Everfound (Skinjacker 3)

“I see your point,” said Jix, and then he leaped from the engine, leaving Allie to struggle with her bonds on her own. Around her the shouts of the invaders and the cries of Mary’s kids filled the night. Allie could see them now when she turned her head. It was horrible. Kids wrapped in flypaper and dragged off by the marauders; kids tangled in nets sinking into the ground. And then she saw the caboose. It lay on its side, and around it a mob of Mary’s kids struggled to keep it above ground, but their efforts were failing. If nothing else, Allie would have the satisfaction of knowing that Mary was going down too.

In a few moments Allie could see the dry brush around her, which meant that the train had sunk all the way down and was only a foot or so above the earth.

Just then, in the living world, something came bursting out of the chaparral. A coyote ran toward Allie and stopped only a few inches from her . . . as if on cue. Allie couldn’t believe her luck, but it wasn’t luck at all. Jix peeled out of the coyote. He had furjacked it and brought it right to her!

“Hurry! Before it runs away,” Jix said. The coyote, perhaps confused at having been possessed by a human spirit, howled and took off—but Allie bent her hand up from her bonds, reaching toward it, and her fingertips touched the creature’s leg as it passed.

There came a familiar rush and sudden dizziness. She felt the unmistakable heaviness of flesh, and—

—run run run, food food food, scratch scratch scratch—

Suddenly she was no longer tied to the train—she was no longer in Everlost at all! Her spirit had been drawn into the body of the coyote!

It felt—run—strange. Perhaps Jix enjoyed being in something nonhuman, but Allie knew she could never—food food—be a furjacker. The smells, the strange taste in her elongated mouth, and the feel of fleas on mangy fur—scratch scratch—were all just nasty—not to mention the maddening lack of opposable thumbs.

The living world around her was—howl—peaceful and still. Only the simple sound of chirping crickets—howl at the moon! Do it do it!—filled the chilly night air. How strange—sniff sniff—that so much madness could be going on in this exact spot in Everlost, but to a living creature it was all invisible.

There was something—run run—very wrong, however. She could tell within an instant of furjacking the coyote. It wasn’t just that she didn’t like it—somehow her spirit was at odds with the animal. As if she were—pant, pant—somehow allergic. Could that be possible?

She wanted to—run!—stay, to make sure that Mary had sunk, but the coyote’s instincts grated so coarsely against her own—sniff-scratch-sniff—she couldn’t think clearly. The smells were so—sniff sniff—powerful it confused her thoughts. Why was she here? Who was she? She found herself darting back and forth, turning in circles, disgusted by her own dog breath. Her ability to—run-howl-run—think clearly had been—food-food—smashed by the scents and sounds assaulting the—sniff-listen-sniff—coyote’s senses, then a rabbit—chase!—scurried through—chase!—the underbrush—go!—and she found herself—food!—racing after it—catch!—in pursuit—chase!—unable to control herself—food!—and she knew—catch!—that she—food!—was in serious—eat!—serious—eat!—trouble. . . .

Back in Everlost, the Neon Nightmares, as they called themselves, were beginning to realize that this train, which had seemed like such a ripe target, was not going to yield a single coin. Their last hope was the prison car. One of the invaders tugged open the door to find a bizarre twist of faces, legs, and arms all pushed together like sardines. The invader just stared, not sure what to do. “Give me your coins,” he yelled.

“We don’t got any,” said one of the faces in the mass of packed kids. “Could you close the door, please?”

Now the invader was truly confused.

“But . . . but . . . you’re sinking! Don’t you want us to drag you out so you can beg for mercy?”

“Not really,” said another face.

“We’re quite comfortable, actually,” said another. “Please close the door.”

He had never seen Afterlights reach that state of perfect, imperturbable patience before. It annoyed him, so he did to them the only thing he could do to annoy them back. He refused to close the door.

Jix knew that what he did now was crucial; he needed to be quick and decisive. He could escape, and take news of all this to His Excellency, but that would be surrendering the prize. The Eastern Witch could not be allowed to sink to the center of the earth.

Most of the Neons were busy going after kids climbing out of train cars, and the ones that tried to go after Jix took one look at his strange coloring—even stranger than their bright war paint—and they backed off. He hurried toward the mansion, where the parlor car still sat on its roof, and called out to Jill.

“I need the combination!” he shouted.

Jill looked down at him, surprised, maybe even pleased to see him still aboveground. “Forget Mary!” she said. “She’s done for—climb up here with us!”

“The combination!” he insisted. “Hurry.”

Jill sighed. “Thirty-two–nineteen–twenty-eight—but you’re wasting your time!”

He ran off toward the caboose, repeating the numbers in his head.

The caboose lay on its side, already halfway into the earth but the door at the very back of the caboose—the one with the combination lock—was still aboveground. The kids that had been trying to keep the caboose from sinking had either been pulled away by the Neons, or had scattered to save themselves. Using his own afterglow to light the numbers, he spun the lock left, then right, then left again. He tugged. Nothing happened. For a moment he thought that Jill had lied to him, but then on the second tug, the lock came loose. He pried open the sideways door and threw himself inside.

To his surprise, there were already Afterlights in there—about a half dozen of them. They must have climbed in through the skylight, but the skylight was now underground.

“Have you come to join us?” one of them asked.

Mary was still asleep in her unbroken glass coffin—she must have been tossed about by the crash, but these kids had put her back in, smoothing out her hair, keeping her the very image of peace.

“We don’t have very long,” Jix said. “We have to get her out.”