A glance at the ground shows the beginnings of a long, jagged crack right beside me.
“Listen to me!” I have to yell to be heard above the rumbling beneath us. “Run at least fifteen yards into the forest and climb a tree as high as you safely can. Once you get up there, stay silent at all costs. If there are children near you, help them into a tree as well. Go!”
People scatter, hurtling over bushes and scrambling to find trees to climb. To his credit, Elias races for the stragglers and helps them off the grass. In seconds, all that’s left on the field are the four wagons. The sheep, goats, and donkeys tied to the wagons bellow their distress. The people in charge of driving the wagons are yanking at the reins and screaming at the donkeys to move, but panic has the beasts kicking at the traces and jerking forward in sharp movements that do nothing to help the wagons get rolling.
“Let’s go!” I say. Logan and Ian ignore me, but Adam grabs my arm.
“The medical wagon still has people inside. The wagon behind it has the pregnant woman and at least five more who are too old to travel well. They can’t run, much less climb.”
The roar beneath us becomes a ferocious howl of rage as the crack widens beside me.
“Rachel, get out of here!” Logan yells as he braces his legs for balance. The device is clutched in his hand.
“Not without you,” I say.
He leaps over the jagged gap that is steadily tearing the field asunder, and we all race for the wagons.
Before we’re even halfway there, Frankie and Thom, still mounted on the horses they ride at the far end of our line of travelers each day, reach the wagons. Frankie leaps from his horse and thrusts the reins into Thom’s hands. Then he rushes for the lead wagon, the one filled with the survivors who are still recovering from the injuries they sustained during Baalboden’s destruction. The wagon’s donkey struggles against the traces, desperate to be free. Frankie grabs its bridle and tries to quiet it before it attracts the Cursed One with its noise.
“Look out!” Thom cries as the ground heaves, throwing all of us to our knees.
I skid forward on my palms and roll into a crouch just in time to see the Cursed One explode out of the ground six yards from the edge of the field. The trees closest to the monster snap at their bases and tumble to the ground with a crack-swoosh that echoes across the forest. Just beyond the carnage, people huddle on the ground or cling to branches, their eyes wide with terror.
Behind us, the donkey yanks free of Frankie’s hands and flees, dragging the medical wagon violently across the field. I glance back to see Thom spur his horse in pursuit, his hand still firmly wrapped around the reins of Frankie’s horse.
The Cursed One looks like a giant, wingless dragon with a serpent’s tail. It coils its huge body like a snake, muscles gleaming beneath black interlocking scales. Dirt, vines, and clumps of grass slide off the ridge of webbed spikes running down its back. Digging thick yellow claws into the ground, it pulls itself forward, puffs of smoke already leaking from its snout.
Ian crouches beside me. Adam shoves himself to his knees on my other side and says, “Holy—”
I slap my hand across his mouth, but it’s too late. The beast swings its head toward us, milky yellow eyes staring at nothing while it sniffs the air. I hold my breath as sharp bits of rock dig into my knees.
Ten yards to our right, Logan steps forward with Rowansmark’s device in his hands. The flutelike gray metal object gleams dully, but bright copper wires coil around the gears and lead to a small box in his other hand.
I hope his modification is enough to give him control over the beast before it incinerates us where we stand.
Logan steps to the side, distancing himself from us as he circles the Cursed One.
A low rumble shudders through the creature as it pins us with its sightless eyes and creeps closer. Only fifteen yards separate it from Ian, Adam, Frankie, and me. The puffs of smoke coming from its snout turn into steady streams of gray-black as the terrible fire that burns in its belly rises up its throat.
Logan had better hurry.
We can’t run without triggering an attack, but if we stay here much longer, it won’t matter. We’ll be dead either way.
Deep inside of me, the silence chills me to the core, and I wonder what it would be like to let the Cursed One burn it all away. All the memories. The nightmares. The yawning pit of loss that lurks within me, waiting for one tiny misstep to drag me under forever.
Maybe I would be free. Maybe in death, I would find the peace that eludes me here.
Or maybe the unfinished business between the Commander and me would haunt me beyond the grave.
The Cursed One claws its way toward us, snapping thick kudzu vines like twigs. Whatever Logan’s doing with the device, it’s not working.
“We have to move,” Ian breathes softly. “It will most likely shoot a stream of fire straight in front of it. On the count of three, scatter to the sides and don’t stop running.”
It’s as good a plan as any. I gather myself and get ready to leap to the left. Beside me Adam trembles, his breath grating harshly against the morning air. Behind us, Frankie says in a voice I can barely hear, “You three stay put. When it turns its head, run.”
Before I can question him, he leaps past us and yells, “Over here, you misbegotten creature from hell!”
Frankie runs toward the monster, angling to the right as if determined to drive his sword into the beast’s belly. The Cursed One snorts, jerks its head toward Frankie, and bellows.
“Listen to me!” I have to yell to be heard above the rumbling beneath us. “Run at least fifteen yards into the forest and climb a tree as high as you safely can. Once you get up there, stay silent at all costs. If there are children near you, help them into a tree as well. Go!”
People scatter, hurtling over bushes and scrambling to find trees to climb. To his credit, Elias races for the stragglers and helps them off the grass. In seconds, all that’s left on the field are the four wagons. The sheep, goats, and donkeys tied to the wagons bellow their distress. The people in charge of driving the wagons are yanking at the reins and screaming at the donkeys to move, but panic has the beasts kicking at the traces and jerking forward in sharp movements that do nothing to help the wagons get rolling.
“Let’s go!” I say. Logan and Ian ignore me, but Adam grabs my arm.
“The medical wagon still has people inside. The wagon behind it has the pregnant woman and at least five more who are too old to travel well. They can’t run, much less climb.”
The roar beneath us becomes a ferocious howl of rage as the crack widens beside me.
“Rachel, get out of here!” Logan yells as he braces his legs for balance. The device is clutched in his hand.
“Not without you,” I say.
He leaps over the jagged gap that is steadily tearing the field asunder, and we all race for the wagons.
Before we’re even halfway there, Frankie and Thom, still mounted on the horses they ride at the far end of our line of travelers each day, reach the wagons. Frankie leaps from his horse and thrusts the reins into Thom’s hands. Then he rushes for the lead wagon, the one filled with the survivors who are still recovering from the injuries they sustained during Baalboden’s destruction. The wagon’s donkey struggles against the traces, desperate to be free. Frankie grabs its bridle and tries to quiet it before it attracts the Cursed One with its noise.
“Look out!” Thom cries as the ground heaves, throwing all of us to our knees.
I skid forward on my palms and roll into a crouch just in time to see the Cursed One explode out of the ground six yards from the edge of the field. The trees closest to the monster snap at their bases and tumble to the ground with a crack-swoosh that echoes across the forest. Just beyond the carnage, people huddle on the ground or cling to branches, their eyes wide with terror.
Behind us, the donkey yanks free of Frankie’s hands and flees, dragging the medical wagon violently across the field. I glance back to see Thom spur his horse in pursuit, his hand still firmly wrapped around the reins of Frankie’s horse.
The Cursed One looks like a giant, wingless dragon with a serpent’s tail. It coils its huge body like a snake, muscles gleaming beneath black interlocking scales. Dirt, vines, and clumps of grass slide off the ridge of webbed spikes running down its back. Digging thick yellow claws into the ground, it pulls itself forward, puffs of smoke already leaking from its snout.
Ian crouches beside me. Adam shoves himself to his knees on my other side and says, “Holy—”
I slap my hand across his mouth, but it’s too late. The beast swings its head toward us, milky yellow eyes staring at nothing while it sniffs the air. I hold my breath as sharp bits of rock dig into my knees.
Ten yards to our right, Logan steps forward with Rowansmark’s device in his hands. The flutelike gray metal object gleams dully, but bright copper wires coil around the gears and lead to a small box in his other hand.
I hope his modification is enough to give him control over the beast before it incinerates us where we stand.
Logan steps to the side, distancing himself from us as he circles the Cursed One.
A low rumble shudders through the creature as it pins us with its sightless eyes and creeps closer. Only fifteen yards separate it from Ian, Adam, Frankie, and me. The puffs of smoke coming from its snout turn into steady streams of gray-black as the terrible fire that burns in its belly rises up its throat.
Logan had better hurry.
We can’t run without triggering an attack, but if we stay here much longer, it won’t matter. We’ll be dead either way.
Deep inside of me, the silence chills me to the core, and I wonder what it would be like to let the Cursed One burn it all away. All the memories. The nightmares. The yawning pit of loss that lurks within me, waiting for one tiny misstep to drag me under forever.
Maybe I would be free. Maybe in death, I would find the peace that eludes me here.
Or maybe the unfinished business between the Commander and me would haunt me beyond the grave.
The Cursed One claws its way toward us, snapping thick kudzu vines like twigs. Whatever Logan’s doing with the device, it’s not working.
“We have to move,” Ian breathes softly. “It will most likely shoot a stream of fire straight in front of it. On the count of three, scatter to the sides and don’t stop running.”
It’s as good a plan as any. I gather myself and get ready to leap to the left. Beside me Adam trembles, his breath grating harshly against the morning air. Behind us, Frankie says in a voice I can barely hear, “You three stay put. When it turns its head, run.”
Before I can question him, he leaps past us and yells, “Over here, you misbegotten creature from hell!”
Frankie runs toward the monster, angling to the right as if determined to drive his sword into the beast’s belly. The Cursed One snorts, jerks its head toward Frankie, and bellows.
