31- a murder of crows
“Oh hell. Angie Dovage?” She tries an eye roll, fails. “Of course, it would be you.”
My grip on her loosens. I didn’t know she worked here. I never stopped at this gas station because the gas was more expensive than anywhere else. Still, I can’t imagine the queen of Cadence High behind the counter, selling lottery tickets and potato chips. But this isn’t high school—this is survival. I give her a little shake. “Get up, Kiera.”
She sighs. “I don’t expect you to help me.”
My stomach coils with something cold and ugly. It’s not my job to help her. I’m wounded, too—and weak and hungry and dehydrated—and Kiera Shaw has made my life hell since I arrived in Cadence. No one would blame me for walking away. No one but me. I couldn’t abandon her and live with myself.
Glass shatters in the back room, and one of the men lets out a howl. Loud banging ensues. I cringe at the sound of fists hitting flesh and the screams of a man who is not going to win. My senses fly into high gear. One of them is going to come out of there shortly, maybe looking for another body to beat on.
Kiera drops her head and waves her hand. “Just go,” she rasps out. Her mouth stretches into a bloody smirk, exposing a dislodged eye tooth. “I’ll get what I deserve, right?”
“Shut up.” I hook my arms under her armpits and heave her back up against my chest. “No one deserves this.”
Using my last scraps of adrenaline, I drag her toward the door. I’m not gentle about it. Maybe she does deserve that. I back into the door, grateful beyond words the bell isn’t working.
Breath coming in labored puffs, I haul her to the side of the building and pin her against the wall. I’m not trying to be mean, but carrying a girl with five inches and twenty pounds on me isn’t something I can sustain. “You need to walk.”
Her face is surprised. That one eye is open as wide as she can make it. “I told you, I can’t. It’s broken.”
I wince at the sound of things smashing inside the convenience store. The man is out of the back room and probably looking for Kiera. We’re in a really bad spot here. Reilly’s Gas and Variety hugs a curve in the road, leaving only asphalt to our sides and a wedge of thick forest to the rear. Our only hope lies on the other side of the street. It’s a neighborhood. The houses are small and closer together.
We could hide in one of those small houses until the guy forgets and moves on. At least, we could find a way to defend ourselves. But we have to cross the wide-open space of gas pumps and parking lot before we even reach Route 12. And then we’d have to cross that two-lane road. A lot of ground to cover by two wounded girls.
A bottle of liquor explodes against the inside of the plate-glass window, startling muffled shrieks from Kiera and me.
He’s going to see us if we run. But he’s going to see us if we stay here.
I grab Kiera’s arm and pull it over my shoulder. “We’re going. You have to walk. It’s going to hurt.”
A pained gasp wheezes from her. “But—.”
“I don’t care.” I don’t. My entire body is a throbbing knot of pain. Plus, I’m pretty sure I’ve got a cracked rib from my ride in Lake Serenity’s water slide. I yank her forward as another bottle smashes on the window. “You will hurt more with him.”
Kiera starts walking, and I know it hurts her. Her face is gray, and she whimpers each time she puts weight on that broken ankle. But she does it.
We make it all the way to the pumps before the door smashes open, banging against its frame. I glance back to see a wide-bellied man in a bloodstained T-shirt shout at us. I can’t tell his age. All I see is rage and clenched red fists, trembling at his sides.
He sees us and starts running. Not fast, but faster than us.
I jerk Kiera forward, and we’re able to pick up the pace slightly. Not enough. I don’t see the curb through the water, and we both tumble into the street.
“What are you, suicidal? Leave me and go,” she gasps, holding her face out of the water with trembling arms. This time, there’s nothing snide behind her words. She means it. The chase is over, and she knows it.
The truth is, even without her, I wouldn’t be able to outrun him. “When he reaches us, we fight,” I tell her. “Nail him in the crotch. I’ll go for his eyes.”
“Where you going, girlies?” the man gasps. He’s closer than I thought, closing the gap fast.
Kiera’s mouth opens in surprise, then firms. “Crotch. Got it.”
Suddenly, the sounds of flapping papery wings and feverish caws fill the street. A cloud of crows heads directly for our pursuer. The man flings his meaty arms wildly as the birds descend on him.
This scene is very different from the one at the bus stop when I met Reece, all those weeks ago. Different from the skirmish they just had with the Beekeeper swarm. This is a serious attack. This is mortouri. The harbingers of death are dealing it themselves this time, and although I know little about this magical system, I think this is probably against the rules. Either they know it and hope their dark watchers aren’t seeing this, or they know it and don’t care.
Unlike Rafette, this man is no match for a murder of supernatural crows. There are more of them this time—more than a dozen. The crows easily dodge his clumsy flailing. I flinch as their talons dig into exposed flesh, ripping, shredding. Their skilled beaks aim for eyes, the skin just below the ears. The man drops to his knees with a howl, hands covering the ruined remains of his face. Blood streams through his fingers, down his filthy T-shirt.
Kiera squeezes my arm as one of the crows breaks away from the rest and turns sharp red eyes on us.
Reece? I can’t tell. They all look the same. Its beak is shiny. Drops of red drip from the tip into the murky water. My throat goes dry. If this is Reece, I can’t imagine the boy on the other side of this gore-spattered bird. He hops forward and lets out a low caw.
Kiera moans, dragging her arms over her head.
“They won’t hurt us,” I murmur, but she’s crying so loudly she doesn’t hear.
The crows peck and dig until the man goes still. Until the water around him turns rust-colored.
Some of the crows perch in a gruesome row on the man’s body. Others fly to the gas pumps. They begin to run their beaks through glossy feathers. All except for the one standing on the curb, watching me. It dips its head and blinks at me. I mouth the words, thank you.
Satisfied, it hops back to the others, perched on the dead guy’s back. They shift to make room for it, and it lets out a long, mournful kraaaah before cleaning its feathers.
I turn away, feeling a little light-headed, and I climb to my feet. “Come on,” I croak, pulling Kiera upright. “Let’s break into that house.”
Kiera points and blubbers at the crows, but I tug her away. Together we limp to the closest house, a neat little yellow number with window boxes. They’re all abandoned around here, of course. Inconvenient. It would be so much easier if someone would just open their doors and let us in. Two beaten girls, filthy and drenched in foul water, hobbling across the street. Kiera might be in shock. She’s making weird little mewling sounds.
“Zip it, will you?” I mutter. “You’re creeping me out.”
She rolls that swollen eye my way. “I’m creeping you out? We just saw a man get pecked to death by crows. Crows, Angie, and you’re not even fazed.” She shakes her head. “You are a freak.”
I glance over at the blood-caked wreck of a girl next to me and grin. Yes, I grin, when just a few weeks ago, her words would have had me pushing back tears. When did this girl cease to have power over me? I wish I could pinpoint the precise moment. To feel the before and after and know if it happened because of something I did, or because of something that happened to me. My grin turns into a chuckle. “I actually feel sorry for you right now.”
Despite the bruises, Kiera’s face pulls in a well-worn expression of disdain. “Oh please. You are so full of it.”
I’m not interested in being her friend, but maybe there was a part of me that once did. Maybe that’s why it used to hurt when she was so cruel to me. “Yes, I am,” I say, “and maybe that’s the thing. You’re just…empty. Like, there’s nothing there. It’s like you’re waiting for a train or something. Being mean to kill the boredom.”
Kiera looks away with a faraway frown. The front door is locked, of course, so I leave Kiera on the front stoop and move to try the rest of the doors and windows. Her mouth moves like she wants to say something, but she closes it and turns away.
I shuffle off and try the other doors, but they’re also locked. Luckily, there’s an unlocked living room window. I open it and carefully hoist myself inside, being mindful of my ribs and ankle and, oh, everything. The only furniture is a leather couch, a large TV on the wall, and a game system sprawled on the floor. Games and their plastic boxes float in an inch of water on the floor. I’d bet money that a single guy lives here. Hopefully he won’t mind if we borrow his house for a bit. I lean out the window to Kiera. “Go around to the front door. I’ll unlock it.”
Kiera does as I say and limps through the front door. She collapses on the couch. I rifle through the homeowner’s kitchen for something to eat and drink. I know I’m desperate when the not-so-clear water on the floor is starting to look good. In the fridge, I find a six-pack of water bottles shoved behind a case of beer. The cabinet is stuffed with junk food. I return to the living room, hand Kiera a water and a tube of Pringles.
She accepts them, but instead of opening them, she presses her loose eye tooth upward with her thumb and shudders in fresh pain. “Why are you still helping me?” she asks around her thumb.
I stare at her for a minute. “Because it’s the decent thing to do. You should try it sometime.”
She scoops up a Madden NFL box and shakes the water from it. “Do you think I owe you something now?”
I look out the bare window. I’m restless but unsure where to go. “No,” I say. “Just try to… Oh forget it.” I shrug and rip open a bag of Doritos. “We’re graduating in a few months then we’ll never see each other again. Hopefully.”
I’m surprised to see hurt flicker over her bruised features. “You’re right, you know,” she says in a small voice.
“About what?”
“I am…empty. Waiting, or whatever.” She waves a hand. “You said it better. You say everything better.”
I struggle not to roll my eyes. In the scheme of things I’d like to do right now, playing therapist to Kiera Shaw is ranked way, way low on the list. I scarf down several handfuls of Doritos and shove the rest in a plastic grocery bag I found in the kitchen. “You’ll figure it out,” I say. “Or not.”
“You know exactly what you want to be, always have.” Her eye goes steely on mine. “You came from shit, you know, just like me. You think I work at Reilly’s for fun? Watching you fancy people up there in the ‘Estates’ gas up your Beemers…” She trails off with a hiss. “Anyway, you’re doing what you love. What took you so long to reveal yourself, anyway? Never mind, don’t answer that. I don’t really care.” She releases her tooth and delicately touches her fingertips to her swollen eye, pretending not to notice my flinch.
“And you’re good. That makes it worse. Now I’m going to be the girl who was mean to the super-talented musician who’s going to go and be famous.” There’s a compliment buried in there, and clearly it cost her.
“Who cares?” I ask. “It’s high school. Four years that are almost over, thank God.”
“Yeah well, I get full-time shifts at Reilly’s after graduation. What will you be doing?” She holds out a hand when I start to say something. “No. Stop. You are so lucky, you don’t even know.”
“I’m not lucky. I lived with a mother who—” I shake my head. “I am not lucky.” I say it again because she’s made me realize that she is right. All I have to do is think of my dad to realize just how fortunate I am. I admit, I know nothing about Kiera’s life. If she’s dealt with anything near to what I did with my mom, I truly feel awful for her. It doesn’t make her bad treatment of me okay, but there’s comfort in knowing the origin of her bitterness. I got out of my bad situation and was dropped in the arms of a wealthy, adoring father. She didn’t.
A tap at the window snaps our heads to the sound. A black crow flutters against the glass. He gains footing on the sill and tosses his beak in impatience.
Kiera squeals and shrinks into the couch. “Oh no, not again! Get it away.”
Reece. It’s got to be him this time. Both wings are jet black—no white feather marking it as Hank. I bite my lip to keep from grinning and stuff two water bottles in my bag. “Okay, I’m going,” I say to Kiera. “You’ll be safe here.”
Kiera sits upright. “You’re leaving?”
I nod. “I’m sure the National Guard or someone is checking the area for survivors. Sit tight until they find you. If I see any rescue personnel, I’ll tell them where to find you.” I pause, as she’s staring at me like I’ve just sprouted wings. “There’s food, three bottles of water, and well, there’s beer in the fridge if you want it. You probably do.”
“You’re leaving with that bird out there? We just watched them peck a guy’s face off.”
“I know, right? Well, I am a freak, after all.” I sling the bag over my shoulder with a smile. On my way out, I glance back at her. “By the way, Kiera, some luck is the type we make ourselves. So don’t write yourself off yet, okay?”
And that’s all the goodwill I have for her. I open the door and head outside, leaving Kiera glowering after me.
Outside, I tilt back my head and smile. An ink-black wing brushes my cheek in a feathery caress. Talons gently pluck at my hair, and I laugh in delight. The crow lands on it, then hops down to my shoulder.
“Hi there,” I say.
The crow nuzzles my cheek with his beak. He’s clean and smooth. Gone is any gory evidence that he helped kill the man who tried to attack Kiera and me.
Reece leaves my shoulder and flies ahead, landing farther up the street. He lets out a low caw and hops impatiently. He wants me to follow him, but the road is an uphill one. It also leads someplace wonderful—home.
“Okay,” I say with sudden enthusiasm. I’d forgotten that we have a generator. Water. Lights. Clean clothes. Such luxuries. “Let’s go home.”