Chapter 21
Twenty-One
Bex
Over the next two days, I shadow different folks and learn more about their individual jobs and the many ways they lock up before sunset.
Garrett has mysteriously disappeared from town.
Booker says it’s because he asked him to check on his hound dogs, but I know Garrett needed to put some space between him and me.
Booker and Maureen take turns sitting with me, doing what Garrett was supposed to be doing—teaching me about the laws of this land and the supernaturals that live in it. I try not to make it too obvious that I’m annoyed that the sheriff hightailed it out of town.
“You reek of frustration and desire,” Booker says, shifting from telling me about the werewolf alpha pack council to addressing my lack of interest. Even though I am interested and listening. I can do both, listen and think about what an ass Garrett’s being.
“Desire?” That word’s got my attention. “And who might I be desiring?”
Booker laughs, running a hand through his thick black hair, then dragging his hand over his matching beard.
“You’re too easy to read, my dear. You wear your emotions all over your face.
Plus”—he leans in closer—“we werewolves can smell emotions, if they’re strong enough.
And if we can smell them, then that means the person isn’t thinking straight—their emotions are clouding their judgment.
And that’s the perfect time for a predator to strike. ”
I pick up on his true meaning. “Right. Clear my head and get focused.”
“Always. Bex, you can’t ever let your guard down. Not out here in Graveyard Territory.”
Turning in my seat on the picnic table out behind the inn, I face the open plains. “Is it all like this?”
Booker, who’s sitting on the other side of the picnic table, looks out to the horizon. “Like what?”
“The rest of the territory—is it all flat like this?”
“Most of it, yes. Some areas are rougher, especially along the western and southern regions. The north is colder. Mostly prairie land, with a few rivers. The mountain range to the west belongs to an aberrant race of half-demons known as darkotas.”
“Demons? Like actual demons? The ones they say torture evil souls in the afterlife? Those things are real?”
Booker cocks his head and shrugs one shoulder.
“I don’t know about the afterlife part. But there’s a longtime rumor, one that’s become widely accepted, that the ley lines caused a tear between two worlds somewhere in Graveyard Territory.
That tear supposedly brought the aberrants into the human world.
I don’t know how true it is. People just stopped caring where we came from and decided it was explanation enough. ”
“Humans don’t know the shit that lives out here,” he adds. “And for some strange reason, all the aberrants prefer it that way.”
“Even the demons?” I ask, now turned in my seat and facing Booker.
“Half-demons. I don’t know what the other half is, but a whole demon doesn’t have a solid body.” He points a finger and pokes my arm. “They need a body to have any tangible activity. So, we call the ones who do have bodies half-demons. Or darkotas.”
“So, they could still be a whole demon self, just contained.” I don’t know why I’m trying to make light of the topic. It’s scary to think about fighting one of these things, the original-source kind or the half-breed kind.
A howl erupts, and Booker shifts in his seat to look out past the oak tree toward the barn. “Hunter’s been doing that a lot lately. He must be missing his new friend—your sister.”
“You think that’s why he’s been howling a lot more this afternoon?”
“Maybe.”
I think about Nina, who still has another few days before she returns. Boy, I have a lot to share with her when she gets back. The ley lines, Ruby’s garden cage, Ruby being a supernatural, and of course, my night with Garrett.
Damn that man. I should take Tumbleweed and ride out to Booker’s place and tell him to his face how ridiculous he’s being.
Hunter howls again, and I swear the ground rumbles. I look to Booker and ask, “Is he trying to escape his room?”
Booker stands and sniffs the air. “I don’t think that was him.” He steps out from the picnic table and moves closer to the plains, where the tall grass starts. After a few quiet moments, he abruptly turns to me and shouts, “Get everyone inside! Go now!”
I jump to my feet. “But it’s daylight! They can’t attack during the day! You said so yourself—”
“Bex! Stop talking and go tell everyone to get inside!”
Wearing my new pants, my legs able to move more freely, I run alongside the inn to the main road and shout, “Get inside! Everyone, hurry, get inside!”
No one questions my warning. They all drop whatever it is they’re holding and head for the closest door. Some even run out of their way to get to a different building. This isn’t their first time securing the town on a whim.
I look back at the picnic table. Booker’s gone. Gopher’s barking by the old oak tree. I can’t leave the poor guy out here to face whatever threat is coming. I hurry over to the scruffy dog. “Come on, Gopher. We need to get inside!”
A woman rushes over and scoops up the black dog, even though he’s bigger than a sack of potatoes. “Come on,” she says, struggling to talk from the strain of carrying Davie’s dog. We reach the back door of the inn, but it’s locked. I bang on the door and shout, “Hey! Let us in!”
The woman drops Gopher and stares out at the plains stretching out behind town. “Oh, my,” she whispers, and I turn around to see what she’s gawking at.
A long line of dust wafts in the air, and the ground beneath us trembles. The woman spins on her feet and starts pounding her fists on the door. Gopher stands in a defensive stance, tail straight, and barks at the incoming threat. He then takes off, disappearing into the tall grass.
Stupid dog. I look up at the line of dust getting closer. One time Levi took me to the stockyard, and we watched the men herd a group of cattle from out in the field into a pen. The dust they kicked up filled the air, much like what’s heading our way.
It’s a stampede of some kind.
“We need to get inside!” The woman whose name I’ve forgotten turns and runs. “Come on! They’re all probably in the parlor or underground!”
I run after her, guilty about leaving Gopher behind.
In the center of town, there are still people racing about. What the hell are they all doing? “Get inside!” I shout. “There’s a stampede coming our way!”
Maureen comes out of the inn, hurries over to me. “Are you sure?”
I nod. “Are there wild animals that often go rampant now and then?” Once, my parents told me and Nina about a herd of buffalo off their normal route that trampled over my father’s crops.
Maureen shakes her head. “No, not in these parts. The water source is too far underground for them to reach. Those kinds of animals are mostly south or out west.”
“Well, they’re traveling east today.”
“Shit!” Maureen says, cursing at the number of people still outside, trying to secure the town.
She hurries out into the middle of the street and hollers, “Don’t worry about locking up!
It’s not a raid or an attack! It’s—” Her words are cut off by the ear-piercing shrieks that come from the first creatures that run by both ends of town.
Everyone freezes where they stand, watching the giant bugs stampede through the prairie.
“I think we’re safe!” I shout over the shrieks and ground pounding.
My words come too soon, and the herd veers, now coming straight into town.
And instead of plowing through the buildings, they climb up and over the buildings.
They’re giant insects, about the size of a large goat, with pale yellow legs that bend like a grasshopper’s, with sharp barbs trailing the hind legs.
The lower part of their bodies are protected by a hard plating, with light and dark bands of color.
And their bulbous heads are smooth with two long antennae sticking out the top front.
“Maureen!” I shout, and release the sandropes from my arms. I whip my right arm out, snapping the tip at a creature about to collide into the older woman.
It hisses, then screeches, as if realizing its stumbled upon something to eat.
It looks at me and skitters closer. Maureen stays still while it moves past her, then when there’s a clear path, she hurries to the platform sidewalk.
Another one hops off the side of the building right on top of Maureen.
She falls against the wood planks, rolling over and screaming.
I reel in one of my sandropes and hold out my hand, commanding a dust storm to blind the creature rushing at me.
It works, and I race around the blustering dust cloud to get to Maureen.
A shriek catches my attention, and I look up just as another one skitters over the roof and down the side of the building.
More and more keep coming. We need to get inside.
“Hey, you disgusting critters!” Booker shouts from across the way. He’s standing in the open barn door.
What is he doing? If they get inside the barn and attack the animals—but then an enormous wolf sprints out from inside the barn.
Hunter lunges for the closest bug and rips it in half with one snap of his teeth.
The insects are comparable to his overwhelming size.
He doesn’t hesitate to move to the next one and rip its head right off its body.
A nearby critter sits back on its barbed hind legs and lifts its bulbous head to the sky and shrieks three abrupt calls.
This has the rest of them stopping where they are—whether they were attacking a person or running through town—and then pivoting their direction to the south, leaving town.
Once the dust settles, Booker and I hurry over to Maureen. She’s bleeding pretty badly in her shoulder and side. “Dammit,” she curses. “That nasty bug took a good chunk out of my stomach.” She winces as she presses a hand to the bloodstained spot along her stomach.
Booker helps her to her feet, and with one arm over his shoulders, he helps her into the inn. Ruby, Sheamus, and the woman who tried to save Gopher all run out, right past me and to those who were also attacked.
Damn Garrett for not being here. I know it’s not his fault these bug things attacked or stormed the town, but he should’ve been here to help the townsfolk.
I’m getting a bit tired of all these unexpected surprises, like how evil can strike even when the sun’s still up.
Oh, that man is going to get an earful when I see him again.