Alight (8 page)

And he’s not the only one who could use a bath. I’m still coated in dead-person dust, still caked with grime.

“Sure, let’s go.”

He reaches halfway toward me, pauses, as if he wanted to take my hand, then didn’t know if that was wrong. I could take his, but I don’t—the awkward moment hangs there, neither of us knowing what to do, then he turns and sprints toward the boulders. One powerful leg launches him to the top, where the other powerful leg sends him sailing out over the water. He arcs through the air, a dirt-covered mixture of grace and muscle. It looks like he will knife into the water just as Coyotl did, but at the last second Bishop tucks into a tight ball. When he hits, he sends up a big wave that splashes Spingate—she goes rigid and squeals with laughter.

I use my spear like a cane, balancing myself as I climb over a tall boulder to stand on the wet rocks lining the pool. I look into the water. It gets deep fast, but the shallows hide jagged rocks. Are my friends all crazy jumping in like that?

Bishop bursts from the surface. Water cascades down his now-clean skin, sparkling in the sunlight. I flash back to the
Xolotl,
to the talk with Brewer, when I was staring at the gnarled creature and thinking,
I don’t know what a god is, exactly, but if gods do exist they don’t look like this thing.

No: if gods exist, they look like Bishop.

I squat down on my heels, cup my hand and fill it with cold water. I rub it on my face; it feels
amazing
. I am so unclean. Should I take off my shirt, be bare-chested like Bishop and Coyotl and Farrar?

The thought of that embarrasses me even more than seeing Spingate in her see-through shirt. I’ll keep my clothes on—I don’t want these boys to see my body.

At least, not
all
the boys.

I try not to stare at Bishop as I stand and look for a safe place to dive in. My foot suddenly slides off the wet rock and plunges into the water. I cry out in surprise—off-balance, I drop my spear and whirl my arms trying to stay up, but my other foot slips as well and I start to fall.

Bishop catches me before I go all the way under.

His arm is under my back, his hand on my hip. His body feels
solid,
so strong. His arms have the power to crush the life out of anyone, yet he holds me so gently.

He’s so close. His skin is so warm.

Bishop opens his mouth to speak, then stops, as if words have escaped him. He lifts me, sets me back on the rock. He’s still standing in the water. For once, I am taller than he is.

Water drips from my ripped skirt. The bottom of my shirt is wet—it clings to my ribs, drips down my exposed belly.

Coyotl and Farrar are laughing, splashing, oblivious to anything other than whatever new game they’ve concocted. Spingate, however, is looking right at me. My eyes meet hers. She smiles slightly, one corner of her mouth ticking up. She turns to Coyotl and Farrar.

“I want to test the water at the top of the waterfall,” she says to them. “I’m not sure I can make it up there on my own, can you two help?”

Farrar’s wide chest puffs out. “Yes! We’ll help you.”

Coyotl makes a strange face, then glances at Bishop, who still holds me in his arms. Coyotl’s lip curls into a small smile just like Spingate’s.

“Sure,” he says to her. “Happy to be of assistance.”

The stone steps leading up are wide and dry. Spingate doesn’t need any help. She’s taking the others away so I can be alone with Bishop.

He’s still staring at me. He doesn’t seem to notice anything
but
me.

Farrar helps Spingate stand on a boulder. He starts up after her, but she pushes him—arms flailing, he splashes back into the pool.

Water dripping from her scraps of clothing, Spingate hops off the boulder and runs for the steps.

“Last one to the top is an ugly Grownup!”

Coyotl and Farrar chase after her, laughing, enjoying the new game. They catch her almost immediately, but don’t run past—they’re more interested in walking by her side than winning. Up and up they go, talking as they climb. I can’t hear them over the waterfall’s roar.

Bishop looks down at my foot. “Does it hurt?”

It doesn’t hurt at all.

“Yes,” I say.

He kneels in the water. His big hands gently grip my ankle. His touch…it makes something surge in my stomach and chest. Just like my rage at Spingate was instant and overwhelming, so too is this new sensation of heat, of thoughts lost in a swimming, dizzy whirl.

He leans in, looking closely.

“I don’t think it’s broken,” he says. “I should check your shin and calf…”

His hands slide softly up my leg. Fingertips press in; is he really seeing if I’m hurt, or is he pretending just as much as I am?

He glances up at me with those beautiful dark-yellow eyes. A warrior who will snarl and fight and kill, yet he has such pretty eyes?

The waterfall’s roar fills my ears.

My heart…each beat feels like it’s punching my chest.

Bishop’s lips, so pink.

He rises slowly, sliding his hands to my hips, then my ribs. I feel weak…boneless.

This is the boy who saved my life.

My mouth opens a little, I lean forward and down. My eyes shut…

His lips on mine. Soft. Warm. My world is the sound of crashing water and the feel of his mouth, the taste of his breath.

His hands on my face, sliding to the back of my head. Fingers in my hair. My hands shoot out, cup his cheeks, pull him closer. I feel the tip of his tongue touch mine.

Something hits the pool,
boom, boom,
an explosion of water.

Bishop pulls away, looks toward the heavy splash we just heard, putting his body between me and the unknown danger.

Farrar breaks the surface, gasping for air—a second later Spingate does the same. I hear a yell from above, look up in time to see Coyotl leap off the waterfall. His legs kick and his arms flail as he plummets down. He plunges down between Farrar and Spingate, who are already swimming toward us.

They
jumped
?

Bishop launches himself into the pool, heads for Spingate. She swims like a fish, already leaving Farrar behind. She doesn’t need help, but Bishop goes to her anyway.

Coyotl pops up, gasping, swims toward me as hard as he can. He’s terrified.

I look up at the waterfall, and I see why.

The late afternoon sun silhouettes something, a shape blurred by the nearly blinding light. Long, jointed legs—a segment pointing up connected to one pointing down—Matilda’s memories rush forward, flash an almost matching image of that rough, horrifying form.

They aren’t that big, they
can’t
be that big, but there it is, larger than Bishop and Farrar and Coyotl combined.

A
spider
.

M
y hand thrusts into the water, my fingers find my spear. I point the metal tip at my new enemy.

Spingate is the first out of the pool. She scrambles over the boulders, out of my line of sight. I can’t see her, but I hear her shouting.

“
Run!
That thing is chasing us!”

My feet won’t move.

Bishop, Farrar and Coyotl rush out of the water. They snatch up their weapons.

I stare up at the spider, a spindly shape blurred by the shimmering sun. Perfectly still one second, the next it’s scurrying along the top of the waterfall, each step kicking up a high splash of water.

We’ll never outrun that.

It stops at the stone steps. Long legs reach down, tap at the first switchback step. Reach, tap, pull back, reach, tap…

The spider turns away and is instantly gone from sight.

It wouldn’t use the steps. Why? Are they too steep for it?

Hands on my waist—Bishop flings me over his shoulder. In an instant he bounds onto the big rocks, then down to the vine-covered street.

“Bishop, let me go!”

He does, fast and firm. He’s terrified. As big as he is, that thing, that
nightmare,
is much bigger.

I see the backs of Farrar, Coyotl and Spingate. They’re running the way we came, headed for the shuttle or maybe the warehouse. But the warehouse is an hour away, the shuttle even farther. If that thing finds another path down from the cliff, we won’t make it—it’s far too fast.

There is only one place we can go.

I raise the spear high and scream with the same voice that rallied us in the Garden when we fought the Grownups.

“To me!
To me!
”

They all stop. Spingate and Farrar come running back, instantly trusting me. Coyotl pauses, turns to run away, stops, snarls, then follows Spingate and Farrar.

Bishop grips my shoulder. His touch was tender before; now he forgets his own strength and it hurts.

“Em, what are you doing? Didn’t you see that thing? We have to run!”

I whip my arm up, knocking his hand away.

The others reach us. They are on the edge of panic. That shape, the way it moved—it frightens us at a level we can’t deny.

I look each of them in the eye as I speak.

“We’re going to that gate.”

Coyotl shakes his head.

“We should have run,” he says. He gestures wildly with his thighbone, left, right, all over. “Now we have to hide in one of these buildings.”

“It took Spingate forever to get into the warehouse,” I say. “We can’t be caught in the open if that thing comes. The gate is close. If the spider can’t handle stone steps, it can’t climb the city wall. We shut that gate behind us, we’ll be safe.”

Farrar clutches his shovel to his chest.

“The door could be stuck,” he says. “Will it close?”

I have no idea if it will move at all, but I’m not going to waste a moment second-guessing myself.

“It’s our best chance,” I say. “Move!”

We run south down the vine-choked street, heading for the larger road that runs east-west. Spingate trips, regains her balance, runs hard at my side. She’s so
slow
.

Bishop stays beside me. I’m sprinting all out, yet he looks like he’s barely jogging. Farrar and Coyotl could easily run out ahead of us, but they stay a few steps behind, protecting our backs.

We reach the intersection. We turn left—away from the shuttle and the warehouse—and see the gate far off down the road. Tall doors set into a taller archway.

Bishop sprints toward it, red axe gleaming.

We chase after him, running as hard as we can. My lungs burn, my stomach clutches. Spingate stumbles. She’s already drained. I hold the spear in one hand, slide my free arm under her shoulder to support her. I have to keep her moving. She gets a burst of energy when we hear Farrar call out from behind us.

“It’s coming!”

I don’t look back. The door: it is survival, it is life itself. I run, part of me waiting for the spider-thing to bring me down from behind, for the pointy legs to punch through my back and out my chest.

The gate looms closer.

Bishop is already there. He stands half behind the right-hand door, which is slightly open to whatever lies beyond. The wall stretches off to either side—high, impenetrable. He waves us in, desperate for us to move faster.

Spingate and I reach the doors: sheets of metal, as thick as my forearm is long. We rush through the opening. Coyotl and Farrar are right behind us. They drop their weapons, throw themselves against the door alongside Bishop.

I stand there, trying to breathe, as the three boys attack a metal slab that is four times as tall as they are. Their arms shake, their legs tremble, their feet push against vines that slip and slide away.

Over the boys’ grunts, I hear a faint grinding sound—the door is closing, but too slowly. As it moves, long vines bunch underneath it, thick stalks jamming between the bottom of the door and the street’s flat stone.

I rush back through. I use my spear blade to slice at the vines. Spingate joins me, chopping away with Farrar’s sharp shovel. Blue juice splatters and sprays. The smell of mint is everywhere. We cut, we kick, clearing space.

A new sound—a horrid
whine
.

Far down the street, I see it coming. My skin shivers and prickles. Dark yellow, with thin strips of green and brown. Three-jointed legs moving so fast they are blurs, little flecks of torn vine tossed high in their wake. The hungry whine echoes through the streets, bounces off the ziggurat walls. The spider runs with a wobble, a halting hitch—one of the legs is lame, maybe.

If it reaches us, it will tear us to shreds.

I grab Spingate, shove her through the slowly closing door, then squeeze through the narrowing gap myself. On the other side, I stand next to Coyotl, hurl all my strength at the door. Spingate does the same.

The massive hinges screech and howl, seem to fight our desperate effort, but my toes find purchase in the plant-juice-slick stones and I feel the slab of metal moving. The door’s grinding grows louder, but so does the spider’s whine.

Bishop’s extended arms tremble with effort. Sweat pours off his skin. His voice is a roar of command.

“Everything you’ve got!
Godsdammit,
push!
”