Thunder: The Shadows Are Stirring (Thunder Stories Book 1) (25 page)

“Livs? Hey.” I flinch at his touch against my shoulder. “I need you here. Now look at me, would you?” It’s the least I can do after attacking him. Filled with shame, my eyes feel like a hundred pounds as I lift them to meet his “Whew. Wow.” He rakes his hand through his hair, his green eyes muddied with concern. “Olivia, you with me? Do you remember anything that happened?”

“No!” I shout … and then, “Oh, cripes—yes.” I can tell I’m going to be sick; I drag myself over to a gutter and heave until I’m empty. The hoard of rodents trails behind me, as if I’ve got some kind of “ratnip” treat hidden in a pocket. They clamor around, rubbing against the sides of my legs and weaving in-between my arms, like cats wanting more attention. What the heck had I just let happen? I don’t want to know, not really. But I’m stronger than this. My palms press against the cold cobblestones and I brace myself for whatever reality I need to face.

“We need to figure out what happened. No one’s hurt. Can you breathe through this with me? Here, feel my hands. See? It’s me and you’re you. Let’s just focus a minute.”

Slowly, he brings me to a place where I can live with myself. I will not wail or cry or hate myself. We will fix this. I run my eyes over his familiar face, center on his eyes, move down his straight nose, over his smooth skin, to his usually quirked lips, a mouth now straightened with seriousness, his firm chin, back up to his eyes. This is Ethan. Ethan. I lick my lips, which feel very dry.

“It was that Slider creep. It was one of my dreams. But it was so real. He was going after my brothers, and I … and I … jumped him. But it was you. You all along, and I didn’t know. I didn’t even know I was dreaming. I could have—”

“No, you couldn’t have because it was me and I am here for your protection, even if it’s from yourself. I wouldn’t ever let you do something like that; it would kill you. But now we have reason to believe your ‘real’ dreams can’t be trusted.”

“We don’t know that. Maybe he did go after my brothers.”

“No, Livs. Sliders are bound by the form they take. He’ll have the same limitations on him as any human man. Well, as any insanely strong and evil human man. How would he be able to get to them so fast? And he was more than a little cut up. Maybe he had to sink back down into the deeper layers for a while to, I don’t know, get his groove back or something.” There’s the half smile, and I almost let it soothe me. Almost.

“But we don’t know how far away my brothers are. Maybe they’re close and—”

“Olivia? Sit still a minute and feel with that crazy gut of yours. Has anything happened to your brothers?”

I pause my frantic thoughts and open my mind. And sigh with relief. “You’re right. I don’t feel anything off kilter. Stupid Sliders. They’re messing with my brain, aren’t they? The jerks!” I’m calmer and can think clearheadedly again. “But, jeez, Ethan, I’m sorry. We’re gonna have to figure out some new sleeping arrangements because this could completely happen again; we can’t trust me anymore.”

“Yeah, we’ll come up with something. For now though, what about your furry little buddies?”

My eyes scan over the masses, at a loss. “They’re mellow enough now ….” I let the sentence fade off when my brain registers the rumble of wagon wheels against stone. Instantly, I’m hopeful. Wes is coming with the rising sun.

“Morning!” I call out, as if I normally accessorize with two hundred rodents. Wes jumps up in his seat. Watching the rats warily, he doesn’t step down onto the roadway.

“How goes it, Lass?” He regards me stoically and his voice is reserved. “I promised not to spread the feed to see what you planned. The rats are still here. Obviously. But they’re not chewing through the buildings or yourselves. Something must have happened.”

I notice in the growing light that everything softer than solid stone, five feet and lower, has evidence of damage and masonry patchwork. Buildings that have not been repaired have shredded material covering the chewed openings. The rats were literally eating their way through the town.

I take a long breath and share the details of last night. By the end, Wes is utterly dumbfounded.

“They were being controlled by a Slider? How did you break through to them and get them to become, well, like this?” He gestures to the creatures snuffling and rubbing around me.

Ethan answers. “Our best guess is they were unwilling participants in their captivity; it’s not like they wanted to join his cause; they kept some of their integrity, freewill, something. They’ve found what they were searching for—us, right? They’d have stopped attacking the city anyway but, now with their bond cut, everything should go back to normal around here.” His words sound optimistic, but I can tell he’s struggling to ignore the incessant squeaking around his ankles.

The older man’s eyebrows creep up his forehead.

Ethan waits a beat before sighing. “We’ve still got to do something with them, haven’t we?” He forces back a resigned grimace.

Wes’s face twitches with humor, but he shoots a glare of mild distaste at the animals, which, I’ve got to admit, is a huge improvement over his initial expression of loathing. When he meets our eyes, it is with a newfound respect. “My sister had a guess as to who you two are, but you claim one brother at your side ….”

His brows straighten and I can tell he’s fishing for information. Since I don’t want to give away too much, I simply say, “Help is coming to the Shadows, Wes. Is there any way you can help us now?”

Wes’s whole face lights with a smile and, his tone filled with amusement, says, “You realize these are water rats, right? There are three notable bodies of water around here. You could take your pick and, erm, lead them away. Looks like they’re apt to follow you.”

We talk it over. First, there’s the river which is obviously out of contention since the rats would be eaten before even hitting the surface. Then, there are the Marshlands, more to the west; and, finally, there’s a series of lakes, to the north, known jointly as Lakeland. Ethan likes the lakes, of course, since they’re in the direction I’d planned for us; I like the marshes because they seem rattier to me. I mean, if you were a rat, wouldn’t a marsh sound cozier than a lake? I run the thought past Ethan, who rolls his eyes at Wes, who merely shrugs his shoulders.

“You get rid of these things for this town, and the people will do anything for you.”

Hmm. I think quickly. There is one thing we need. “They got any food?”

~~~

O
NCE PEOPLE HEAR THE TRUTH BEHIND THE RATS
—that they were searching for me and were being controlled—they come pouring out of their homes and welcome us. Some of the children even dare to pet the rats and drop nibbles of food. The adults are not nearly so quick to forgive the rodents; they had been terrorized by them after all, whether or not it had been the rats’ fault. They are, however, so pleased with the idea of us leading the critters away, they replenish our food supply with enough to share with the rats on our journey. Ethan and I are even given these amazing wool and sheepskin jackets, made locally in the next town. They say fall hits with the cold weather pretty fast, especially the more north we get.

I have to laugh as we walk, observing Ethan who has passengers running across his shoulders, mirroring my own stowaways. The longer we travel, the less he seems to flinch at their random nibbles and licks. When night arrives, we practice handling my dream/reality issues—basically by trying various ways to ground me before I go to sleep. By the time morning hits, I know we’ve found something that works, and we make it to the marshes after several days without further incident.

My new nightly routine follows a set pattern: I empty my mind, feel for the current, grip my necklace with one hand and Ethan’s hand with the other, and relax into oblivion, hoping for the best. Before leaving Gunther’s, I’d come across an unknown quote: “Faith makes things possible, not easy.” That’s what I’m banking on here. I still have some intense dreams, but I am aware of the ‘sleeping me’ at all times.

From the excited reactions the rats display as we approach our destination, I can tell we are doing more than just finding a suitable place to leave them; we’re actually taking them home. We watch our feet closely as we squelch through the spongy muck. The road has dwindled down to more of a meandering trail—and I mean that in the loosest of terms. The trees have been replaced by tall reeds and thick grasses. Even I can recognize water lilies and cattails, and the large ponds which speckle the landscape as far as my eyes can see are choked with them.

The calls of ducks and geese echo around us, while frogs croak intermittently. I watch in surprise as what I thought was a boulder shifts itself and lumbers a few steps across to firmer ground, before settling back down. A gigantic snapping turtle. Hopefully, he won’t mind if we’re nearby, those jaws of his could snap a femur.

The rats are having a hard time holding themselves in check; they keep hopping around us and running over our shoulders, up and down our legs, dodging out to the grasses and nosing back again. Ethan raises an eyebrow at me.

“Hey, they’re waiting for you to say g’bye or something, Livs.”

Oh. Oops. I feel dumb talking to a couple hundred rats in front of Ethan, but, hey, if I can sing to them, I guess talking isn’t any worse. I mean, if they were, like, dogs, I wouldn’t feel awkward, right? Jumping right in, I embrace the moment. “Alright, fellas. Thanks for your help with Ethan and for resisting the creep as much as you were able. We appreciate it. Um. I guess that’s all. Bye, now.” And I wave for good measure.

Noticing the darkening sky, I realize it’s almost dusk and we will have no dry ground for camping. Bugger it. The rats still aren’t leaving, so I add, “We’ll be staying the night here somewhere. Maybe we’ll see you around.”

The rats bob their heads and chitter at me, like they understand my words, before turning and running away. I wave my hand again. They are kinda cute.

Sensing Ethan’s hard stare, I glance his direction. “What?”

“What did you mean with the ‘thanks for your help with Ethan’ bit? They completely chewed on me! I wouldn’t call that help.”

“Oh!” I can laugh about it now. “Ha! I’m sure I mentioned it when we were explaining everything to Wes. You must not have been listening.” In my best twang, I elaborate, “Those little critters licked you right clean.” I swallow back a smirk that I know would not be appreciated.

“Huh?”

“They’re the ones that helped with your wounds after you passed out. Wouldn’t let me touch you until they were done.”

“Lick? Like with their tongues?”

“Yup.”

“And you didn’t see anything wrong with letting them do this?”

“Nope.”

His face falls comically. “Hmm. Well, then.”

I can’t disguise my snort, even though I try to cough around it. “Really, they did save you. They stopped most of your bleeding and sealed all the bite marks and everything. Even Creep’s gash.”

“Uh-huh.”

“So …?”

Shaking his head and making his hair flop into his eyes, he heaves a deep sigh—obviously resigning himself to his ill-begotten, rat-licked fate. “Let’s figure out how we’re gonna set up camp. Do we have some kind of tarp in there?”

I did pack something waterproof. I shrug off my satchel. Before I get a chance to open it, I hear the schlep-schlep of roughly eight-hundred little feet mucking through the wet ground back to us. Okay, I thought they were cute, once they stopped eating Ethan. It was even kind of fun walking with them and making them happy with all the food treats. But that doesn’t mean I want to keep them around forever. And I don’t think Ethan is overly fond of them at this point.

“Hi, y’all; you’re back! What is it?”

Some rodents come up and push their noses against us, nudging us forward. I throw a questioning glance to Ethan. “What d’ya think? Follow ’em?”

“By all means. It can’t get any worse than being chewed on and spit cleaned. Right?”

I bump him with my hip. “Come on, then.”

They lead us through clumps of tall bristly grasses and around the perimeter of several large ponds. Thank goodness Gunther made sure we’d all waterproofed our foot gear because, without the extra protection, Ethan and I would have all sorts of fungus growing on us by this point of our journey.

Evening has settled around us, and right as I’m thinking it’s time to turn on a flashlight, we come to a quick halt and the rats start jabbering like crazy at this big concave shrub thing. I squint and study the branchy mass a little closer. Holy smokes! It’s a gigantic bird’s nest. Like Big Bird’s family estate. With some acreage.

“Wow, guys! You’re saying we can sleep here?”

Their nods and gentle prods with their noses signify a resounding, “Yes.”

“You sure no one calls this home?” asks Ethan, obviously not wanting to poach a house from a creature this big.

Several rats turn to him and chitter in a high-pitched reproach; Ethan raises both his hands in protest. “Sorry, guys! I was just checking!”

“Ethan, they’re trying to help us. They wouldn’t bring us somewhere dangerous. Here,” I turn to the agitated rats, trying to soothe all their ruffled feelings, “we’ve got a last meal for you guys. Thanks for everything. Maybe we’ll see you around.” I smile and toss them hunks of bread, meat, and fruit. They pocket it in their little cheeks and scamper away, as the last of the sun’s rays blink out.

I push at Ethan’s back and get him to start climbing over the rim. The nest is amazing, made with interwoven rushes and mud. It’s like a huge basket on the inside, which is padded and softened with incredible downy feathers the length of my hand. There are also firmer feathers the length of my arm. In the light of my flashlight, I can see swirled patterns of greens and blues and speckles of brown and black. They’re gorgeous, and I grab a bunch of them and place them in my bag. Jamie will love them. He’s always collecting nature stuff. I am relieved to see there are no remnants of past meals; who knows what a bird this size would eat! We situate ourselves in our borrowed wicker home.

We hadn’t had dinner yet, so we sit down and dig in; the Dwellers seem to be great cooks all around. Tonight, we have a hearty beef and veggie stew with hunks of sweet white bread. When we finish, we rest against the side of the nest to watch the stars appear and do their swirling thing. A cool breeze picks up, tufting at my hair. Sliding down, I pull my jacket close. Here, along the base of the nest, the wind doesn’t hit me. There’s enough room for Ethan and I to lie stretched out next to each other without hitting the woven wall at all. We stay awake talking until we’re mumbling nonsense and finally decide to say goodnight.