The Prey (The Hunt #2)

The Prey (The Hunt #2) Page 49

Another flash of light, another dagger thrown. This time at the hunter’s face, at its eyes, a throw meant to deface and eviscerate.

But the dusker sees the throw. It slants its head at an angle; the dagger whizzes past. But the movement throws it off balance. It teeters for a second, trying to regain its balance. And in that second, Sissy throws another dagger. It slices right through the dusker’s leg, at the ankle. The dusker blinks, once, twice, then loses its balance. Its arms spiral wildly as it plummets, its scream silenced when it splatters on the meadow floor.

Sissy and I glide into the village a minute later. By then, the power line is running low and almost parallel to the ground, and it’s an easy landing. And not a second too soon. My arms are about to fall off.

The attacks in the village have only intensified. Screams come loud from darkened corners of the village, and from nearby cottages, wet sounds slip out of the shadows.

“The train’s leaving any second now,” Sissy whispers. “We have to hurry.”

“Hug the walls,” I say. “Keep your arms by your sides and as stationary as possible. Duskers are drawn by swinging motions.”

Screams funnel toward us. We move in a ragged line, staying off main paths where we’d be more exposed, and sidle along narrow gaps between cottages. Sissy suddenly stops.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

She’s gazing around the corner of a cottage, eyes sweeping across the village square. “We can skirt along on this side of the street, then cross about a hundred meters up where the street’s much narrower. Or we can just race across now. But we’ll be a lot more visible and exposed.”

“There’s no time,” I say. “The train’s about to leave. We cross now. Stay low.”

We slide across, crouching. Halfway across, Sissy freezes. She’s staring down the street, her eyes transfixed.

I turn my head slowly to look. Up the street, no more than a mere speckle, is a person. Clothed in white and bathed in the whitewash of moonlight, it stands like a marble statue before me. Even before I can make out its face, I know who it is.

It’s Ashley June.

43

THE ORANGE-RED OF her hair drapes down her white body in a fiery curtain. Her eyes, twin specks of green diamond, pierce deep into me. She starts moving toward us, slowly. On all fours.

Sissy grabs my hand, tugs me forward. But I stand fast. It’s too late for that.

“You go,” I whisper to Sissy.

“No.” She stays next to me, her hand still in mine.

“Go.”

“No.” She grips my hand tighter.

Ashley June saunters toward us, her shoulder blades jutting out her back with each stride. Her form is relaxed, like a zoo cheetah lazily pacing inside its cage on a hot summer night. Yet her eyes are raw and intense with desire. A small pouch bag is strapped tightly against her back.

Thirty meters away, she hisses; her hind legs bunch, and she is suddenly all coiled muscle and charged energy. Her arms shoot out as she bounds forward, grabbing the ground under her, thrusting her long sleek body upward and forward. Her eyes spear into mine with as much obsession as desperation.

“It’s me!” I shout. “It’s me!”

Not a flicker of recognition. Not a hint of a slowdown. She races toward me, her lips now snarling to reveal the bottom of her fangs.

Sissy reaches down instinctively for a dagger on her belt. But it is too late for that.

Ashley June comes, her legs and arms a blur under her loping body. Ten more bounding strides, and she will be at my throat.

“Ashley June!” I shout.

A flicker of recognition in her eyes. She snaps her head violently. Her eyes meet mine again, but there is a sliver of confliction now. She slows to a stop. Saliva dangles from each corner of her mouth, ropy and gelatinous, almost touching the cobblestone. Her head half cocks to the side. She frowns.

“It’s me, it’s Gene,” I say.

She examines my face as if trying to place me. Something flits across her eyes, softens their gaze. Her lips tremble. She’s beginning to recall.

“Ashley June.” Despite my fear, I speak with tenderness. And with guilt.

A low growl rumbles from her throat. Her feet kick at the ground but she does not close the distance between us. Light suddenly blazes in her eyes, jolting her. She remembers me. Suddenly self-conscious, she wipes at the drools of saliva.

“Gene?” she whispers. The sound flutters out, girlish and shy.

I flinch back. The clash between her savage body and the gentle utterance of my name is almost too much. I turn my eyes away. Now she stands, rising off her arms and hands until she is upright on two legs. As if trying to reclaim her humanity. Yet a battle rages; every fiber in her wants to pounce me cheetah-like. I can see it in the saliva dripping off her still-exposed fangs, in her quivering thigh muscles. She wipes at her mouth again. And then her eyes latch onto something.

My hand. Holding Sissy’s hand. Ashley June’s eyes snake up the length of Sissy’s arm and when her eyes lock onto Sissy’s, it is as if she has noticed her for the first time.

Ashley June suddenly drops down to all fours again. A hardness coarsens her body, marbles her eyes. She shakes her head, sending ropes of saliva looping around her head, splattering in her hair. She crouches down, quivering with building energy, caving in to animalistic urges. Then explodes toward Sissy.

She is a blur, a dart flung with force. Thin, tight muscles bulge out of her arms, waves of muscle ripple across her thighs. And then she is springing herself.

At Sissy.

She rips Sissy away, flinging then pouncing on her fallen body. I’m knocked to the ground. By the time I’ve picked myself up, Ashley June is pinning Sissy down, her mouth clamped around Sissy’s neck. Her teeth, her fangs, sunk deep, only her red-stained gums showing. Her eyes gaze languidly at me as she sucks and sucks and sucks.

Sissy is trying to squirm out but her arms are pinned. Her legs kick uselessly, strength draining out. She writhes futilely underneath. Ashley June’s flaming red hair is splayed all across Sissy’s prostrate body, like fingers spread wide, possessing and claiming her.

“NOOO!” I shout, and charge at Ashley June, throwing myself with all the force I can muster.

She smacks me away. I feel nails gash the side of my head but no pain. The pain will come later. I go flying, over ground that spins wildly beneath me. The impact smacks the air out of my lungs. I rise unsteadily, fall down. Start crawling toward Sissy.

Ashley June’s eyes flick past me, over my shoulder.

Another dusker has emerged out of the dark shadows of a cottage. Its eyes are rapt with desire as it places me in its crosshairs. It crouches low and scuttles forward, crab-like, its legs and arms stabbing the ground like pincers.

Ashley June lifts her head from Sissy’s neck, blood dripping down her chin. She growls at the other dusker.

In a split second, the dusker goes from crab-shuffle to puma-sprint. At me.

As it leaps past the unconscious Sissy, Ashley June snaps her hand out and grabs its long flowing hair. I hear the tear of hair roots ripped out of scalp skin. The dusker’s legs fling out and it flips over, crashes to the ground. Ashley June is upon it before it can regain its footing. Crouched atop the dusker’s body, she lowers her face until her nose is almost touching the dusker’s. She snarls, her jaw widening to expose the long sabres of her razor-sharp teeth. The dusker snarls back, its eyebrows pulled together in fury. But also fear. It snaps at Ashley June.

Ashley June pulls her head back to avoid the clash of teeth. Then, in one fluid, powerful motion, she flings the dusker across the square. The dusker spins ungracefully through the air. Its upper torso smashes through a cottage window, its legs smacking into the siding. It hangs draped and twitching, half in, half out the window.

Ashley June turns to me. Her chest is heaving in and out. Her emerald eyes, clear and fierce, yet somehow also softened, contain a questioning, yearning glimmer. The pouch bag strapped on her back is ripped half open now; the cover of a book pokes out.

I take a step backward.

She is suddenly pummeled from behind by the other dusker, shards of glass sticking out of it. They fall away in a tangled ball of fangs and claws, hissing and attacking one another.

I use the precious few seconds to run to Sissy. Her eyes are closed; she’s murmuring incomprehensibly. I pick her up in my arms, start sprinting. I ignore the sound of Ashley June fighting with the other dusker behind. I ignore the tiredness in my legs as I race across the meadows on the other side of the village, ignore even the sight of the train beginning to pull out of the station. Ignore the thunderous stampede I know is closing in on me, the horde from Krugman’s office catching up with me. And most of all, ignore the heat humming off Sissy, the sweat pouring down her face, the ashen paleness in her face. Ignore the fact that she’s begun turning. Right in my arms, she’s turning.

I cry out sounds that have grown hidden and unseen in me for years, for my whole life, gurgled, strangled sounds of anguish. They pour out of me like a tide of fury, and they are more than the tears gushing down my face, more than the lactic acid rocking my legs.

The ground softens and undulates beneath my feet, and I can’t locate solidity, can’t find traction. And then I am collapsing because I have no strength left, because I cannot go on for one more stride, because the running and constant fleeing has wrung out the last drop of strength. I fall on the grass. Enough. Enough. I cradle Sissy’s fevered head on my chest, gaze at the stars above. Feel the ground shaking under me. I hear their approach, so close now. Pounding of feet, hollers, high-pitched, hysterical voices.

Then hands grabbing at me, my legs, arms, pulling me apart.

No, not apart. Pulling me up, hands in my armpits, hoisting.

“Gene! Get up! Get up!”

Above me loom the faces of David and Jacob. They’re already picking up Sissy, dragging her away. More footsteps approaching. It’s Epap, and he pulls my arm over his shoulder. “Gene, you’ve got to help me. I can’t carry you all by myself. Run, damn it! The train’s pulling out!”