26. Allie
Allie
W ith only five minutes left, we crouched low behind a dense thicket of scruffy young pine trees, peering through branches at the abandoned mining camp ahead.
The place looked like something from an old Western movie, with weathered wooden buildings arranged in a rough semi-circle around a dirt clearing, their roofs sagging and walls leaning at precarious angles.
An old mine entrance gaped from the mountainside like a dark, hungry mouth, its support timbers looking as weathered as the buildings.
Four men walked around the clearing, holding guns. One was guarding the perimeter, one stood beside what looked like a makeshift office, complete with a desk they got from who knows where. Two were flanking my mate who was tied to a post in the center of the clearing.
Even from this distance, I could see dark stains on his shirt, and the back of his head was dark, matted with blood. My belly lurched, and I forced myself to breathe. He appeared to be awake. Head wounds could bleed a lot. He might not be too seriously injured.
I had to focus on rescuing him, not falling apart.
The midday sun beat down on the camp, making me sweat. Dirt swirled across the clearing, caught by a breeze that carried the scent of pine. My mouth went dry. We were close, yet the distance between us and Hail might as well be miles.
I memorized every detail of the scene, searching for an advantage.
The guard nearest Hail shifted his weight from one foot to another, revealing a holstered pistol at his hip.
The one by the office building held a rifle loosely in his hands, the barrel pointed at the ground but ready to swing up if needed.
The third man pacing the perimeter kept staring intently into the forest. We needed to move or he’d see us.
I bit my lip hard enough to taste blood, using the pain to focus.
“Will’s not out there,” Beth whispered, squinting at the scene.
“He could be in one of the buildings or behind.” Jessi’s voice was barely audible. “Waiting for Allie since the trail they marked is on the opposite side of the clearing.”
Aunt Inla shifted. “We need to get closer.”
“How?” I asked. “They’re watching.”
We’d been hiding here, debating our next move in hushed tones.
Our kitchen knives, Holly’s rolling pin, and Aunt Inla’s cast iron skillet, would be pathetic against men with firearms. The weight of the knife in my hand was a constant reminder of what I might have to do.
I’d never stabbed anyone before. Would I hesitate if the moment came?
Fear and desperation warred inside me. Every second we delayed was another Hail remained in danger. I watched him move in the chair, testing his bonds, and my heart ached with the need to run to him.
“We should create a diversion,” Gracie said, nervously twisting a strand of her hair. “Draw them away from Hail.”
“And then what?” Rosey asked, her voice tight with tension. “They’ll shoot whoever’s making the noise.”
I glanced down at Tressa, but the space where she’d been crouching was empty. I found only flattened grass.
“Where’s Tressa?” I hissed, scanning our surroundings. The undergrowth all looked the same, dense, green, impenetrable. No sign of white fur anywhere.
She’d disappeared, melting into the forest without a sound. My heart jumped into my throat. If the guards spotted her…
“Should we go after her?” Holly’s knuckles whitened around her rolling pin.
“No time.” Aunt Inla nodded toward the camp. “Look.”
One of the guards was approaching Hail, carrying a knife. My blood froze solid.
The guard leaned down, speaking into Hail’s ear. I couldn’t hear the words, but Hail’s back stiffened, his head jerking up. The guard laughed, pressing the blade against Hail’s cheek hard enough to dimple the skin.
My vision narrowed to a tunnel, everything beyond that knife against Hail’s face fading to a blur.
“We move now.” I shifted my weight forward.
Jessi grabbed my arm, her fingers digging in hard. “Wait. You can’t just rush in there.”
“I can’t sit here and watch them hurt him either.” I pulled against her grip. The need to reach Hail was a physical ache, the pressure of it threatening to explode.
A commotion from the right side of the camp made us freeze. Strange barking shrieks echoed through the trees, startling a flock of crows into flight. The harsh calls grew louder, closer, followed by shouts of alarm from the guards.
“What is that?” Beth asked, her eyes wide.
We strained to see through the trees. The guard walking the outer part of the camp turned toward the sound, raising his rifle. The one near Hail stepped back, his attention diverted.
A flash of white fur appeared through the trees on the opposite side of the camp. Tressa? She wasn’t alone. She burst out into the clearing, driving a flock of the strangest creatures I’d ever seen.
Pink-scaled and ostrich-sized, they sprinted on powerful legs, their long necks extended forward, and their beaked mouths open to release the strange barking cries.
Smaller versions tumbled along behind the adults, fluffy pink chicks that peeped frantically as they struggled to keep up.
Their scales caught the sunlight, flashing like pieces of rose quartz.
Their eyes, surprisingly large and intelligent, gleamed with what looked like anger.
“Chumbles,” Aunt Inla breathed, a touch of awe in her voice. “Tressa found some chumbles and brought them here.”
I’d never seen them before, but Hail had described the enormous chicken-like birds orcs raided for eggs. His stories hadn’t done them justice. They moved with a prehistoric grace, their claws tearing at the earth as Tressa herded them into the middle of the clearing.
“What the—” Rosey said.
Right behind Tressa and the chumbles came another figure, smaller and human. Max, Holly’s teenage son, waved his arms and whooped as he drove even more chumbles into the camp. His face was flushed with excitement and his eyes bright with the thrill of danger.
“Max,” Holly gasped, her voice strangled with horror. “What is he doing here?”
There was no time to wonder. The chumbles raced around the clearing like a pink hurricane, their shrieks turning to angry screeches as they were driven in all directions.
The sound was deafening, a combination of prehistoric cries, claws scrambling across rocks, wings flapping, and men bellowing in dismay.
Guards shouted, raising their weapons but seemingly unsure what to shoot at first—the wolf, the boy, or the bizarre pink birds swarming around them. One fired a shot into the air, which only seemed to agitate the chumbles further.
Their beaks opened to reveal rows of sharp fangs, glistening wet in the sunlight. Their wingtips ended in curved claws that looked capable of gutting a small animal with one swipe. And they were pissed off.
The chumbles’ screams changed in pitch, becoming primal and chilling, a sound from an ancient time when humans were prey, not predators. The hair on my arms stood on end.
“Now,” I shouted, sprinting around the scruffy patch of pine trees. “While they’re distracted.”
My friends and I burst from cover, charging into the camp. My legs burned with effort, and my lungs worked hard, dragging in air thick with dirt and the musky scent of the chumbles.
The guards were in chaos, swatting at chumbles that lunged and snapped at them with fanged beaks.
One man stumbled backward, his gun forgotten as he raised his arms to protect his throat from a large chumble leaping at him, its claws extended.
His scream cut off fast as the creature impacted with his body, driving him to the ground.
More chumbles poured into the clearing, the adults herding their chicks into a defensive formation. The chicks themselves were more agile than they appeared, darting between legs and pecking at anything that moved. Another guard went down hard, tripping over a cluster of chicks.
A scream cut through the din, coming from inside one of the buildings.
The door burst open, slamming back against the wall with a crack that echoed across the clearing.
Will staggered out, batting frantically at three small chumble chicks that had somehow gotten inside and were now climbing the front of his expensive suit, their tiny beaks nipping through the fabric, drawing blood.
“Get these things off me,” he snarled, stumbling around the clearing. A chick had latched onto his ear, and he swatted at it.
Two other men raced out of the building with chumble chicks riding their spines and heads, pecking hard enough to draw blood.
The chumble adults focused on Will and the shrieking men, maybe drawn by their frantic movements or a need to protect their young. They converged, driving Will and the remaining men toward the mine entrance. Their cries becoming frenzied, the creatures swarmed.
One of the guards grabbed Will’s arm and pulled him inside the dark opening.
A guard fired wildly, the bullet embedding itself in a wooden beam. Splinters exploded outward, adding to the furor.
Through the swirling dirt, I caught glimpses of Hail, still bound to the chair. His eyes darted from the chumbles to Will to me, wide with disbelief and something that I swore was admiration.
Tressa stood at the center of the storm, her white fur stark against the sea of pink, directing the chaos like a conductor.
She herded chumbles toward the guards whenever they tried to leave the mine entrance.
When one of the guards raised his gun toward her, three adult chumbles leaped at him in unison, driving him back with a feral scream.
“Move,” Aunt Inla cried, brandishing her cast iron skillet as she waded into the fray. “Free Hail!”
We split, circling around the edges of the camp. Her rolling pin clutched in her hand, Holly veered toward Max, her face a mask of motherly fury. She latched onto his arm and pulled him behind a building, her mouth moving rapidly in what I assumed was a fierce scolding.
Beth, Rosey, and Gracie headed for the mine entrance, improvised weapons raised. They cut off any escape for Will and his men, waving at the chumbles to drive them toward the men, making the guys back deeper into the cave.
I ran toward Hail.
His shirt was torn and dirty, and bruises bloomed on his chest. His wrists were raw where the ropes had cut into them. But his eyes were alert and searching, until they found me.
“Allie,” he called. “Be c-c-careful.”
A new guard appeared from behind a building, raising his gun toward me. The black eye of the barrel seemed to expand until it filled my vision.
Time slowed.
His finger tightened on the trigger, the muscles in his face contracting as he took aim.
Before I could react, Aunt Inla loomed behind him, hefting her frying pan, bringing it down hard on the back of his head with a sickening crack I felt in my bones. The guy dropped his gun in the dirt, and he followed it down, not moving after.
I sprinted the last few yards to Hail, my heart in my throat. Up close, his injuries looked worse. A deep gash along his hairline was seeping blood, and bruises darkened his jaw. His lip was split, and one eye was beginning to swell.
Rage roared through me, a beastly thing.
When I skidded to a stop in front of him, he looked at me with a crooked grin.
“There’s my mate.” His voice was both tense and amused at the same time. “Come to rescue me.”