One second was all the animal-Lena needed. In a flash, she was rolling, hand shooting for the bat, fingers outstretched.
“No!” Ellie brought the Savage down like that huge hammer her daddy once used to ring the bell on a county fair midway and win her a stuffed monkey. The rifle caught Lena’s left arm at the elbow with a tremendous whack. Lena let out a screech. Breaking apart from the force of the blow, the Savage splintered, the entire wooden stock assembly shearing from the barrel. Staggering from her own momentum, Ellie felt her boots skitter over snow humped atop old leaves and then her feet cut out from under. The Savage’s barrel spun off like a discarded baton. Crashing down hard on first her left ankle and then her hip, the blow knocked out her breath and sent an electric shock into the small of her back. A wheezy scream winged off her tongue. Retching, Ellie rolled onto her stomach. The forest wavered and she had a brief second when she wondered if this was what happened before you passed out.
There came the rustle of leaves as the monster gathered herself. Ellie looked up. On her feet, only ten feet away, Lena swayed, her face a clench of fury and pain. Her scarf dragged like the long, lime-green tongue of a sick lizard. From that nasty kink, her left arm seemed to suddenly have grown a second elbow.
With her good right hand, Lena picked up the bat.
“I hate you,” Ellie choked. Tears streamed over her cheeks. “You killed my dog.” Her closet-voice was shrieking, Get up, Ellie, get up, get up! So why wasn’t she listening? Because she was on her belly. Getting up meant pushing to hands and knees, setting her feet, and she was too furious and frightened to take her eyes from this girl. What you couldn’t see and only imagined was always scarier than what was real. Lena was already bad enough.
But Ellie did one thing. Her hand snuck into her pocket—and found her Leek. The knife was slim and, with the blade folded away, only just filled her hand.
Lena came for her, and Ellie watched her come and thought, You have to wind up. Even for a swing like this, you’ll have to batter up.
“I used to feel sorry for you.” She had no idea where Dee was. Since she wasn’t screaming, maybe Dee had run off or fainted. It didn’t matter. The only thing that did was this murderer who’d led the people-eaters to Eli and Roc; whose friends had burned Isaac’s barn and baby lambs. Who’d just killed her dog, her sweet Mina, who’d been nothing but good, and who was the very last tie to her daddy, the very last. “I thought you were different. But I hope Chris finds you,” she said as she lost sight of Lena’s face because the girl was so very close. What swam before Ellie’s eyes were boots and legs . . . and that dinged-up bat, still dangling from Lena’s right hand. “I hope he kills you,” she said to the bat. “I hope Chris—”
The bat swung out of sight.
Batter up. Snapping the Leek’s blade home, Ellie threw her fist around and stabbed. Very sharp and with that wonderful point so good for picking out fishing line, the blade drove into Lena’s calf just above her left boot, slicing fabric, then skin and meat. Ellie rammed so hard and fast she felt the scrape of metal on bone.
Lena screamed. Not a screech or shriek, but a shrill, undulating wail. Ellie just had the presence of mind to hang on and yank her knife free as Lena lurched back. Not three inches from Ellie’s nose, the bat thudded to the earth. Ellie made a snatching grab and clambered upright. Her hip and ankle didn’t like that, but tough. Bawling, Lena was cramped over her bleeding leg, trying to grab it with her right hand because her left arm was broken.
Can’t run away now, can you? Ellie choked up on the bat. Kill you. One good swing.
At that moment, Lena’s head snapped up. An expression of both recognition and astonishment and . . . was that fear? longing? . . . spread over her face as she peered at something behind Ellie. For a second, Ellie thought this girl looked almost human again.
“Ellie.” The voice was close. “Don’t do it.”
“Why not?” Her voice sounded very strange. Her gaze did not waver, but Lena did shimmy as if a pane of flawed glass suddenly separated them. “She killed my dog. She took away my daddy. I’m not such a little kid anymore, Chris.”
“I know, Ellie,” Chris said, “and I’m sorry about that.”
“But I want to kill her.”
“That’s why you shouldn’t.”
Now she did look. Chris had Tom’s gun, the small one, and she wondered—a very fleeting glimmer of a thought, barely conscious— why Tom wasn’t there. But Jayden was, a short distance away, rifle to his shoulder. A white tousle and one blue eye peeped from behind Jayden’s legs. She’d done that with Grandpa Jack at the funeral. As if not looking all the way made saying good-bye to her dad hurt any less.
And beyond, on the ground, was Mina, her Mina, lying oh-so-still.
“I let her go once.” Chris’s dark eyes, still so red, ticked her way, then back. The radio on his hip chirped like a mad cricket, but he paid no attention. “She’s my responsibility.”
Lena looked small and sad again with her broken arm and bloody leg. If this were a movie, Ellie bet this was when, all of a sudden, the wild-girl got it together and called, Chris! So then everybody could go aawww because—see?—even monsters have feelings. Then Lena would run off into the forest—tra-la—in a stupid fairy-tale happily-ever-after because people want happy endings and, you know, maybe monsters get better.
But this was Ellie’s real life, and that was the enemy, and there were no do-overs.
“It’s not your fault, Chris. You didn’t make her into a monster.” She paused, thinking there was something to that: like when you made crummy choices, then had to own up to a mistake and live with whatever happened next. “You didn’t kill anybody.”
“Not when I should have,” Chris said, and pulled the trigger.
117
The red storm kept her company the whole way: a constant mutter, like the throb of a toothache. Her monster was very interested, too. She felt it elbowing its way around, pressing its nose right up to the limits of her skull, like a kid yearning to go out and play. Oh, I don’t think so. Bearing down, she sawed her teeth into her lower lip and felt the monster give a sharp, angry kick. Suck on it, you poor baby.
She cut northwest, keeping a good distance and some forest between her and Finn. The eastern sky brightened, going silver and then white before bluing to a light turquoise overhead. Over the thump of her horse’s hooves she heard someone shouting: not screaming so much as bellowing, a wild and incoherent note that Alex thought was a single word, repeated over and over again. Coming from that plateau. Someone still alive up there. She threw a glance, but there were too many trees, and she was much too far away to catch the scent. If she’d been closer, she might not have managed anyway because of the fire and all the Changed. The air was saturated with their stink.
She came in south of the feeding ground and that terrible pyramid. She had no desire to see either again, and no time besides, but she smelled them. So did the horse, which balked.
“Fine,” she said, swinging a leg around to dismount. “I’m not really sure I blame—” Alex gasped at a sudden shimmy, the shift, as the monster steamed to life, working its way out in fingers, and she felt herself start to fall—
— into someone else, behind its eyes, his eyes. Ahead, there is black smoke and the GOGOGO as the others work their way toward distant flames and the scream of meat. It—he—looks left, to the red storm in black on a black horse and the pushpush of the gogo—and the one who only screams LET ME GO LET ME GOGOGO. Further away, there are others streaming uphill and now many eyes full of the GOGOGO—
And then there is the jump she knows, a shimmy and shift, and then she’s there in another body, a girl’s. She can feel the difference. She’s in the middle of a jostle of bodies, a tangle of arms and legs, and GOGOGO—
Dead ahead, there is a boy, not like her at all. He is a scream of meat. He is food, and she smells his desperation and panic as he tries to get onto his horse. But he won’t be able to manage it, because this boy’s fear is strong and she is close now; his full, rich, raw scent fills her mouth, and— PUSHPUSH—she will have him. She rushes for the boy, pushing her way through the others—GOGO—she lunges, feels the rake of her nails on his leg, and he turns a terrified look, and she sees—
“No”—but she could barely hear herself. “Chris, run, get away, run—”
There was a sudden snap, either the monster letting go, or her finally recalling it, she couldn’t be sure. Her vision cleared and fixed on Buck, hovering over her, a paw on her chest. Her gaze shifted to jagged chinks of sky showing through branches. Fell off my horse. Struggling to a sit, she wiped a trickle of blood from the corner of her mouth and listened to her pulse thunder.
That was Chris. She was almost positive. The horse, a blood bay, was right, and she’d gotten a fleeting look at his face . . . Right hair, the face was the same, but bruised, and there was something wrong with his eyes. “Red,” she breathed. Buck nudged her neck, and she let herself sag against the wolfdog. Chris’s eyes were red. The same as Peter’s? No, the more she thought about it, the surer she was that Chris was hurt. From that girl’s perspective, Chris was food: blood and salt, fear and sweat. Meat.
Strong, too, that red storm. Every time that push-push go-go amped up, her monster leaked through. Throttling it back when there were only Finn and a few altered Changed around wasn’t as hard. But an increase in numbers meant more intensity, a wider spread. She wasn’t sure she could maintain control.
Scraping up the Uzi from where she’d dropped it, she clawed to her feet. For a moment, she thought about leaving the green canvas medic pack, now stuffed to capacity not only with medical supplies but several books and odds and ends she’d picked up along the way. The pack would only add weight, slow her down.
But Chris looked hurt. Hefting the pack onto her shoulders, she broke into a staggering, wobbly run, with Buck trotting alongside. Chris is here, and he’s in trouble. I’ve got to do something to help, somehow.
