Thunder: The Shadows Are Stirring (Thunder Stories Book 1) (17 page)

Warily, I roll over and take in the scenario; from the corner of my eye, I watch Ethan scramble back. The bull begins to do the two-step with all four feet, and I scamper out of the way as it gives up the struggle and crashes heavily to the ground. Ethan gingerly approaches the now snoring beast and tugs the bag from its nose.

“What—?” I splutter, eyeing the bull in bewilderment and swiveling my attention back to Ethan.

Ethan shrugs his shoulders, appearing surprised himself. “My fingers were in the bag and all I could think of was I needed something to knock him out. Guess it worked. Glad you had something in there. That was close.”

We wordlessly look from each other to the bull, and then over at the path that was nicely ploughed through the field. We have our way out of the flippin’ needles, assuming the bull came from the other side. Reattaching the straps, I throw my bag over my back and we sprint down the trail.

I can’t tell if I’m injured; my fear of the animal waking up drives me through any pain. And we make pretty good time. Until I notice Ethan’s bleeding like crazy from some kind of wound across his abdomen and my own thigh is blossoming red. The bull’s freakish horns must have gotten us after all. Ethan staggers, turning a pasty shade of green. I have just enough time to take it in and catch him as he stumbles forward, pulling us both to the ground.

Oh, this is not good. I keep my ears open for the bull as I lift Ethan’s shirt. Aw, gads. His stomach has been scored deeply and he’s going to need stitches. Immediately. “Jamie!” my brain screams, but I’m on my own.

Fudge.

I rip my pack off my back and jab my hand down, pulling out antiseptic cream, something for numbing, and a tiny suture kit. Not like I lack for a needle here, anyway. Ethan’s eyelids flutter and he’s having a hard time focusing. I reach back in for some heavy gauze; I need to find something to stem the blood flow.

“Aw, frap! No way,” I mutter, twisting at my necklace with my free hand. Don’t tell me we don’t have any. The bull couldn’t have eaten that, too, could he? Maybe Ethan had thought of them along with the sleep meds, and …. Argh! I thrust my arm in again and think of anything sterile and absorbent, and my hands land on a small crinkly package. Oh, man. My face flaming with embarrassment, I work to Ethan’s side, hoping he’s too far out of it to see what I’m shoving up against his side. No such luck. He blearily turns his eye to me.

“There’s something very wrong about this.”

“Shut up,” I say, and then add primly, “They’re absorbent.”

Chapter Fourteen: A Hidden Truth

(SAMUEL)

W
HO KNEW WALKING
could end up feeling like some new sport designed for the X-Games? I mean, I’m athletic and pretty used to doing the whole wilderness-living thing and I find all the backpacking adventure stuff fun. But when you’re constantly watching your back for some kind of attack? That’s when “camping” reaches a whole new definition.

There hasn’t been any big stuff since the wolves, but we’ve had our share of scrapping around with wildlife. The messiest was when we all got hosed down by these huge skunks, making it pretty much impossible to pass through anywhere unnoticed. And those things were brutal, all nails and teeth and spray. We ended up almost more foul than the black sludgy vapors they’d left behind. Trust me, if I could’ve skinned myself, I would have.

I feel like someone’s watching our progress, waiting to see how best to mess with us. The air crackles from expectancy. We’re all jumpy. Jamie’s been having a hard time sleeping because his dreams are full of Olivia and Ethan. We were told things like dreams, stories, and realities are all interconnected on some level. It’s something we wonder about now, whether Jamie’s dreams are true or not. Mainly because the story I’d told when we first arrived ended up having some freakish connections to reality. Maybe what I’d said came to be a form of reality because I’d spoken it. Or maybe that particular reality was going to happen anyway, and the words had just been there for the speaking.

In any case, on the off chance that we can affect the sway of life with our thoughts and words, we’ve been telling Thunder Stories based on Olivia and Ethan, trying to push a bunch of strength-and-valor vibes their way. Wherever they are. I wish I’d listened more for the hidden truths in Mom’s Thunder stories. They probably could have helped us—but at least we have Maddix, who’s been explaining his world more thoroughly to us.

Maddix bats at a tree branch with his hand and clears his throat. “Guys, I have to tell you something before we get any further.”

“About what?” Jamie asks.

“I don’t know much about the land or people beyond the Greens.”

“The Greens?” I interrupt.

“The name of the place we’re headed now.” He explains that the “Greens” is the name for this whole region of hills, including several small towns and settlements. Mostly ranchers and shepherds live there. It divides the Forests from the Marshlands, which are further to the west.

“I know about the area from my dad.” Maddix takes another swing at a branch. “Everything else Oden was talking about, though? I haven’t even heard of these People of the Lake or the Wind.”

I shake my head and grin at him. “That’s fine. We’ve already learned a ton about the Shadows from you. We’ll figure out the rest when we need to.”

“But I lied—”

“Nah; don’t worry about it. It’s not a big deal.” I figure he claimed to know more than he did as an excuse to tag along. He probably needed to get away from the forest and have some breathing room.

Relieved, Maddix adds, “I’ve got loads of stories about a group called the People of the Flame, though.” He smiles wickedly. “Mom used to tell them all the time. They’re just legends, but parents threaten their kids with them if they’re misbehaving. To keep us in line, you know? The Flame People live inside volcanoes and like experimenting. They also like hurting and destroying stuff. Kind of like Sliders, but they do good things, too, with forges and metal ….” His eyes grow distant and he falls quiet.

Jamie asks, “What have you heard about the People of the Hills?”

Maddix jumps at the chance to have something to offer. “Oh, yeah! My dad used to travel around a lot. He was like this important Healer, and people would ask him to come. Especially after Mom died, he and I would travel together, and he’d teach me his techniques.”

I can tell the kid doesn’t mind talking about his mom, so I figure she must have died a while ago; but it makes me sad to think he’s going through the same stuff we had to. Maybe that’s what made him stand out when I first saw him. Somehow I could read it in his face.

Maddix claims it’s usually peaceful in the Shadows, but, like anywhere else, they’ve had their struggles; Oden had mentioned something about that, too. About two years ago, Maddix’s dad had begun to talk about a change in the air. That’s when they’d joined up with Oden’s group. As Slider activity became more obvious, it didn’t take the Dwellers long to figure out there was a rift. As a Healer, his dad had wanted to do what he could to help his fellow Dwellers.

 “We came by here a couple of times. Dad always called the People tough old goats since they’re all stubborn and stuff. We never stopped at the Hills; I guess the shepherds like their privacy. Not that it mattered, ’cause Dad wouldn’t let me get too close to their fields anyway. Rumors of bad stuff have been flying all around this area for a while now; we’d take the long way around to get to the next town.”

I sigh to myself. I’m not sure what Oden thinks I’ll be able to do to sway these sheep guys into actively fighting for our cause, but I guess I’ll figure it out when we get there.

~~~

T
HE MID-MORNING SUN
is warming the air by the time we get to a broad river spanned by a long, rickety foot bridge. It’s the kind made with wide wooden planks, about a foot each, set far enough apart so you can see the water rushing underneath your feet with every step you take. Livs would have had a hard time just standing on it, in our pre-crazy days. We pause on our side of the bank, which is bordered by drooping willow trees.

“This isn’t where we’d cross,” Maddix says honestly. “We used the newer bridge further down about a mile or two, but it was ruined or taken down or something and no one’s ever rebuilt. This is the original crossing. We should be able to find our way easily, though, ’cause this is the path that’s supposed to lead right to their settlement. The sheep will be all around on the hills and the shepherds’ huts shouldn’t be too much further. They have their own community, but it links up with the next nearest town where the wool or meat can be sold at a market.”

I study the land across the waterway and see that the grass actually is greener on the other side. The hills start at a gradual climb across the bank, and then become tall and rolling. In the distance, I can see roaming black and white speckles, which dot the rich green undulations. Sheep. There are also several scattered trees and big patches of gray, rocky outcroppings. It all seems pretty mellow and idyllic. “What’s the deal with these shepherd guys? Is there some kind of trick I should know about meeting with them? It can’t be horrible, right? I mean, we’re here to talk.”

“I’m sorry; I don’t know. Dad didn’t tell me much about it.”

“So,” says Jamie, wrinkling his nose at me, “should we just walk through the fields until we come across somebody?”

“I don’t see a better way; it could make them mad, if they’re territorial and like their privacy. But it shouldn’t be a big deal,” I answer.

Maddix shrugs his shoulders and states, “Makes sense to me. Maybe we should put away some of our gear though?” He points out Jamie’s bow and our own obvious knives. My slingshot, as always, is tucked at my side ready for easy grabbing. “Maybe it would help if we didn’t seem too threatening.”

I give the two scrawny boys next to me a once-over. Even though each can hold his own in a fight, neither could appear very threatening. Not even if they each were covered from head to toe in blades. “No. I don’t think they’ll assume we’re trying to poach their sheep or anything. And if they haven’t fixed the other bridge, they can’t exactly get mad at us for walking across their land. Anyway, if some kind of Slider group catches up to us, I don’t want us to be easy targets.”

When I step onto the crossing, I realize it’s even worse-off than I’d thought. The boards shift below my feet and, in some cases, the bolts have rusted through completely. Up ahead, several planks are missing altogether. This isn’t going to be quite as easy as I’d hoped.

“Let me go first; you guys come behind me.”

It’s not a long drop to the river below us, but the water’s choppy. The current looks strong and there’s no sense in us taking the plunge if we can avoid it. I step along the sides of the grayed wood, figuring the middle of the planks are most likely the weakest points. There is no railing, just a frayed rope, which dips along either side, sometimes attached to random wooden posts. My footsteps thump hollowly as I try to walk with my body weight evenly distributed. We get about halfway across before one of us falls through.

Just behind me, I hear a dull crack, accompanied by a short burst of swearing. I spin around and see Jamie going down. I lunge forward as he stops himself, both hands and one heel caught over the lip of a board. I grab his hands to haul him up, but my eyes are pulled to the scene below me. Through the gap, I can see the broken pieces falling down to the water; there’s a sudden flurry of bubbles, followed by bright fins and snapping teeth. The wood is sawdust in two seconds flat. I don’t think it even had time to get wet. We do
not
want to fall into this water. Jamie hadn’t been able to see anything, but Maddix and I lock eyes in shock. I shake my head mutely.

Jamie’s wedged into the gap, with his bow and backpack bunched around his shoulders. His free leg dangles into the empty expanse of air below him. Struggling to extract himself, he almost snaps the board behind his back. Though his leg is scraped, we don’t even bother to stop and check it out; we’ll wait till we’re on the bank.

Unfortunately, we come across a four-foot-wide break first. I hesitate before making the jump, planning how best to breach it. Figuring there’s nothing else to do but go for it, I run and leap as far as I can. The wood holds with a shaky groan and the three of us make it across without any more mishaps.

We collapse on the grass with relief, and I take stock of Jamie’s leg. His shin is scraped raw, but it’s nothing serious. He pulls down his ripped pant leg and we get on with it, heading up the first hill towards the most black and white speckles. The air is still and the bleating of the sheep carries back to us. The herd must be huge. I suppose there would actually be several herds, if this is a whole community.

Before we make it halfway up the first little incline, a loud “Maa-a-a-a” bellows over the crest and several white shaggy animals with large curled horns and short pointy beards charge down in our direction. They raise goats, too, then. They seem kind of fierce, not the petting zoo variety. And the fellows do not seem pleased with our arrival. We jump away from each other, spreading apart and backpedaling because the things keep their heads lowered threateningly.