Then the mouth snapped shut with an audible click. The mouth melted and disappeared beneath new-grown fur.
“It was trying to speak,” Astrid whispered.
A mustard-colored creature with a vaguely canine shape, pickax head, antennae, and twin tubes mounted on its eyeless head was changing shape as it floated. Its feet were shifting, from mere pads to sharp-ended, fishhook-barbed spears. The barbs clicked in and out. Like the creature was practicing with them, discovering their use.
And then, with its shape determined at last, it too attempted to speak. This time the sound was even less coherent, a chittering, insect sound that died out suddenly when a fleshy membrane grew over its mouth.
“Do they see us?” Sam wondered aloud.
“I don’t know. See how they’re staring at Petey?”
It was absurd to think about reading the faces of the monsters—some had five eyes; some had a single eye; some had gnashing, razor teeth and no eyes at all. But to Sam they seemed to be gazing with something like awe at Little Pete, who snored softly, oblivious.
A snake as long as a python slithered by, twisting in midair. Tiny centipede legs grew from it, reminiscent almost of the zekes, though these legs looked like they were made for sticking like Velcro.
The snake’s mouth hissed. The hissing grew in volume, then stopped abruptly: the snake’s entire head had simply disappeared.
“They’re trying to communicate,” Astrid said. “Something is stopping them. Something won’t let them speak.”
“Or someone,” Sam said. “If they attack us . . .” He raised his hands, palms out.
Instantly Astrid pressed his hands down. “No, Sam. You might hit Petey.”
“What happens if he wakes up?”
“The other times the visions just disappeared. But this is different. Look. Look at the curtains, they’re singed where that . . . that lava thing got near them.”
Sam made up his mind. “Wake him up.”
“What if—” she began.
“Look, maybe they’re not a threat. But maybe they are. If they are, I’m not just going to let them hurt you, I’m going to burn them.”
Then he added, “If I can.”
“Pete,” Astrid called in a quavering voice.
Until that moment none of the creatures had taken any notice of the two frail-looking humans standing there gawking. But now every eye, every set of eyes, every quivering antenna, turned toward them. It was so sudden, Sam imagined he heard their eyeballs click.
Red eyes, black eyes, yellow-slitted eyes, globular blue eyes, maybe fifty eyes in all, stared straight at Sam and Astrid.
“Try again,” Sam whispered. He stretched out his arms again, opened his palms toward the monsters, ready.
“Petey,” Astrid said more urgently.
Now monstrous bodies shifted. They moved almost as one, some clumsy, some like lightning, but all moving as if they were Disney animatronics operating off the same signal. They turned to face Sam and Astrid.
One after another their mouths opened. Sounds came from those mouths. Grunts and hisses, hoots and growls; sounds like steel dragged on porcelain, sounds like the chirping of crickets, sounds like mad dogs barking. Not words, but sounds that wanted to be words, were struggling to be words.
It was a chorus of fury and frustration. And it stopped as suddenly as if someone had yanked the plug from a stereo.
The monsters glared at Sam and Astrid, as though they were to blame for the silencing.
Sam cursed softly.
“Walk backward. Down the hall,” Sam ordered. “They’ll have to come at us one by one and Pete won’t be in the line of fire.”
“Sam . . .”
“Not really a good time for a debate, Astrid,” Sam said through gritted teeth. “Back slowly away.”
She did. He followed, one foot directly behind the other, arms up, his mutant’s weapons at the ready.
But no way he’d get them all if they came. No way. He could get a few, maybe, if they could even be burned. How did you burn a creature made of magma?
Step by step till they were halfway down the hall. Ten feet. Fifteen. The monsters would have to come at him down that hallway. That gave him all the advantage he was going to get. Pete was out of the direct line of fire.
“Call him again. Louder this time.”
“He doesn’t always respond.”
“Try.”
“Pete,” Astrid shouted, fear giving volume to her voice. “Petey, wake up! Wake up, wake up!”
Through the doorway Sam saw the floating creatures, all those that didn’t have wings anyway, suddenly land with convincing weight on the floor. The floorboards jumped from the impact.
The six-winged creature was first. Fast as a dragonfly it zoomed straight for Astrid.
A scorching green-white light shot from Sam’s hands. The winged thing burst into flame. But it already had too much momentum.
Sam dropped, reached back to yank Astrid down, found that she had already ducked. The flaming corpse, wings shriveled like burning leaves, blew over their heads.
Mary Terrafino blundered into the hallway. “What is happening!”
“Mary! Back! Backbackback!” Sam yelled.
Mary jumped back into her room as the mustard-colored, eyeless dog with antennae attacked, feet clicking and scrabbling on the hardwood.
It had two tubes on its head. Sam was sure it hadn’t had them just moments earlier.
Something pale blue shot from the tubes. Slime covered one of Sam’s hands, thick as oatmeal, sticky as rubber cement.
“It was trying to speak,” Astrid whispered.
A mustard-colored creature with a vaguely canine shape, pickax head, antennae, and twin tubes mounted on its eyeless head was changing shape as it floated. Its feet were shifting, from mere pads to sharp-ended, fishhook-barbed spears. The barbs clicked in and out. Like the creature was practicing with them, discovering their use.
And then, with its shape determined at last, it too attempted to speak. This time the sound was even less coherent, a chittering, insect sound that died out suddenly when a fleshy membrane grew over its mouth.
“Do they see us?” Sam wondered aloud.
“I don’t know. See how they’re staring at Petey?”
It was absurd to think about reading the faces of the monsters—some had five eyes; some had a single eye; some had gnashing, razor teeth and no eyes at all. But to Sam they seemed to be gazing with something like awe at Little Pete, who snored softly, oblivious.
A snake as long as a python slithered by, twisting in midair. Tiny centipede legs grew from it, reminiscent almost of the zekes, though these legs looked like they were made for sticking like Velcro.
The snake’s mouth hissed. The hissing grew in volume, then stopped abruptly: the snake’s entire head had simply disappeared.
“They’re trying to communicate,” Astrid said. “Something is stopping them. Something won’t let them speak.”
“Or someone,” Sam said. “If they attack us . . .” He raised his hands, palms out.
Instantly Astrid pressed his hands down. “No, Sam. You might hit Petey.”
“What happens if he wakes up?”
“The other times the visions just disappeared. But this is different. Look. Look at the curtains, they’re singed where that . . . that lava thing got near them.”
Sam made up his mind. “Wake him up.”
“What if—” she began.
“Look, maybe they’re not a threat. But maybe they are. If they are, I’m not just going to let them hurt you, I’m going to burn them.”
Then he added, “If I can.”
“Pete,” Astrid called in a quavering voice.
Until that moment none of the creatures had taken any notice of the two frail-looking humans standing there gawking. But now every eye, every set of eyes, every quivering antenna, turned toward them. It was so sudden, Sam imagined he heard their eyeballs click.
Red eyes, black eyes, yellow-slitted eyes, globular blue eyes, maybe fifty eyes in all, stared straight at Sam and Astrid.
“Try again,” Sam whispered. He stretched out his arms again, opened his palms toward the monsters, ready.
“Petey,” Astrid said more urgently.
Now monstrous bodies shifted. They moved almost as one, some clumsy, some like lightning, but all moving as if they were Disney animatronics operating off the same signal. They turned to face Sam and Astrid.
One after another their mouths opened. Sounds came from those mouths. Grunts and hisses, hoots and growls; sounds like steel dragged on porcelain, sounds like the chirping of crickets, sounds like mad dogs barking. Not words, but sounds that wanted to be words, were struggling to be words.
It was a chorus of fury and frustration. And it stopped as suddenly as if someone had yanked the plug from a stereo.
The monsters glared at Sam and Astrid, as though they were to blame for the silencing.
Sam cursed softly.
“Walk backward. Down the hall,” Sam ordered. “They’ll have to come at us one by one and Pete won’t be in the line of fire.”
“Sam . . .”
“Not really a good time for a debate, Astrid,” Sam said through gritted teeth. “Back slowly away.”
She did. He followed, one foot directly behind the other, arms up, his mutant’s weapons at the ready.
But no way he’d get them all if they came. No way. He could get a few, maybe, if they could even be burned. How did you burn a creature made of magma?
Step by step till they were halfway down the hall. Ten feet. Fifteen. The monsters would have to come at him down that hallway. That gave him all the advantage he was going to get. Pete was out of the direct line of fire.
“Call him again. Louder this time.”
“He doesn’t always respond.”
“Try.”
“Pete,” Astrid shouted, fear giving volume to her voice. “Petey, wake up! Wake up, wake up!”
Through the doorway Sam saw the floating creatures, all those that didn’t have wings anyway, suddenly land with convincing weight on the floor. The floorboards jumped from the impact.
The six-winged creature was first. Fast as a dragonfly it zoomed straight for Astrid.
A scorching green-white light shot from Sam’s hands. The winged thing burst into flame. But it already had too much momentum.
Sam dropped, reached back to yank Astrid down, found that she had already ducked. The flaming corpse, wings shriveled like burning leaves, blew over their heads.
Mary Terrafino blundered into the hallway. “What is happening!”
“Mary! Back! Backbackback!” Sam yelled.
Mary jumped back into her room as the mustard-colored, eyeless dog with antennae attacked, feet clicking and scrabbling on the hardwood.
It had two tubes on its head. Sam was sure it hadn’t had them just moments earlier.
Something pale blue shot from the tubes. Slime covered one of Sam’s hands, thick as oatmeal, sticky as rubber cement.
