Chapter 5
Chapter Five
The Bitumen surface is rough underneath my trainers, and the moon is full and bright.
With no streetlights and the power out, in the distance, I can see swirling plumes of smoke and twinkling stars.
The smoke has a reddish tinge. It twists into the night sky to the left, right, and back of the building.
Water from the soaked tea towel drips onto the front of my coat and dribbles down my neck, making me shiver.
I ignore it in favour of being able to breathe.
I was right—the magic smoke isn’t as bad up here, but the scent is still cloying, and even through the layers of wet tea towel, it tickles the back of my throat.
At least the fabric, for now, does its job.
Then there are the screams... My heart misses a beat.
That isn’t my overactive imagination playing tricks.
I swallow and for a second close my eyes.
Let’s just say I’m so glad my thick hair and woolly hat cover my ears.
The muffled collective sound of terror below makes me feel sick and once again doubt why I’m up here.
I dislike heights. My legs wobble as I take short, shuffling steps away from the door’s safety.
At least my dark brown coat blends into the night, so I’m unlikely to be caught and get into trouble.
I scuttle, stooping for a low profile, and move to the roof’s edge.
When I get close, I drop and the rough surface bites at my knees.
Grabbing the roof’s raised edge, I peek into the night.
“Oh fate.” A moan that ends as a whine slips from my lips. Down the street to the left, twisted metal reaches into the sky like macabre fingers as the remains of the Peacekeeper Station and the attached Courthouse burn.
No one has come to put the fires out.
I swallow and tear my eyes from the devastation, not wanting to imprint that sight into my mind. To the right—my heart races—the Gargoyle Academy is also gone. It’s a black smudge and a crater in the ground. Bile burns my throat, and the rancid taste of it floods my mouth.
The gargoyles. The young gargoyles. The handsome gargoyle. All I can hope is that they had a warning and cleared the buildings. That he’s safe. I shiver and rub my arms. This is a nightmare. This is a bloody nightmare.
Yet if I pinch myself, it will be all too real.
Come on, Kricket. You can freak out later when you get home. Bad things happen, and sometimes all you can do is push forward and put the horrid stuff to the back of your mind until it’s safe to deal with. I came up here with a job to do: check the roads and plot a path home. I need to do that.
I stare back at the Peacekeeper Station and take in the surrounding streets with a critical eye.
It’s not just the Station that was hit. That way is out, although it might be the best way to go if I can get past the piles of debris littering the ground.
The buildings around it are in tatters, so whoever is attacking us will unlikely hit the same area twice.
But they might go after survivors.
Oh heck, my inner voice scares me sometimes.
I rub my arms and adjust the tea towel on my face. When I’ve stopped faffing, a flash of anger, born from long, festering frustration, hits me right in the chest. This town should be safe. It’s supposed to be bloody safe. The creatures that forced us to move here are supposed to keep us safe.
They can’t do that if they’re all dead.
Whoever is doing this attacked the gargoyles—superstrong creatures with impenetrable skin. If they can hit the strongest of us so fast, the rest of the town—we are all practically human—have no chance.
If they come after us now, we are as good as dead.
Trapped within the wards of this bloody town, lumped together, it will be like shooting dragon bloods in a barrel.
I tip my head back briefly for just a second to stare into the night sky. I don’t know what to do. I sigh. Keeping as low as I can, I creep to the other side of the roof and the car park view. If I go this way, it will be a longer way home.
In the air, I trace the hazy streets with my index finger. I can loop around Midland Road and go up Gate Lane. Yeah, that might work.
My eyes scan the thick, swirling smoke below, and I make out odd shapes. Disbelief hits me hard as my fried brain tries to make sense of what I’m seeing.
My thoughts freeze.
There are dead people in the car park.
If I survive, when I relive this nightmare, I’ll lament why my eyes are drawn to her first, of all people. I shake my head at the overturned trolley with familiar grotty bags. The food she purchased is spread around her, along with blood that pools around her head like a halo.
Sweet Eater is dead.
I blink to clear my eyes, and no, I’m not seeing things.
The trolley’s frame is dented as if she has been hit by a car or went up against a car in her ramming frenzy—which could be more likely.
And she ended up dead. That shouldn’t happen.
Everyone knows mean, nasty people never die.
They live forever just to torture others.
It’s their job to re-create hell on earth.
I hope Mr Three Items Guy got out okay.
Practical. I need to be practical. I robotically turn away, ignoring the bodies, the bodies of people I know, and continue to search for a way home.
That way is clear, but it might also be the next place to be hit. There are no high-value targets, just homes, but I’ve got to presume anything can happen. My vision blurs. I do my best to wipe the torrent of tears from my eyes, but I can’t wipe them fast enough, and they just keep coming.
I gulp. There’s this lump in my throat that I can’t swallow past.
A sob rips out of my mouth, and I drop to the roof like a sack of spuds. The rough surface bites into my bottom and the backs of my thighs. My trainers drag against the black surface as I pull my legs up and hug them tightly.
I can’t do this.
I can’t.
This is all too much.
If you don’t do this, you are going to die.
These are all people I know. Horror and frustration mix to make me feel numb. I rock, drop my head, and cry into my hands. I want my mum. I’m nineteen, an adult, yet for the first time in years, I want my mum and everything inside me wants a cuddle from my dad.
I need to get a grip, but my feelings are too big not to come out. In a minute. I’ll get up in a minute.
Grief and fear are riding me hard, so I don’t notice the ripple of music until it grabs my mind and my body moves of its own volition, jerking me forward.
If I wasn’t sitting down, if I didn’t have on the thick woolly hat and the copious amount of hair covering my ears, I think… I know I’d have walked off the roof.
A spell.
A musical spell has attempted to grab hold of my brain, and my innate power slaps the danger away. It’s the worst kind of magic. It’s a Pied Piper spell—illegal and dangerous.
My sorrow flees with a heavy dose of fear and adrenaline.
The explosions, the dead, it was just the beginning. My heart hammers against my ribs as I plant my arse firmly down and, fighting the urge to cover my ears, keep on rocking. I grab my phone to message my dad. I need to warn them.
Cover everyone’s ears! I quickly type.
With my music-loving brothers, headphones are in abundance in my family home. Nan is as deaf as a post, so all she needs to do is turn her hearing spell off.
Whoever they are, they’re using a Pied Piper spell.
Please let them be okay. Please. Please. My illegal wards are excellent, and if Dad did use one of my charms, even with the strong Pied Piper spell, it shouldn’t reach them in the basement.
While I wait for a reply, even though I know it might already be too late, I copy and send the warning to my friends’ chat group.
When I get a message back from my dad, I sag with relief. We are safe. The spell hasn’t reached us. What about you? Are you safe?
I look away from the screen and stare at the roof’s edge, at how close I came to going splat. Safe? Ah, well, that’s the question.
I’ve got the store’s sensory headphones. I text back, and then I add another big whopping lie. I’m okay.
I’m far from okay.
I feel like I’m going mad.