Thunder: The Shadows Are Stirring (Thunder Stories Book 1) (24 page)

“But wouldn’t that be dangerous for other animals and even children, having poisoned feed scattered all over? I mean, that’s what your planning isn’t it? To spread it?”

“Well, yes, miss, but you can’t imagine what the folks here have been going through. And they’ve tried everything else they could think of. The situation keeps getting worse. These past few days, my sister’s said it’s like the rodents are huntin’ for something and chewing through everything to get to it.” He tips his hat forward and rubs at his neck. He certainly does seem to be who he claims, which is more than I can say for Olivia. I’m her brother?

“Sir, we’ll come with you, but promise me not to spread the poison yet. Let us see what happens tonight. If we can’t figure it out, you can do whatever you feel is right. If you can bring us into town and drop us wherever you’re heading, we’ll make our way from there.”

The man, who introduces himself as Wes, peers closer at her face, but he doesn’t ask us anything further.

She nods to me, but I gesture for her to climb up first. “After you, sister dear.” I grin as she elbows my ribs on her way to the cart. She hoists herself up using the wagon wheel as a step and I follow behind her. We break into our pack for a quick dinner of cold chicken, rolls, and oranges and offer some up front to Wes. He accepts with another tip of his hat, and we bounce over the bridge.

The sun has almost set by the time we arrive. Wes drops us off on a main thoroughfare, and thanking him, we extract the promise that he will not dump the poison this evening. We walk off down the street, which is noticeably empty. Most of the buildings appear to be storefront-and-housing combos, with most of the residents living above the shops. Tucked in-between are smaller single dwellings with narrow alleys and larger side roads. Gas lights, just flickering to life, line the cobblestone streets. Within the homes, curtains are pulled tight against the darkening evening, but, every once in a while, we see a twitch of material, like someone is watching. The warm glow through the glass panes offers a normalcy offset by the jagged darkness of the unlit shops. No one besides us walks the streets and not even the sound of a barking dog cuts through the air.

I don’t get it. The place is like a sleepy English village, not a hotbed of Slider activity. Nothing jumps out at me as being way off or particularly awful. Definitely nothing that should alert outposts from miles and miles away. How bad can a rat infestation be? Maybe Wes has a low tolerance for things like this, but it seems to me all those bags of poisoned food are pretty much over-kill. There must be something we’re missing. As the shadows deepen and the streets become inky black between the lampposts, I’m ready to call it a night.

With a whisper, Olivia interrupts my thoughts. “What does it mean if the fact that nothing seems wrong here is freaking me out a little? Something doesn’t line up. I
know
we’re supposed to be here; these people need help, but ….”

“Yeah, how bad can rats be? Now, if they streamed in some Halloween music, maybe I’d be feeling it.”

Walking side by side, we keep our weapons ready as we peer into shadowed alleyways and down every darkened drainage hole. There isn’t anything to see.

The scratching starts so quietly, I hardly notice when it begins.

Scritch, scritch, scritch.

Olivia and I stiffen at the same time. We can see their silhouettes, ten-inch-long bodies visible as the shadows of shadows, flowing like liquid towards us. We’re pretty much going to be surrounded within a couple minutes. But one thing strikes me as odd.

I hear the reverberations of little rodent nails along the cobblestones. “It looks like they’re marching, doesn’t it? They’re not tearing through stuff like that Wes guy said.”

“Oh, gosh.” She wrinkles her nose. “You’re right; it’s like they’re an army. Um, what if they’re not tearing through things because they’ve got what they want? They’ve found
us
. Think about it. A month of this? No one would have known when to expect us … they’ve just been waiting and searching. The marching is not normal; they’ve been trained or something.”

We’ve turned automatically, so we’re back-to-back for better coverage. I feel her body jerk before I hear her choked gasp. Spinning, I see that she’s doubled over in obvious agony, like someone’s punched her in the gut.

“Olivia? Livs! What is it?” I grab for her, pulling her against my chest as the rats stop, all cocking their heads at the same time, like they’ve been either put on pause or they’re all listening to something. Olivia struggles to straighten, her eyes flicking into all the dark voids around us. Grabbing her necklace, she takes a breath, her nostrils flared.

“Ethan, he’s here somewhere; he’s found us. These rats must be his scouts or something. Maybe they’re here to slow us down and distract us from what our real target should be. Whatever you do, do NOT fight them; it’ll make it worse. It’s him we’ve got to face; he’s got to be controlling them somehow.”

I look around wildly. “Who, Olivia?” I whisper fiercely. “You’re not making any sense!” But, even as I say it, my eyes land on a figure stepping out from behind a lantern post. Tall stature, broad shoulders, long dark hair. That creep dude from Cropton. He lifts one finger and the rats race forward. My eyes dart from Olivia’s determined face to the shadowed face of the man. Even in the dark, his eyes have a malicious gleam, and I can almost feel them raking over Olivia’s body, head to foot. My jaw clenches. Oh, hell, no.

Scritchscritchscritch.

The rats are running, but so am I. Olivia stands still, except for the movement of her hands in the bag. I lose sight of her and can feel nips at my feet, my legs, my arms. There’s got to be hundreds of them. Their teeth and claws are sharp, and they’re trying to climb up my body and pull me down.

Do not fight them. Fine.

I lurch forward, cringing whenever my foot lands on something that squeaks in protest. The back of my head gets thwacked from behind with something hard. An apple. More things pelt around me and the rats hesitate in confusion. Food. Olivia must be hurling our food at them. And it sounds like she’s saying something, too, but I can’t make out the words.

I take advantage of the rats’ short-lived hesitation and sprint at the guy. Too busy leering at Olivia and expecting the rats to move faster or something, he seems shocked to see me running at him. I still have rodents dangling from my body, trying to work off chunks of my flesh, but I picture his intent, and I rage through the pain. I’ve never moved so fast. My sword is in my right hand, my dagger in my left, and all I know is this guy is going down.

A low laugh rolls across the lane. “You’re eager to end your life tonight, are you lad? A lovely scene for her to witness. Slowly. Piece by piece. I will make it worth her while. Then it will be her turn. But it won’t end in death for her. Not yet.” He licks his lips and his own blades flash in the light.

Dude, the guy’s beyond a creep. But his words don’t scare me; they make me mad. And applied anger works as fuel for me; I attack in a blur and I see the surprise register across his pitted face. He’s completely underestimated my ability. He parries and twists, but I keep up with him, pressing the advantage of my initial assault. My arms scream in protest at the violent vibrations, which zing through them at each strike. The blades clang and the sound reverberates around us. I jump and flip, slashing him across the ribs; he manages a slice across my cheek.

Back and forth, we cut and slash, jab and block. He hacks through one of my rat danglers, and the air around us changes, becoming sharper somehow. We turn and circle around each other, each waiting for our chance. I get another opening and pierce his thigh, dragging my blade upwards, towards his torso. With a cry of anger-laced pain, he slips backwards on some of his rat army and goes down. There is barely a pause before they converge on him. Teeth and claws determinedly work their way over his body. His form arcs and twists before poofing away, but it is not a black cloud he leaves behind. It is crimson and I have no idea what to think of it before I, too, collapse.

Huh.

I hadn’t even noticed I was injured.

Chapter Twenty: Pied Piper

(OLIVIA)

I
SEE ETHAN HIT THE GROUND
, but I continue humming and throwing food while I make my way to him. I’m basically cleaning out the entire food supply I’d packed before we’d left Gunther’s. At first, I thought the food could work as a diversion because, well, if given the option of food to eat or humans to chew, I figured rats would go for the food. Once the rats hit the lit areas of the street, I could tell from their protruding ribs and pointy hipbones that the poor things had been starved almost beyond endurance. So, then I wanted to feed them because they needed the nutrition. I don’t think these rats are inherently bad. Creepy, yes. Evil, no.

Clicking my tongue and crooning softly, I hope I’m not too late. I’m nervous to get close to Ethan since the rats are, like, all over him. When I notice they’re licking at his wounds and not chewing on him, I cringe in my relief. Still kind of gross, but definitely easier to handle.

“Thank you, thank you, little ones. Let me get to him now; let me see him.” I have to nudge some to the side, and I gasp at the sight. Ethan is totally out, but all the scratches and cuts the rats have been licking at are already sealing. His shirt is soaked through, so I tear it off. There is no time to find somewhere clean to lug him. Certainly, no one had come to our aid when the whole thing went down; I’m not banking on their help now.

The biggest gash is under his knife arm, from his armpit across his chest. Before I can even grab the antiseptic, ten of the larger rodents swarm over him and begin to lick away. I am fascinated. I’ve heard of dogs’ saliva helping to knit their own wounds, but rats? It must be a Shadow thing. I sit back on my heels, supposing they’ll drop back when they’re done, and I let my brain try to muddle through what just happened. I can’t imagine the creep is gone for good. Even though Ethan had done quite a bit of damage to him before the rats took their turn, it couldn’t be that easy. And he hadn’t poofed into black oblivion, which is what I’d learned all Sliders do when they’re destroyed.

I gaze back down at the rats. I feel bad for them, which is not something I’d have ever expected to feel about a bunch of rodents. But they’ve been stronger than any other creature I’ve yet heard about, when it comes to resisting the persuasion of the Sliders. They’d restrained themselves from fully attacking us. I guess the other Dwellers that have turned made their choice willingly; they’d freely decided to accept the darkness. These rats were not willing participants, nor were they hosts for the Slider’s energy. He’d managed somehow to bind them to him, though. With enough of their own willpower left, they recognized we weren’t trying to harm them. I’m pretty sure if Ethan had attacked any of the rodents, they would have taken him down in seconds flat.

 When I saw the rats streaming towards me, all I could think of was the story where some guy plays a musical pipe and gets rats to follow him out of town. I thought maybe something musical in general could help. Which is why I hummed. Maybe it’s a scientific fact the furry things respond to melody or tone or something. I have no idea.

When the creep sliced through one, he cut through whatever it was that had been binding them to him. And they were not happy.

Ethan groans and pulls me back to the present. I slip some pain meds into his mouth and tape a couple bandages to him after applying a thin layer of cream wherever I see a cut, just in case; no stitches needed, thanks to the rat-lick. I hold on to Ethan’s hand as I consider our position. I’m not sure where we should go. The rats aren’t a danger anymore, but no one has flung open their door in welcome. They probably have no idea what to make of this. I kick myself for not getting directions to Wes’s sister’s house. Instead, I drag Ethan to an alcove created by two storefronts, set up a makeshift bed, curl around him, and will myself to relax as about two hundred rats blanket us from the cold. Little snuffles and squeaks lull me to sleep. I don’t wake up until I feel the numbing pain of my wrists being squeezed in a vise grip and hear the panicked squeaking. My brain is still elsewhere when I register Ethan’s calm voice.

“Olivia. Put down your knife. It’s okay. Look at me. Olivia. Look. At. Me.”

I shake my head to clear it and focus my eyes. I am straddling Ethan, the point of my dagger pressing at the base of his throat. His hands are the ones crushing my wrist bones.

I jerk back, and my blade clatters against the cobbled ground. “What the—? Ohmygosh. How—? I am so sorry!” I’m shaking so hard my eyeballs are vibrating. Oh, gads; I don’t even know what to say.

He reaches for my arm, but I scramble further away from his grasp. “I could have killed you! I don’t even remember grabbing my knife. What happened?” It’s early morning now, and still no one but the rats are around. I hold onto my necklace, which seems to burn against my feverish skin, and I fold into myself against the hard ground, burying my face into the crooks of my arms. I can’t bear to see my reflection in Ethan’s eyes. What had I done?