Zonaton (2 page)

            She stared up at him and wondered why he would make that kind of promise to her when he knew he had no power over what might happen. At least, that's what Miss Dofield told them. Their parents couldn't change or stop The Walk. They could only make wishes, like she did. Or maybe he prayed at night, the way a lot of them did. Either way, she hoped The Walk turned out safe. That she remained safe, if just for Papa's sake.

            The sound of wings overhead caught their attention. They both looked up to see two small gerons flying by, heading for the open area where The Walk would take place. Her father tugged on her arm and started taking longer, faster strides. "It's getting dark. We need to hurry and get back to the house, before one of those things sees us out past curfew."

            That cold fear settled again into her stomach like a large, heavy rock, but she obeyed and raced him to their front door.

Chapter Two

The Pairing

            Her mother clutched Emmala tightly against her chest as she sobbed silently. It was all Emmala could do to pat the woman on the shoulder. She didn't like the way her mother clutched her like that.

            "It's going to be all right, Mommy. You'll see. I'll be all right."

            The woman leaned back and gave her a watery smile. Brushing a lock of hair from her daughter's face, she leaned in and placed a kiss on her forehead.

            "You always were and always will be in my heart. You know that, right?"

            Emmala nodded, not knowing what else to do or say. She continued to stare wide-eyed until Mommy got to her feet and faced Papa. Papa's grip on her hand was so hard, it almost hurt.

            "I'll wait on the other side when we get there." She kissed Papa, then reached for Emmala's other hand. Emmala stared at it for a long moment before finally allowing her mother to grasp it. Side-by-side, they walked out of the house to the narrow road, and joined the other two families silently striding toward the field located outside of the town's perimeter. Hawse gave her a stricken look but said nothing.

            She hadn't eaten anything that morning. Neither had her parents. Very little was spoken between them until it was time for them to leave. Emmala wondered if the other parents and children had done the same thing.

            As they neared the patch of barren and rocky ground ring by small, reddish rocks, Emmala could see more gerons landing and finding a suitable place within the walking field, folding their enormous wings against their bodies in preparation. No one knew how the creatures communicated, or how they knew when it was time for The Walk. There was the occasional squawk or thin ear-splitting shriek, but the aliens had no discernable language as far as their scientists could determine. Some people believed they spoke to each other mentally, but most everyone scoffed at the idea and said the gerons were much like the old world's migratory butterflies and birds, but with the mental capacity equivalent to a five-year-old's. Of course, people questioned that theory, stating that The Walk was a relatively new event in the gerons' lifespan, considering the beasts had been around for perhaps millions of years. Regardless of the unanswered questions, the gerons knew when it was time for them to assemble in the open field to await the newest group of children.

            When they reached the cluster of small boulders that marked the entrance, Mommy gave her one last hug and kiss, and silently left Emmala and her father. She watched her mother until the woman disappeared into the crowd gathering on the far side.

            Her father squeezed her hand, and she looked up at him. Dropping to his knees, he drew her against him for another warm hug. "I love you, little one. I will always love you."

            She hugged her father's neck before looking him in the eyes and patting his cheek. "I know, Papa. Don't worry about me."

            Papa kissed her forehead, stood, and stepped away. "Don't forget. Do not run. You must walk."

            Emmala flashed him a weak smile. Her fear was growing, this close to having to face the inevitable, but she held firm to the belief she would come away from this alive. She had to.

           
Miss DoField said not to be afraid. I can't be afraid. The gerons would know it, and bad things could happen. I can't be afraid.

           
"Emmala?"

            "I won't run. Promise."

            "And don't stop. Just keep walking."

            "Don't run. Don't stop. I'll remember."

            "I'll be following you, Em. Love you!"

            "Love you, too, Papa!" She waved as she watched her father continue to move away in order to follow the outer ring like many of the parents did.

            A horn blatted with a loud, flat sound. That was the signal. Dropping her chin, she also lifted her foot and stepped onto the circular plot of land, along with nearly fifty other children.

           
Don't look at them. Look at my feet. Look at the dirt. Keep walking. Look at the dirt. Don't look at them.

            Every child from every village was required to take The Walk when they reached five years of age. It was Law, and no one dared to challenge or break that Law because to do so would mean an end to their existence. Maxx Joel had promised the gerons they would obey that one command. And if anyone was found to have hidden away a child to prevent their son or daughter from participating, the gerons would have no qualms about killing every living human on the planet, and destroying the villages.

            Emmala concentrated on moving forward. The Walk, her teacher had told them, took about fifteen minutes to complete if one remained at a constant pace. To run would anger the gerons, who sat scattered within the circle.

           
Don't look at them. Don't run, just walk. Don't look at them. Watch the dirt. Watch my shoes. One step after another.

            Truthfully, yes, a few children were killed, but the large majority arrived on the other side of the circle safely, never to make The Walk again. Those who survived grew up and had children of their own. Only then would they have to confront the ordeal of The Walk once more, but as spectators.

           
Watch my shoes. I have a hole in my sock. My socks are getting dirty. Don't look at the gerons. Keep looking down.

            Emmala sniffed, then sneezed. The dust being churned up by the children hung thick in the air. She wiped her nose on the back of her sleeve and chanced a sideways glance around her. She could see several of her classmates also striding with her. She tried not to look at the gerons sitting and staring at them as they passed by. Many of the creatures were younglings looking to feed. A short distance from them, two larger gerons monitored the smaller ones, making sure their side of the pact was equally obeyed. As Miss Dofield had explained, the gerons were not allowed to chase a child, or in any way cause torment or frighten them. If a geron planned to take a child to feed upon, they were required to grab and go. Quick and painless. But sometimes, her teacher warned carefully, there were exceptions. Miss Dofield never said what the exceptions were, which left Emmala more curious than afraid.

           
One foot, then the other. Left, right, left, right, left, right. I'm thirsty. How much farther do I have to go?

            A bit to her right, an immense shadow caught her attention. Unable to stop herself from looking , she saw the big silver geron turn its bird-like head to peer at her. She could see its eyes widen when it spotted her. A long time ago, her father had shown her a picture of a griffin, an imaginary animal used in fairy tales and folklore on their original home world. Papa had said the gerons reminded them of griffins, except their bodies were not lion-like, but nearly human, with muscular bodies, arms, and legs. Instead of fingers and toes, they had extended talons. Otherwise, the eagle-like head with its curved beak and the huge wings were very similar to the pictures shown her. This one was an adult of a silvery-white color. The other, slightly bigger adult, was a deep, dark, almost chocolate brown color. They sat on the ground, perched with their bottoms on the sandy dirt, knees drawn to their chests and their arms circling their legs. Their wings were slightly raised, not quite folded, but not fully extended.

            Emmala dragged her eyes away from the aliens and tried to focus on the crowd of people cheering and clapping and calling out to the children who were nearly halfway across the field. They looked so earnest. They also looked very scared. More scared than the kids.

            She spotted Hawse far to her left and slightly behind her. When he finally noticed her, she waved again at him, which he returned with a weak smile. Like her, he was trying to keep his head down and hold to a steady speed while ignoring the threatening glare the smaller gerons gave all the children.

            Bowing her head, she kept her gaze directed at the ground. At the sight of her own two feet moving forward. One foot, then the other. Over and over.

            "Don't run. Don't stop. Don't run. Don't stop." She softly repeated the words to herself because they helped her to cope with her fear, and she kept her sights on the crowd. Somewhere among all those people was her mother. A quick glance to her right showed her father, as well as several other fathers, walking the perimeter and shouting encouragement. For the most part, the gerons ignored the fathers, although Emmala saw the big silver one occasionally check to make sure the humans stayed beyond the rock circle.

            "You're doing well, Em! Keep going! Don't stop! Don't run!"

            She smiled and gave a small wave to Papa to let him know she'd heard him.

            The scream almost made her jump out of her skin. She'd barely turned around to look behind her when she spotted Vimmy, a boy from her class, take off toward the waiting crowd of parents. His little feet were furiously churning up dust as he raced for the other side of the field.

            The scream came again, high-pitched and shrill enough to hurt her ears. It came from a geron, a smaller one, dark purple in color. It screeched and flapped its wings, and took off toward Vimmy.

            Emmala shoved her hand against her mouth to keep from crying out. The geron was faster than the boy, taking long air-lifted strides to chase down the child, its muscular arms stretched out to grab the child. Bile rose in her throat when the alien's long, scale-covered neck stretched outward, and the shiny beak closed around Vimmy's arm. The boy yelled. Clutching the child around the waist, the geron jerked backwards, adjusted its grip around the five-year-old until it also had a hold around the boy's chest. Vimmy struggled silently as he fought the alien, but he was unable to inflict any damage to the creature with an arm trapped within the wide beak. The geron spread its wings then lifted itself and the boy into the pale pink sky. Miss Dofield said the creatures preferred to eat their victims in private.

            "Emmala! Keep walking! Don't stop! Keep going, Emmala!"

            Her father's voice came to her. Terror, like a freezing wind, engulfed her as she realized she had come to a standstill, but she couldn't move. Her feet were frozen to the ground. She couldn't take her eyes off the reddish patch soaking into the dirt a few yards away where Vimmy had been.

            "Emmala! Go! Walk!
Walk, Emmala!
"

            A geron shrieked. She looked up to see a red one the same color as the blood on the ground coming toward her. Half-running, half-flying, it held out its arms and headed directly for her. Its screech was like metal on metal.

            "
Move, Emmala!
"

            She turned to see her father yelling at her, frantically waving his arms as he tried to get her to keep walking.

           
Don't stop. Don't run. Don't stop.

           
She couldn't lift her feet. She could barely move her head. Her body trembled violently as she watched the geron coming to get her. Coming to take her away and eat her. She looked up, and gasped.

            The huge, silvery-white adult swooped down on the smaller red one. The large beak closed over the other's neck, encompassing the long, serpentine length in its maw. With one quick turn of its head, the adult separated the youngling's head from its body. Blood sprayed her in the face and on her clothes, and she panicked. Not because of what she had seen, but because she knew Mommy would be furious that she got her clothes dirty. This was a brand-new outfit, and Mommy always told her she'd better never get her new things ruined before she outgrew them.

            "
Emmala!
"

            Somehow, her right foot scooted forward. Her left foot joined it. She took another step. Then another.

            A second cry came from behind her, but she couldn't look. Her eyes were riveted on the clear, colorless eyes of the silvery geron, who stared directly at her. It opened its beak, dropping the dead geron's head onto the dirt, then it started to come toward her.

            "
Emmalaaaaa!
"

            She took three more steps, but she couldn't take her eyes off the huge white geron as it drew closer and closer. That horrible scream sounded again, but it didn't come from the white one. A dark shadow appeared overhead. She gasped once she understood, and turned around to see a black geron lift its beak to bring it down over her.

            A bright, silvery wing swept around her, scooping her off her feet and sweeping her toward the adult geron. At the same time, the big creature let out a terrifying scream. Its head swung sideways, striking the smaller geron's body and knocking it away.

            Emmala couldn't move. The wing was too heavy to lift. She was being held, pinned against something warm and solid. The warm moved, and above the muted din of shouts and screams and cries she could hear a double thumping sound. A muffled thumping.