Chapter Thirty-Seven. Dorothy
THIRTY-SEVEN
Dorothy
My heart is galloping through my chest, making it hard to breathe.
Rook insists I go up the ladder first. The tunnel must have sloped slightly downhill, because the ladder back up has more rungs than the ladder that sent us down here.
The exit hatch gives way easily after Rook cleaned it of its roots and I burst into the cool night, into the darkness.
Rook hands me Toto. Toto is silent, compliant, almost like he knows danger isn’t far behind us.
Rook hurries up the ladder, emerging with his coat slung over his shoulder.
Out, and on solid ground, he softly closes the hatch, then scans the surrounding forest, spotting a fallen log.
He hands me his coat to hold so he can wrangle the log, lifting it by its gnarled end.
He drags it, cutting through the earth, before dropping it on the hatch.
“It won’t stop him,” he tells me, “but it might slow him down.”
“It’s better than nothing,” I say. “But now what?”
He takes his coat back and swings it around, deftly shrugging into it. The collar is popped, shadowing his face.
I can’t tell what he’s thinking, what he’s feeling. We just had sex in a tunnel and now we’re being hunted by the Tinman. There’s no time to digest what we did, why we did it, or what it means after. Even though I desperately want to know.
“We keep moving.” Rook nods in a general direction that will lead us away from the curtain wall of Glimming Hollow. “But quickly.”
I tuck Toto into the crook of my arm and follow after Rook.
With the dark, ominous cloud above us and no city lights to guide us, we stumble through the forest. I seem to catch every exposed root, every fallen branch, every stump. Rook finally hooks his hand around my elbow, guiding me.
“How can you see so well?”
“My eyes have adjusted, I suppose. We’re not far from a fork in the Yellow Brick Road and I think we should—”
A screech echoes in the sky.
Toto braces himself against me, a low rumble sounding in his chest.
Another screech, and a shadow passes overhead.
“Oh shit,” I whisper. “Is that—”
Rook looks up. “Run, Kansas.”
My stomach plummets and we take off running. I stumble once, twice, praying to every god I know that I will find a path void of traps.
A shrill whistle sounds above, then a flapping of massive wings.
Tears burn in my eyes, but I don’t stop. Don’t slow, keep going, Dorothy.
“Follow my path,” Rook shouts several paces ahead of me.
I try to keep to his trail, to the forest floor he’s already tested and cleared, but his silhouette is hard to make out in the darkness with his black jacket obscuring his frame.
I bump against a tree, the bark scraping my arm. I hiss in pain, my pace faltering.
Something large swoops down, disturbing the air and the tree branches above me.
Toto barks.
“Get down, Kansas!” Rook shouts.
I hit the forest floor on my knees, but it’s too late. Razor-sharp claws dig into my shoulders, piercing flesh. Blood immediately wells, running hot and sticky down my chest.
The pain frosts my vision.
I scream, writhing, and drop Toto. He tumbles, gets his feet beneath him, then barks and barks.
Pressure builds, then sinks down my body as the creature tightens its hold, then lifts.
The ground disappears beneath me and I pedal at nothing but air.
Blind, white-hot pain burning through my shoulders, I reach up, and grab hold of something furry.
I hit and slap, the creature screeching in protest, but its hold doesn’t budge.
Instead, it flies, wings beating at the air.
Whomp. Whomp. Whomp.
My hair flies in my face. Dirt and leaves spin around us.
How am I going to get out of this? How do I get down? How do I fight?
I’m not giving in. Not yet.
The air gusts up and the trees sway, leaves rattling.
The creature lurches and its grip loosens.
I take the opening, grabbing hold of one of the creature’s toes and yanking up.
Bone cracks. The creature shrieks and drops me.
I hit the dirt with a thud, pain lancing through my back. More blood seeps from the open wounds, soaking my dress, dripping to the forest floor.
Toto continues barking, but I think he’s barking at me, telling me to get up, to move.
I’m on my feet in an instant, teeth gritted, eyes burning with tears. I run. A tree branch catches my hair, rips. It takes everything in me not to break down into gut-wrenching sobs. Everything hurts. Terror pounds through my veins.
Which way do I go?
Several more shadows pass overhead. They start talking to one another in a chittering, squealing language, then—
One lands.
I come to a stop.
Another. Then another.
I turn and spot a third, then a fourth, surrounding me and Toto.
I can only make out their silhouettes. Six feet of pure muscle, bodies covered in fur and leather, eyes dark against the night. Wings like bats folded closed against their backs.
Where is Rook?
I frantically scan the forest looking for him, but he’s nowhere. I don’t know if that’s a good or bad sign. If he got away … I will be happy for him. I won’t fault him looking out for himself. He’s already stepped into harm’s way twice on my account.
I don’t want him to do it a third time.
The shortest of the flying monkeys steps forward. He regards me with a tilt of his head, eyes glinting. “Cooperate and no harm will befall you.”
He can talk?!
His voice is deep, raspy, part animal, part man.
Arms limp at my sides, my shoulders burning with pain, I nod at the blood soaking my front. “I don’t believe you.”
“No more harm,” another monkey, the one on the left, says with a sniff.
Toto barks again.
The monkeys glance down at him with suspicion.
“Run, Toto!” I yell and he pivots around, disappearing into the dark. He’ll find me later. I know he will.
The monkeys let him go, too preoccupied with their private conversation.
The monkey on the left turns to the shorter one and lets out three quick clicks.
The monkey with the deep, raspy voice says, “We must risk it.”
Another chitter. The group nods in unison, acknowledging whatever was said.
The forest goes eerily silent. Soon the only sounds are of my heavy breathing, and the rapid beating of my heart.
I turn a circle, wishing I had a weapon, wishing I’d had the foresight to grab one of Em’s kitchen knives.
All I have are my bare hands, and that’s not nearly enough. I’m no match for these monsters.
They rush me. I punch blindly and catch one across the jaw. They stumble back.
I fight with everything I have, fists flying, but it only takes a few seconds before I’m subdued, one arm wrenched behind my back, the other held in a monster’s grip.
The wounds in my shoulders open wider and fresh pain burns through my nerves.
I slump to my knees, sobbing.
I can’t fight anymore.
I don’t have anything left to give. I just want it to stop. I close my eyes, surrendering to my fate, my body aching.
I wait. And wait. And wait.
There’s a rustle to my left. A thud, then a hiss of air. My arm is dropped, then my shoulder, and I pitch forward into the moss and leaves.
I lift my head, catching the snap of black fabric in my periphery.
Rook.
I scramble to all fours, gritting down the pain. I use a nearby tree as leverage, hoisting myself back up to my feet.
One of the creatures unfurls its wings, trying to escape, but a large tree branch comes flying out of the darkness, knocking it off course.
Another turns to the north and pushes off the forest floor, opening its wings with a rush of air. But Rook is there, catching it by the foot, yanking it back.
The monster wails, its wings going sideways as it crashes into a tree, then slams to the ground.
The unmistakable sound of bones breaking echoes through the forest.
Only two creatures remain: the shortest one with the deep, raspy voice, and another with wider shoulders and bigger claws.
The shorter one edges backward, wings half open, as several sharp consonants emerge from his throat, aimed at Rook.
Rook takes a step, blood splattered across his face, knuckles darkened with more. He is a vision of dark vengeance, singularly focused on destruction, his shoulders heaving with heavy breaths.
He stoops down and retrieves one of the fallen tree branches. He snaps off a smaller twig, tossing it into the underbrush. He snaps another, stalking toward the remaining two creatures.
The bigger of the two monkeys clicks his tongue, and the shorter clicks back.
“Just let us go,” I say. “We pose no threat to you.”
The shorter of the two looks over his shoulder at me, his sharp brow furrowed. “It’s not you we worry about, trokinna.”
Rook spins the branch in his hand like a bat, testing its weight.
“Then who?” I ask.
Rook swings. The taller monkey catches the branch in his bare hand, his legs bent, feet planted in the dirt.
If it’s a fight of strength, I worry Rook is no match for these creatures, even though his expression betrays no struggle, no weakness, no fear.
The monkey grits his teeth, lips pulled back.
Rook presses forward and the monkey loses his footing in the slippery moss.
The shorter one glances at me, then clicks his tongue again.
Almost like a warning.
I hear the cut of air first.
The soft whistle of steel and wood, end over end.
My stomach drops.
I suck in a breath.
“Rook!” I shout, but my brain is two seconds too late.
An axe hits him square in the back.
“No!”
He drops to his knees.
Blood gurgles from his mouth.
“No. No. Rook!”
I run, catching him as he pitches forward, all dead weight.
We collapse into the earth together, him pinning me, blood spilling from his mouth, his nose, rushing down his sides.
“Rook.” I shake him. “Rook!”
Heavy footsteps cross the forest floor. A boot appears on Rook’s shoulder and then pressure as the boot presses down for leverage. A hand yanks the axe free, taking meat and viscera with it.
“Get her up,” the voice says.
The monkeys yank Rook back and toss his body aside as if it means nothing.
With gleaming metallic fingers, the Tinman takes a handful of my dress and unceremoniously hoists me up.
“You killed him!” I flail, aiming for nothing. But a slap lands across his face.
The forest is still and the hit seems to reverberate across the stillness.
His cheek blooms red, but the force of the blow barely moves him.
His nostrils flare.
I brace for violence. For an echoing hit. For him to scream at me or shake me until my teeth rattle.
He does none of that.
But his stormy gaze stays locked on mine, intensity roiling in his irises.
“Cleo,” he says, “stay with the body until we can send someone back to retrieve it. Faos and Tark, take me and the girl to the West.”
“You’re leaving me alone with a corpse?” the girl asks.
The Tinman ignores her.
One of the monkeys, Faos I think, comes around the Tinman. His voice, when he speaks, is rough and deep. “Should we tie her up?”
Still, the Tinman watches me. “No,” he answers. “I don’t think that will be necessary.”
Is he showing me a small act of mercy in this otherwise violent encounter? I’m doubtful. Perhaps he thinks I’m not a threat. Or maybe he knows he’s proven his brutality, and his willingness to use it.
“Tell me, girl,” he says, “is the rope necessary?”
Every word that comes out of his mouth feels like an utterance of disgust. Like just being in my vicinity is enough to roll his stomach.
But there’s no way I’m letting him tie me up. If I don’t have use of my limbs, there’s exactly zero chance of escape. The fact he’s giving me the option is a miracle.
“No,” I bite out.
“Good,” he answers.
Faos takes to the air. The Tinman shoves me back.
The monkey wraps his thick talons around my shoulders and immediately I’m jostled beneath the force of his grip and the beat of his wings.
Dirt and leaves pelt my face. There’s no way to move my arms, not with claws digging into my flesh, so I squeeze my eyes shut as we lift from the ground.
Probably just as well.
If I have to look at the Tinman one more time, I might fucking scream.