned how she is still asleep, he must have been hit hard. His eyes are dilated. He can’t stand without holding onto something.
He’ll wake up pissed when he remembers things—better make him skeptical.
***
I hate what I did.
By the time we had reached the kitchen, a steady stream of blood had trickled down his head. He had to wrap a towel around his head to keep the bleeding to a minimum. He should be fine. He will need stitches and rest. If the chair leg hit him any harder, it might have scalped him.
I had asked Bill to keep quiet, but I knew it wouldn’t be bulletproof. Besides telling him to keep his mouth shut, I made him drink a shot of bicki and splashed some on him. He was too out of it to decline a shot. I told him it would help the pain. I hated doing that, ruining his credibility, but it was the only way to know no one would believe him or draw attention to him and us. It will keep him safe even if people think he’s crazy.
I had Tristan walk Bill to the hospital to get his head looked at. I told Tristan to tell the doctors he found him drunk. Hopefully Bill forgives Megan and us. She has no clue. I hope he doesn’t remember me telling him he could come over tomorrow to see her. It’s not a good idea. The barn house isn’t safe. The last thing we need is more people involved in something we don’t understand.
Tristan and Xander were in the shed when they heard the girls scream earthquake as they ran out the kitchen backdoor. They got out of the house safely. Xander said he tried to help Megan and me, but the door to the house wouldn’t open. Tristan grabbed my hammer from the forge but nothing budged the doors. There’s not even a scratch on the surface. They couldn’t get in no matter how hard they tried. When they approached a broken window, more things flew out, making it impossible to climb through without injury. Then, out of nowhere, everything stopped.
; I pulled Xander aside after Tristan took Bill to the hospital. He said he never saw Brynjar. He must have come through the front door. It’s hard to tell due to the widespread damage. The earthquake/tornado affected the whole inside of the house. If he came through the front, he should have cuts and bruises. There’s not a scratch on him. Meanwhile, cuts and bruises cover my entire body.
It’s after midnight. We all sit on the living room floor around the unlit fireplace. It was late when the attack started, and we haven’t finished cleaning up. Everything is stable, mostly. The house itself held together. It was everything else that didn’t survive. Downstairs the table, chairs, plates, lay smashed in piles. We would have been impaled if we had stayed down there.
Ciara went to work in the kitchen, picking up the glass and shattered plates. Most of the metal pots and pans are fine, just dented. The floor is piled with debris. She swept all the sharp, jagged pieces up, making a clear path for everyone to walk through the kitchen into the courtyard to haul out the wreckage. We need new windows. Not all of them broke, but two of the bedrooms, including Megan’s, shattered, along with four downstairs. Most of the chairs downstairs are missing legs. The dining table was split in two. Overall, the house’s contents were thrown like a ragdoll.
Bedrooms were hard to get into. Beds and dressers were pushed against the doors. It made them difficult to open. Brynjar, Xander, and Tristan opened the rooms. The dressers are all fine. Some bed frames have cracks, and legs were snapped off the tables and chairs. Some sharp debris shredded a couple mattresses, making a huge mess of silly putty sand. I really wish we had a vacuum.
Megan slept through most of the cleanup. When she woke, she didn’t even know anything happened. She said she heard nothing. No commotion or train barreling through her room. She didn’t hear me scream or Brynjar, she heard nothing. She waltzed down on her own, proclaiming her vision back to usual. She had a slight headache and was hungry. She joined Ciara in the kitchen, doing light duty cleanup against all of our protests.
Brynjar has been quiet. He has been busy working but hasn’t said a word. Deep in thought, he won’t speak to anyone. Whenever someone enters a room he’s working in, he leaves within seconds.