Page 21 (1/2)
Every few , as if he’s expecting … so
We walk for what feels like hours, and I keep expecting the sky to brighten, the sun to rise A slow, persistent ache grows in my lower back, and blisters form on bothus in this forever night, the darkness takes on a different hue, like the fuzzy gray of predawn
Light flickers and gliray to red, and I realize ht
Bowen pulls --an old apart with a ay between nuround He eases a door open, nuht shines in through a shattered , between a broken pair of blinds, illu an overturned table and the fraht on ainst the side of his face, leaving the other side black and featureless
"There’s soet away unseen" A wail, eerily hurapples with his gun, ai it toward the"If they catch you," he whispers, eyes glued to the , "you’re a boy! But don’t get caught! If I give you this signal," he puate and turn yourself in Don’t get caught!" He lowers the gun and looks at ain "You stay behind me Do not oes to his belt, and he re, a Taser, and presses it into my hand He shows me how to use it and sets it to kill And then, our feet silent,like a bass druone ten steps when the bass straining againstAn entire bass-dru played at once A sound that makes my throat constrict,in synch
Bohips around and gripsplace--a blue postbox ce The two of us barely fit behind it, sandwiched shoulder to shoulder in a crouch, backpacks against the coldIcy sweat drips down s around us, fra fire I peer to ht’s source Men, dressed in a mishmash of jeans, shorts, T-shirts, tank tops, or no shirts, all filthy and holding burning torches, are corisly men I remember from road-warrior movies, ore s, and rode uys don’t have the spikes and tattoos and piercings They don’t need theive off an air of ferocity Instead, eachas deliberate as the tattoo onfeet? They don’t match the uncoordinated steps these ht, past Bowen, and understand They look likedown the opposite side of the street in perfect unison, toward the scarred gang of warriors Well, they almost look like militia Only, instead of the stripes shaved onto the sides of their heads, the sides of their heads are bald, below slightly longer hair, like peach fuzz, on the tops of their heads But the dark uniforid backs, set mouths, and lockstep walk make them look like militia
"Bowen," a man’s quiet voice calls frohow a asps and presses harder against the postbox, eyes scrunched shut, like a kid playing hide-and-seek who thinks you can’t see him if his eyes are covered
"Company, halt!" a smooth, deep voice calls, and soet once you hear the tune, even after a long tiuns," the voice orders in ether Sweat gleams on his creased forehead Slowly, ht, around the side of the postbox, and then eases back around, facing me
"My brother’s out there," he breathes "That’s the Inner Guard"
Feet shuffle to aofstill shuffles in their rowls I try not to breathe, try not to blink, as I slowly peer around the side of the postbox And then I try not to bolt Or screa to bean ounce of courage into me
"What did you see?" Bohispers, eyes white-rimmed with fear
"They have a beast!" I mouth, too terrified to whisper "Bound with chains," I add, and close lossy, race the cover of fitness azines--ripped with fine muscle and zero body fat Only the smooth, taut skin is speckled and slashed with dark flaws I see the rusted chains, barely glinting in the torchlight, wrapped around the beast’s tethered ar I see the fourthe beast a wide berth while holding the chains And burned into ht intoin front of me, and I forceon its chains Its e in an effort to get at the postbox where Bowen and I huddle I whip back around, too scared to take another look
"It knoe’re here," I whisper between gritted teeth Bowen’s hand leaveson his belt
"We will not coet your pet under control," a cal for this dark, ruffian- and beast-filled alley "Bowen, instruct your men to take aim at the beast Guns, not Tasers"