The thing screeched and wheeled through the air in front of him. This huge black thing, part bat and part buzzard and part snake but larger than those creatures by far, with a segmented tail that winnowed to the stinger of a scorpion.
Eb ripped the pistol off the handlebars and fired. The second bullet hit its chest; the thing was blown backward in midair, body crumpling as it crashed into the roadside nettles.
Ebenezer tossed the gun away. This was his chance, maybe his only one. He could hear them behind him, a murderous stampede. He opened the throttle. The bike whined in protest; fingers of black smoke trailed up from the transmission.
Come on, Eb thought desperately. Just a few more miles, little pony.
The path dropped steadily downward. He maneuvered the bike over small dirt moguls and shale slides, laying off the throttle and letting the momentum take hold. Casting a glance back, he saw nothing.
The engine was so hot that it baked the flesh of his calf, but the little Metisse didn’t overheat or conk out. If he made it through this, Ebenezer would never speak ill of the French again. The side of his head throbbed where part of his ear had been wrenched off; he touched the wound and recoiled as blistering pain shot through his skull. Christ Almighty. Well, at least he already wore his hair long. Blood leaked down his forehead from the shallow cuts in his scalp, but he didn’t feel faint yet.
He rode until he hit the creek. Its bottom was covered in water-polished stones as one might find in an ornamental aquarium. He gussied the bike down the banks and into the shallows. Water hissed off the engine. He gingerly nosed it forward. The rear tire stuttered over the smooth stones; the bike slid out from under him, but he was able to hold it up and goose the throttle until the tires caught again. The motor almost cut out at the deepest point, water rising up to the base of the gearbox, but Eb powered it through with a few quick punches on the throttle.
He geared up the far bank and let the bike idle. He wanted to switch it off and let it cool down, but he wasn’t sure it would start again. He was not being pursued, that he could see. He swung the bike around and continued down the road.
At some point, the path bled into a clearing. The grass ran waist-high on either side. In the afternoon sunlight, he could see Ellen’s car parked at the cut.
“Holy shit.” He slapped the side of the bike the way a cowboy might the flanks of a trusty steed. “We made it.”
He was fifty yards from Ellen’s Oldsmobile when the bike’s engine rose to a pained squeal. Smoke poured from the transmission compartment as the gears stripped loose. The bike sputtered once and died. Ebenezer pushed the bike to the car. He laid it down reverentially.
“Thank you,” he said to it. “Thank you so much.”
The car keys were still tucked under the bumper where Micah had stashed them. He slid the key into the lock and sat in the driver’s seat. He gripped the steering wheel. He stared at himself in the rearview mirror. His skin was grayish, a pallor it had never held before. The top quarter of his left ear was gone, blood dried down his neck. He was not fit for human eyes. But he was alive, goddamn it. Alive.
He pumped the gas pedal and cranked the key. The engine caught with a magnificent roar, that eight-barrel engine rumbling. He backed into the tall grass, swung the big car around, and drove away from the cut. He unrolled the window and let the cool air play over his face.
“Free at last, free at last,” he hooted, “good God almighty, free at last!”
4
“YOU FIGURE the bastard made it?”
Minerva stood at the fence with Micah. It had been hours since Ebenezer had left.
Micah said, “Think so.”
Minerva was pretty sure he had, too. The devil’s own luck, that prick.
Little Heaven was chilly in the late morning, skies hung with the threat of rain. The compound was quiet. The things in the woods seemed content to remain where they were so long as everyone in Little Heaven stayed put.
“We got to find them, Shug. Or try, at least.”
“The children?”
“Yeah, Shug. The children.”
Micah said, “We have not heard the last of the Reverend.”
“What do you think he’s up to?”
“Something,” said Micah. “He will commune with God, or so he will tell his flock. Then he will make his move.”
Minerva looked at him, sucked at her teeth, then glanced away. “It’s still weird.”
“What is?”
“You. With two eyes.”
“One is glass.”
“Really? The old one didn’t grow back?” She frowned. “Sorry. I’m ill at ease.”
Minerva hooked her fingers through the fence. The sun fought through a bank of clouds and shone down on the woods. They appeared empty; the things could be clustered closer to the road, disregarding the northern flank of Little Heaven. The massive rock formation loomed over the trees. Her fingers tightened.
“I think we’re gonna die here, Shug.”
Micah didn’t reply. She hadn’t expected him to. She closed her eyes. She saw the children clustered together under the kitchen trapdoor, their faces white as gaslight. She opened her eyes again, not wanting to see them anymore. “Any clue where they went?”
Micah angled his chin at the black rock that rose at a blunt angle against the sky.
The two of them walked back to their bunkhouse. The grounds were unoccupied; everyone was inside, out of sight. Ellen and Nate were inside. Nate’s father was not. Minerva grabbed her backpack. She checked the loads on Ellen’s pistol.
“Where are you going?” said Ellen.
“To find the kids,” said Micah, arranging his own pack for travel.
“What about those things?” Ellen said.
“We’re going north, toward the rock formation,” Minerva told her. “They don’t seem to be gathered out that way.”
“But what if they are?”
Minerva gave her a grisly smile. “It’ll be a short trip.”
“Why?” said Nate. “I mean, I saw those kids. I don’t think… they may not come with you. It won’t let them.”
“What do you mean, it won’t let them?” Minerva asked.
“That’s what Eli said when he came up through the door,” the boy told her. “It wants you, he said. It wants all of you.”
A chill fled down Minerva’s spine. “If we don’t know what we’re up against, we stand a much worse chance of surviving.”
“But don’t you think Ebenezer will send for—”
“I have no fucking idea,” said Minerva, cutting Ellen off. “I don’t trust that shithead any farther than I can throw him. Sorry for cursing, kid.”
“I want to go,” Ellen said.
Micah shook his head. “Someone needs to stay. Keep an eye.”
“Why me?” said Ellen, pissed.
Nate clutched her hand. “Please don’t go.”
“Okay,” Ellen said after a pause. “We’ll stay.”
“We won’t be gone long,” Minerva promised.
“Just be careful,” Ellen said, looking at Micah.
THEY SET OFF in the early afternoon. Nobody saw them leave—or if so, they made no effort to stop them. What would be the use now? Micah snipped the fence at the farthest edge of Little Heaven with some bolt cutters he’d found in a supply shed. He and Minerva slid through the gap, entering the woods.