The Hunt (The Hunt #1)

The Hunt (The Hunt #1) Page 48

Behind us, the thundering of the ground grows louder, the snarls, the hisses. So much closer. I steal a quick look.

Can't see anything, just darkness now. Only a matter of time. Sissy is right. Either way, it's only a matter of time now.

The river is a marvel. Even over the rattling of the carriage and the clamor of the chasing mob, we hear it from afar, a gentle gurgle that is deep and sonorous. When we come upon it minutes later, its size initial y catches us by surprise, the banks spread far apart with a masculine broadness, at least two hundred yards across. Yet even under a sky weighed down with heavy clouds, the river seems light and feminine, fi l ed with a sprinkling of sparkles that I at fi rst mistake for fi refl ies. Its waters fl ow down like slowly undulating plates of smooth armor.

The horse has slowed considerably. Its breathing grows labored even as its stride shortens. A few times, it veers dangerously close to the riverbank before correcting itself. I have pushed it too far. It slows to a trot, then to a stop. I snap the reins, but I know it's useless. The horse needs to rest.

“Why are we stopping?” Epap shouts from the carriage.

When no one answers, he jumps out. “What's going on?

We can't afford to stop.”

“We can't afford not to,” I say. “This horse is about to drop dead. Just for a minute, let it catch its breath.”

“We don't have a minute. In a minute they'l be upon us!”

He's pointing now into the darkness from which squeals of excitement shoot out.

I ignore him, because he's right, and jump down. The horse's leg muscles, when I place my hand on them, are convulsing.

“Good horse, good horse, pushed you too hard, did I?”

Epap spins around, his arm gesturing at me in disbelief.

“Would you believe this guy? Trying to be a horse whisperer at a time like this? Sissy, where are you going?”

Sissy is running for the river. She bends down at the bank, comes running back with a bowl, the water inside sloshing about. The horses dips his muzzle in, messily slurps in the water. In less than fi ve seconds, it's done. It whinnies for more.

Sissy strokes the horse's head. “Wish I could give you more, but there's no time. You keep going, though, fi nd us that boat, and I promise you, you'l have all the water you'd want. But fi nd us that boat. Quickly. Quickly!” And those last words come out as a roar as she slaps the horse on its haunches. It blinks, whinnies, then bul ets forward. We al leap back onto the carriage. The horse is off again.

The sounds from behind roar closer. Raindrops fal down, fat and heavy.

We plow on. First fi guratively, then literal y. The ground becomes sodden and soaked, soft sponges sucking in the wheels of the carriage, the hooves of the horse. Even the bracing wind works against us, fi erce as a gale, pushing us back, fl ushing our scent backward to the enclosing horde, inciting them further. Rain cuts into our eyes.

Then the darkness, saturating the air, dissolving the horse into the night. Only the sound of its labored breathing and the forward push of the carriage are evidence that it is even there.

Sissy has withdrawn into silence. With quick sideways glances, I catch only her lips, tightly drawn, her eyes squinting against the rain. Strands of her hair are matted down against her forehead, cutting diagonal y across her face. A howl sounds across the plains, disconcertingly close. She looks at me and I nod.

She straps the FLUN around my back, grips the other FLUN in her hand tightly.

A snarl hisses, joined by a phalanx of other snarls and jaw snaps. Not behind but now adjacent to us.

Sissy disengages the safety switch.

Thunder rumbles, a deep reverberation in the skies. I snap my head up, suddenly hopeful.

A howl breaks out, fi l ed with dis plea sure.

And then lightning strikes across the skies, a harsh, overpowering fl ash. The land is instantly il uminated in an embossed black and white, the eastern mountains ridden with black crevices, the river refl ective like melted silver. I shoot my head for a look backward, and in that mil isecond before the land plunges into darkness again, I see them: an endless number streaming toward us, momentarily fl attened like cards against the ground, cowering from the lightning.

But so many. So close. A stone's throw away. Their eyes shining in the glare, fangs glistening.

A violent clap of thunder explodes, shaking the land. It rumbles away, and in its stead, the cries of agony and anger. They've all been blinded. By the lightning. That'l buy us maybe one more minute.

“Did you see it?” Sissy yel s at me, her hand suddenly gripping my arm. “Did you see it!”

“I know, I know, but don't worry—”

“The boat!” she shrieks, and she's jumping up and down. “I saw it, I saw it, it's really there!” She spins around, yel ing to the others, “I saw the boat, it's right in front—”

The carriage suddenly hits a mud patch; the wheels sink into the sludge and get caught. Sissy goes fl ying in the air, disappearing into the night. I'm fl ung off the seat as wel ; my feet catch the railing in front, cutting short my trajectory. I land on the horse, his back slick with sweat and rain.

The whole world is spinning as I pick myself up. Where is up, where is down, left, right, north, south, everything has become intermingled and indifferent. The sound of a young boy crying to my right: Ben. I run over to him, pick him up out of the mud. Like me, he's all covered in it.

“Ben! It's okay! Does anything hurt? Did you break anything?”

The sound of growls, the snapping of teeth, drawing close.

Ben's not saying anything, but he's looking at me and shaking his head. I pick him up. “We have to move. Sissy!

Where are you?”

A short fl icker of lightning, briefl y il uminating the landscape.

Too short to see anything but the hepers, all picking themselves up off the ground. Except Sissy, farthest away, stil lying in the mud. I run to her as a peal of thunder ripples across the skies.

“You've got to get up, Sissy! We've got to move.” She's groggy, but I stand her on her feet. “Sissy!” I yel , and her eyes snap to. Panic and fear clears out the cloudiness in them.

“Where is everyone? Are they okay?” she asks.

“They're fi ne, we've got to get going. Point us to where the boat is!”

“No! Our supplies, the FLUN, we need them!”

“There's no time, they're on us already!”

“We won't survive without—”

Peals of hyenalike laughter rip toward us, so close that I can hear the individual intonations, the salivary wetness slung between syl ables.

“Sissy! Listen to me,” I shout, pointing at the other hepers, “they won't listen to me. Only to you. Make them run for the boat.

Make them—”

A fl ash of lightning lights the sky and wet land. I see it, the boat, blessedly close by, a hundred yards away. But then I see the teeming masses.

They are already upon us. Even in the short fl ash, I see their pale, glistening fi gures bounding toward us with frightening speed, like skipping stones.

In the fl ash of lightning, they all fl atten against the land, like the quil s of a porcupine in retreat, howling with anger.

“Now, Sissy!” I shout.

But she's already running, already gathering up the others, urging them on. I take after them, racing, the muddy ground squelch-ing beneath me. The mud sucks eagerly at my shoes like kisses of death, turning my speed into slow motion.

Darkness again. Then peal after peal of thunder rumbling the sky. Slivery shouts of desire rain down on us again.

They're coming.

I hear the wet sludge of mud being stepped on behind me.

Whispers, whispers, whispers, breathing at my neck.

“Dear God!” I shout. Words I have not uttered in years, words I used to say every night to my mother, her eyes soft with kindness, my clasped hands enfolded by hers. Words forgotten, embedded so deep in me, only the shovel of abject fear dislodges them. “Dear God!”

It is not a single strike of lightning that lights the sky, but a network of intersecting fl ashes that rips across the dome of the world.

So bright that even I am blinded momentarily, the whole world bleached an impossible white. But I don't stop running, even as my eyes close. Because I can still see the boat, its negative image singed in my shut eyes, black and white.

“Don't stop, keep going!” I shout, even as the howls of anguish and pain break out all around us. When I open my eyes, I'm at the dock. “Over here!” I shout before I realize they're all ahead of me, running down the dock, their feet echoing hol owly on the wooden boards. I race down after them. They're jumping into the boat, Sissy already throwing off the anchor rope, Epap manning a long pole curiously hooked at the top, to push away from the shore.

Because I'm bringing up the rear, I'm the only one who can see what's wrong. What is so terribly wrong.

I spin around, trying to see up the dock. It's too dark.

“Get in!” Epap shouts at me. “What are you waiting for?”

I bend my knees to jump in, pause.

“Get in!”

And I'm frozen in place, unable to push off my legs. I spin around again. The dock is still empty.

The howls of anguish are building. Soon they'l be on their feet again. On us in mere seconds.

“Start without me,” I shout. “Keep going, I'l catch up with you!”

“No, Gene, leave the horse, don't be stupid—”

But I'm already sprinting up the dock.

Smal fl ashes of lightning, aftermaths of the apocalyptic one, sweep across the sky. Enough to keep them at bay for a few seconds more, to give me the light I need to see.

There. In front of the carriage. Not the horse.

But Ben.

Frantical y working the reins, trying to untie it, his face covered in mud except where rain and tears have smeared it away. His mouth is open, and random odd sounds escape: “Ahh ahh no no please ugg . . .”

I grab him by the chest and heave him over my shoulders even as I spin around to race back to the dock. As I do, he undoes the last knot, and the horse breaks free. Its eyes are bulging with fear; it's ready to bolt. An idea comes to me; I grab the reins before the horse can get away.