Monsters (Ashes Trilogy 3)

Or drop the Glock and go for the Bravo.

He flung the Glock aside. Didn’t follow its arc. Either he’d find it later, or he’d be dead. Fisting her parka, he yanked her as close as a lover, then put some muscle behind it and drove his knife into her as fast as he could, as far as it would go.

She screeched again. Her own knives flashed, and he ducked, turtling his head and neck. One knife missed. The second didn’t. First, the parka and then the flesh of his left forearm parted in a fiery red shriek. Roaring with pain, he pushed up, still holding her close, his KA-BAR so deep she could’ve been a chunk of beef skewered for a kabob. He could smell their blood mingling now, the rank iron stink of it. His stomach was slick; his chest and left arm were dripping. Before she could slash up, he gave her a mighty shove. She flew a good ten feet to collapse in a loose-limbed bundle. Her own knives fell from her hands to glimmer darkly against snow that was beginning to pink and then grow bright red as a bloody puddle overflowed the cup of her belly and spilled down her sides.

For anyone or anything else, that would’ve been the end. The bad guy pulling a knife out of his stomach to use against you? Only happened in movies. In real life, that little trick never went well, and not just because it hurt like a bitch. Extracting a knife or any stabbing weapon was, in fact, an excellent way to hasten death. A knife might slice into an artery, but it might also be a cork. Pull it out, and stand back as the blood flowed. When the knife was serrated, like his KA-BAR, it was worse. Those barbs hooked. That was the point. So in addition to bleeding like stink, which was its own special kind of agony when it came to abdominal wounds, you might also pull out a sausage string of guts at the same time. His squad medic once told him to imagine someone peeling your face from your skull, and then multiply that by about a billion. Clawing out your eyes would hurt less than ripping out your own intestines. Pain like that, you wished it could kill you.

But this . . . thing? It didn’t seem to feel pain, not for long. Look how fast it had recovered from that kick. Now, dumbstruck, he watched as she wrapped her hands around the KA-BAR’s grip. Even that tiny jostle of the blade hurt; he could see it in the flare of her blood-soaked nostrils, the tight grimace, the strain in her neck, the arch of her back.

My God. What was this thing? This couldn’t be a feral Chucky, unless there was a difference between new Chuckies, ones turning now versus those who had turned right away. Ferals weren’t organized; they were crazy, they couldn’t plan. Not even Jim, his friend, had been anything other than a rabid animal. So this girl was something new and different: nearly immune to pain, crazy-fearless. Smart. A killing machine. And I’ve seen this before, too—but where?

She pulled—

And then, to Tom’s horror . . . the KA-BAR moved.

33

Ellie couldn’t move. Her insides jellied, and her knees began to quiver. When she swallowed, she could hear the sharp click in her throat. My rifle, where is it? She didn’t dare take her eyes from the girl to look, but she didn’t think she’d remembered to take the Savage when she went for Bella. That means it’s behind me, still in the death house.

The girl only watched, which was good because that gave Ellie a little breathing room. Unless there are others and they’re circling around. Mina’s growl had swelled to an open-mouth snarl, and Ellie risked slipping her eyes down for a quick peek. Mina’s attention was fixed on the girl. So either there was only this one people-eater, or many others far enough back that Mina couldn’t smell or see them. She also saw Bella’s nostrils flare and that quick flick of the mare’s head as the horse got wind of the people-eater. No, no, no, please don’t bolt, you stupid horse; just wait, wait.

The girl was sure waiting for something. Ellie felt the truth of that without understanding why. Her gaze ran over the grimy snarl of the girl’s hair, which was frozen solid where it dangled below a watch cap that was once cream-colored but now a filthy gray. Ellie couldn’t tell what color that grubby parka might have been, but the snake of a scarf dragged from the people-eater’s neck in a limp, limegreen coil.

That scarf . . . Ellie thought back to the moment on the lake when all the crows had left. That snow, the cedar swaying, and a flash of lime green that I thought was just pine . . . The girl had been there? Watching all along and following, and keeping downwind so Mina couldn’t smell her? Smart. But why show up now? Why not wait a little longer?

Maybe because she knows she won’t get another chance. The girl’s narrow face was all angles and shadows, the cheeks hollowed into valleys, the eyes far back in their sockets. She’s starving, so hungry she just couldn’t wait one more second.

But the girl wasn’t acting right. People-eaters came at you with guns and knives, bare teeth, hands. Claws. They did it all: set up ambushes, stormed out of the woods. Maybe they’d show themselves after they surrounded you—that had happened to Eli and his sister—but this girl was alone and only watching.

On the snow, by her feet, Chris moaned.

I have to get out of here. What am I standing around for? She was panting, part of her brain going in a swirly-whirly scream: Run run run to the death house, shut the door so she can’t get in! She could do that, grab Mina—what about Bella, what about Bella, will she be all right?—get inside, get to her gun, and then wait wait wait, like a bunny in its hole, for Eli and Jayden to find her. But Chris, what about Chris? She’ll kill him, she’ll eat him and . . .

You can’t let that happen. It was the little closet-voice. Think, Ellie, think think think. She’s watching, she’s not moving.

“Because she’s waiting for the others.” Her voice was squeezywheezy small, riding the up-coaster to hysteria. Once she hit the top, there’d be no stopping the zoom into crazy-scared. Across the clearing, the girl’s head perked, cocking a little at the sound of her voice the way Mina did when she was puzzled. “She knows she can’t get past Mina alone.”

Stop breathing so fast. Listen to what you said. If that’s true, you still have time.

“And what if it’s not?”

Mina will protect you. The closet-voice was very patient, like Grandpa Jack when he said, yes, life wasn’t fair, but no, being hateful wouldn’t help. She’s got teeth, you know.

“Is that a joke?” she squeaked, then thought, Oh, is that dumb or what? But the closet-voice did have a point. Should she get the gun?

Don’t leave Chris. She wasn’t sure who that was, the closet-voice or her, but knew that was right. Just had to keep her head, stay calm like Alex and Tom. It took every scrap of self-control to turn her back, but she couldn’t both roll Chris onto his tummy and then pull him onto the saddle and watch the girl. “Don’t let her get me, Mina,” she said in that squeaky-scared voice. Bending, Ellie planted her hands against Chris’s side and pushed, a pitiful little shove as her strength tried to flee with her voice. Chris was big, and she was such a runt. Come on, don’t be such a girl. But she had to try twice more before Chris flopped onto his tummy. The burlap bags slid, revealing white thigh and part of his bottom.