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“Do not let her out of your sight, please,” I turn to Arnost and plead as soon as June is out of earshot. Old enough to be headstrong and view Arnost as her charge as an insult but too young to realize it’s for her own good, my sister mustn’t know of my arrangement with him. Ordinarily, I’d feel guilty assigning her a chaperone without her knowledge, but these are not ordinary circumstances. This is a matter of life and death. And while June is a capable archer with impeccable instincts and lightning fast reflexes, Brom is a potential adversary who knows her well, has watched her train and has observed her vulnerabilities firsthand. He knows that her shot is weakest on her right side, that she’s trusting to a fault and that she’d do just about anything for a friend. He has choices when selecting an avenue to pursue her. In his mind, his age and gender are advantages in and of themselves. The other three are just bonuses. “I’ll be watching too, but I need to keep an eye on him and make sure he isn’t trying anything funny.” I clip my head toward Peter. Although I saved his life and his outpouring of gratitude seemed genuine, I’m still unsure of his motives. June is my priority as she’s always been and always will be, but her safety is contingent upon Peter doing as he’s promised and getting us out of the forest and within the walls of Cassowary. Between the continual threat of mutant Urthmen attacking, my disbelief that the area has been purged of Lurkers, and now the possibility of retaliation from Brom, my nerves are frayed. If Peter isn’t telling the truth and plans to deceive us, I fear I may lose my sanity altogether.
As if sensing that I’m unraveling, Arnost places a large hand on my shoulder. “Don’t worry, Avery, you can count on me,” he assures me. “I don’t think that idiot, Brom, is going to cause us anymore problems.” He looks off into the distance toward the tree line. “I think we’ve seen the last of him.”
I want to believe what he’s saying, to feel as he feels, but I don’t. Deep in the marrow of my bones, I suspect Brom is out there now, plotting as I speak with Arnost. A shiver of unease sweeps up my spine to think he’s turned on the very people who took him in and welcomed him as family.
“If he doesn’t get torn to pieces by one of those monsters, he’ll be long gone by daybreak,” Arnost adds with certainty that conflicts with my intuition.
“Hopefully you’re right. But you never know.” My words trail off, my voice softer. “He knows as well as anyone else that the best way to hurt me is to hurt her.” I clip my head toward June, an ache in the left side of my chest so pronounced I place my hand atop it and feel the rhythmic thudding of my heart.
Lowering his voice to an almost soothing pitch, Arnost says, “I won’t take my eyes off her, I swear.” I cannot make out the details of his features. All I can see—and feel—is the weight of his gaze.
“Thank you,” I say sincerely.
Arnost gives my shoulder a gentle squeeze then drops his hand. “I’ll go strike up a conversation with her while you go gather Peter and the others, this way it looks natural when we begin walking together.” His tone is conspiratorial and I’m able to make out that he gives me a wink.
“Okay. That sounds good.”
Arnost smiles then makes his way toward June, who is standing beside Lark listening to a recount of how the serpent slid beneath her feet in the river. He expertly joins the conversation. Within seconds, he and June break off into a separate dialogue. June gestures animatedly, recreating how she held her bow and fired off arrows into the beast. Arnost points to Oliver and I hear him mention how quick and decisive he was, how he’s a true warrior. I can’t help but notice how Lark, hearing Arnost’s praise of Oliver, turns slightly and beams with pride. Judging from the expression she wears, I can fairly feel the flutter in her belly. I’ve felt it before, still feel it.
My gaze travels to Sully. Standing near Peter with his arms folded across his broad chest, a quiver passes through my stomach. It feels as if it’s filled with innumerable butterflies all beating their wings at once. Feeling my eyes on him, he looks up. My breathing hitches subtly and he flashes me the lopsided grin I’ve come to know so well, and love. I return his smile and have to remind myself that with every second I spend mooning over Sully, the Uganna could be closing the distance between us. I shake my head, as if doing so will clear the romantic thoughts from my head, and make my way toward him and Peter.
Resisting the urge to wrap my arms around Sully’s waist and rest my head upon his chest, I opt instead to plant my hands on my hips. “We’d better get moving. The Uganna could be on us any minute.” I allow my eyes to sweep the landscape past Peter and Sully. All I see is darkness interrupted by even darker shapes.
“You’re right,” Peter says and follows my line of vision. “What happened before, the interaction with Brom, it was time wasted that we didn’t have to spare.” His head swivels left then right. “The Uganna won’t sleep until you’re caught and killed. That is, if they are still tracking us.”
His tone, so matter-of-fact and filled with confidence fills me with a sense of dread. Regardless, I ask, “Why wouldn’t they be tracking us?” As soon as the words leave my lips, a part of me recoils, not wanting to hear the answer to my question.
Peter is silent. He shifts his weight from one leg to the next, his foot working a small, weedy tuft.
“What, Peter, what is it?” I ask, my heart vaulting to my throat.
“Yeah, Peter, what’s going on?” I hear a hint of worry betraying Sully’s tone.
Hesitating for a moment, Peter chooses his words carefully. “Well, it’s just that if they recognized you, they would realize it would be the perfect time to attack Cassowary, when you’re not there and neither is he,” Peter gestures to Sully.
“W-what’re you talking about?” Sully asks.
It takes a moment for what Peter has said to settle in my brain, for me to process it. But when I do, the ground beneath my feet shifts, and I feel as if the blood in my body is being drained from me, pooling at my feet. I take a trembling breath and answer Sully’s question before Peter can. “He’s saying that the Uganna might’ve recognized us and realized Cassowary is vulnerable, that they might’ve left the forest for Cassowary.”
“Oh my gosh.” The gravity if what I’ve said and what Peter has said sinks in. “It may be why they destroyed our cars.”
I hadn’t considered that point straightaway the way Sully did. But he’s right. The Uganna resemble Lurkers in their attack style but the similarities end there. They are far more cunning, smarter. Deadlier.
In my periphery, I notice that our conversation, and more specifically, Sully’s tone, has caught the attention of Oliver and Lark. They’d been talking, their bodies close and their tones intimate, but now they’ve joined us and listen intently.
Oliver scratches his chin. His brow is furrowed, his expression matching the intensity of the moment. He turns his head and huffs, the notion of a vulnerable city coming under attack—his city—too fresh in his mind to imagine another suffering the same fate. “Damn monsters!” he spits and kicks a low-growing bush. Lark reaches out and gently wraps her hand around the prominent bulge of his bicep, the act familiar, tender. Immediately, Oliver turns, his features softening when he looks at her. He sighs and reluctantly returns his attention to us. “We need to get moving now, pick up the pace and get to Cassowary as fast as we can. Maybe we’re not too late.”
Larks chest heaves, her eyes never leaving him. “I agree. We need to leave right now, run if we have to.” Her family is there, her life. It’s her city every bit as much as it is mine. She opens her mouth to add to her comment, but the rustle of dried leaves just behind us silences her, silences all of us.
Whirling, I turn in the direction of the sound. I stand perfectly still, not even breathing as I listen. Deafening silence rings in my ears. I exchange glances with Sully, with Peter and Oliver, with Lark. Bringing my index finger to my lips, I signal for them to be quiet, though I know the act is unnecessary. They are frozen in place, all of us like animals sensing a predator, edgy and alert. Somewhere nearby, a twig snaps and my heart stumbles like a clumsy runner. A faint breeze stirs, carrying on it the scent of damp earth, the musky smell of molded leaves, and something else. An acrid smell mingles with the scents of the forest. A stench that’s akin to wild onions, urine and sweat swells in small surges, raising the fine hairs at the back of my neck. I realize we aren’t alone, the presence of others as certain as the blood pumping in our veins.
Another breeze stirs the leaves and thin branches around us. Then utter stillness follows. I take a cursory glance in the distance and swear I see oily shadows streak by. I glance at Sully to see whether he saw the shadows slink in the darkness. He stares hard in the direction of them, seems to notice what I observed. Goose bumps prickle my arms as waves of apprehension sweep over me. The stillness all around us is unnatural. Something is not right.
Muscles twitching, I hear another twig snap before chaos erupts all around me. From out of the pitch-black brush, a creature explodes, loping with speed that contradicts its massiveness. For a split-second I wonder whether Peter lied about eradicating the Lurkers, whether we’re being ambushed by them right now. But that thought is dispelled immediately when I catch sight of powerful arms hitting the ground knuckles-first, propelling the upper body of a different monster ahead of its legs in a smooth, fluid motion. Moonlight reflects off its creased forehead, a broad feature that projects out over small, murderous eyes, and I recognize it immediately: Uganna. Its mouth is partially open, long, pointed teeth bared as it emits a growl that’s more beast than Urthman.
I unsheathe my blade, slicing the air and slashing its throat as it lunges at me, grazing my shoulder as it plows past me and nearly knocks me to the ground. A gush of warmth sprays my hands as blood and gore spurts from the open wound as it passes. Losing my footing as it clips me, I tumble backward but regain my balance immediately. The beast moans in agony before its cries are replaced by a wet gurgling sound, but I do not look at him. I don’t have a moment to spare. The thump of its body hitting the forest floor is proof enough that the wound I inflicted was fatal.
My eyes sweep the area from which he burst. The sound of rustling leaves persists, barely audible over the roar in my ears, the drumming of my heart and the tide of lifeblood thundering through my veins. My thoughts race, but my concern for June and Sully is paramount. I glimpse Sully in the seconds before a blur races by in my periphery. Following the phantom image, my attention is diverted from my sister and Sully. I follow it with my eyes until an explosion of pain sends a scattering of black dots crowding my field of vision. I’m slammed from behind by what feels like a steal beam. Wind knocked from my lungs, I lurch forward, clinging tightly to the hilt of my sword. Oversized fists pin my shoulder to the ground and the weight of a large, muscled beast holds me there. Writhing, I try to free myself. But it’s no use. The Uganna monster weighs too much. Pounds that easily double my weight at the very least—and muscled pounds at that—keep me there. Still wriggling, I squeeze my eyes shut as I feel its head lowering, closing the distance between its mouth and the back of my head. Is this how I’ll spend my final seconds on earth, with the drool of an Uganna moistening the back of my neck and hair? The answer to that question is given within seconds when a guttural war cry rips through the atmosphere like thunder. The beast is pulled off of me and tossed to the ground. I spring to my feet and expect to see Sully but see Peter instead. He dives atop the Uganna, wrestling it and holding it down. “Finish him!” he urges as soon as the beast’s underbelly is exposed. Heeding his instructions, I drive my sword into its chest, into the space just above its heart, until the blade is buried so deep I cannot jiggle it. It yelps and convulses before going still. Eyes riveted to the bleeding Uganna, Peter’s chest rises and falls in time with his labored breaths.
“Thank you,” I say to him before spinning around. My eyes fall on Sully finishing off a beast while Oliver is atop another, stabbing it again and again in the throes of fury. Lark places a hand on his shoulder. Blade hoisted high and about to be plunged into its torso again, he whirls on her, a feral glint in his eyes.
“It’s me,” Lark says softly. “It’s okay. It’s me.”
Gulping air greedily, he notches his chin, his expression softening only slightly. “These animals killed off my entire city, everyone I lived with. My people.” His voice trembles with pure rage.
In a voice tempered with gentleness, with tenderness, Lark replies, “I didn’t live there but they were my people too.”
Oliver holds her gaze for several seconds, the beast beneath him dead for sure. But it may not be the only one. Neck swiveling from side to side, I search the surrounding forest, reaching out with all my senses, waiting for more to attack and wondering at the same time why they haven’t swarmed as they did earlier. “Where are the rest?” I call out.
On his feet and surveying the dark woods, Peter says, “That was probably just a scout team.”
A scout team. The small group we killed was sent to report on our whereabouts while the rest of the pack are elsewhere, headed to Cassowary in all likelihood.
Frost crystallizes within my blood, sharpened like shards of glass. Cassowary is my city. It is Arnost’s. It is Sully’s. It is June’s. It is our home. With June at the forefront of my thoughts, I look for her. Sully, Oliver, Lark and Peter surround me, but not June. And not Arnost. I twist and look behind me. All I see is the mangled shapes of Uganna, the two I killed. “June!” I call out. Pulse jolted so that it hammers at the base of my throat, anxiety strikes through me like a bullet. “June!” I try louder when she doesn’t respond.
Racing to Sully, I tell him, “Where’s June? She was with Arnost and now she’s gone. They’re both gone!”
Sully’s head whipsaws between me and the woods then back to me. As soon as his eyes return to me, however, his expression transforms, and though his features are lit only by moonlight, I see something in them, something that sends the weight of my heart and all that’s contained within my chest plummeting to my feet. Turning from him, I dash back in the direction we traveled. We hadn’t been walking long at all, hadn’t covered much ground. She can’t be far. At least that’s what the tiny sliver of rationality that remains in my brain argues. But my heart tells a far different narrative. It says she’s gone.
“June!” My voice is high-pitched and strident as it rips through the ether, as razor sharp as the lance impaling my hope. Staunch silence answers, deepening the wound. I’m only partially aware of the crunch and swish of leaves beneath the feet of those around me. Everyone is searching for June and Arnost. “June!” I scream from a place that’s raw and deep within me, a place that aches more painfully that any injury I’ve ever incurred.
I spin and look all around me, vertigo coming out victorious in the elaborate game of tug it plays with the anxiety-riddled dread that’s laid claim to me. Reaching out for a nearby tree, I take a step and the toe of my boot kicks something firm but pliable. Rough bark scrapes my hand as I shift my weight and nearly trip over what’s beneath my feet. Head down, my eyes widen when, through the trees, shafts of stony moonlight illuminate familiar features. Arnost. Arnost is lying on the forest floor unmoving. “Oh my gosh! No!” I scream as a black, bottomless pit of raw and awful fear wells inside me. My stomach dips and I’m wrapped in silence that’s interrupted only when the shuffle of leaves crackles through the night, signifying that everyone is headed my way. Not waiting for them, I drop to my knees and place my ear to Arnost’s chest. The gentle whir of air entering and exiting coincides with the rise and fall of his chest. He’s alive thankfully.
“What happened?” Sully’s words come out in a jumbled rush before his gaze lands on Arnost, on me hovering over him. “Is he alive?” His rich, brown eyes are twin pools of misery and confusion.
“Yes,” I answer. “But where’s June?” Terror wedges tight in my throat, constricting it.
“She’s got to be—” Sully starts but his voice catches, silencing him. He doesn’t finish his sentence.
Lark’s hands fly to her mouth, covering it, and Oliver’s lips tighten over his teeth. Peter scrubs his fist down his face. Everyone’s expression is forlorn, and a smothering quiet blankets us as each person assumes the worst.
“June!” I cry, shattering the silence, as an unbearable heaviness fills me, crushing me, pulling me down to the darkest, deepest reaches of human suffering. My sister is missing, the promise that’s she’s met a torturous fate all but guaranteed. Tears sting my eyes and I cannot catch my breath. “Nooooooooo!” I gasp as I sink to my knees once again. Without June, my will to live ceases to exist.