slobbering on myself and talking to invisible fairies all day and never make it out to the docks?
Hitch is expecting me to call him in a few hours. If I don’t call, he’ll come looking for me, and if he finds me at home I’ll never be able to explain. If I try, I’ll be putting his life in even more danger than he’s put mine. The Big Man won’t hesitate to kill him if he finds out Hitch knows about the Invisibles or the shots or the magic or anything else. Of that, I have no doubt.
“I have to keep going. I have someplace to be,” I say in a calm, even tone.
“Go away!” The fairy’s shout ends in a familiar Fey screech. I decide to take that as a good sign.
I slam my foot down on the gas. The fairy shoots straight up into the air, barely avoiding becoming a squishy spot on my windshield as the truck roars down the road. I can’t help but be disappointed. It would have been nice to see his guts splattered, even if they are imaginary guts.
I check my rearview in time to see the old man flip me the bird again before whizzing off into the bayou. My hands relax and I breathe a little easier. It’s over. And it didn’t last that long. Not much longer than the dream, and I had a good hour and a half of normal in between the dream and the hallucination. If I book it and have luck on my side, I can make it to the dock and talk to the guys there before I start seeing things again.
“Better not count on luck,” I mumble as I give the Rover more gas, kicking the jostle into a full-on bone rattle.
Lucky isn’t a word that applies to my life. I need to think of a Plan B. They have to have toilets out at the docks. If I start seeing things, I’ll fake a potty emergency and go hide out in the lav until I talk myself down from the edge. Then, as soon as I get back to Donaldsonville, I’ll go on a hunt for Tucker. I know he’s living somewhere close enough for him to get to my house with wet hair. If I have to, I’ll search every formerly vacant house in the town until I find him and—
My thoughts are interrupted by a high-pitched screech and then another and another, until the screech becomes a roar, a wave of sound that smacks into the truck hard enough to make it vibrate. I scream and slam on the brakes, hunching my shoulders, squeezing my eyes closed, smashing my hands over my ears as hundreds of rocks thud against the side of the truck.
Thud, thud, thud-thud-thud-thud-thud-thud!
Not rocks. Rocks don’t thud; they ping or crack. But what else could it—
I slit my eyes—still afraid of shattering glass—in time to see another fairy hit the window. And another and another and another, pink and golden bodies slamming into the Rover’s side until they block the sunlight and hundreds of tiny shoving hands become thousands of tiny shoving hands and the world tilts on its axis.
No, not the world. The truck. They’re lifting a two-ton truck off its wheels. They’re trying to tip me over.
I whip my head toward the other window to see water rising all the way to the side of the road. The bayou’s deep here. If the truck flips, it’s going to sink until it’s submerged. Then I’ll have two choices: stay in the cab until it fills with water and I drown, or get out and make a run for the iron gate.
I’ll never make it. There’s no way. It’s like I was thinking in my dream last night. If enough of this swarm decides to bite me, I’ll bleed to death and immunity won’t matter.
“It was just a dream,” I shout as I hit the gas pedal. The truck rolls forward on its two right wheels, but the fairies don’t miss a beat. They fly alongside, pushing hard enough that the Rover’s center of gravity begins to shift. I slam on the brakes, surprising enough of the Fey that the left side dips back toward the ground.
Last night might have been a dream, but this is real. I’m not hallucinating the two tons of steel shiftingand rocking around me. There’s no way the truck could be moving
Hitch is expecting me to call him in a few hours. If I don’t call, he’ll come looking for me, and if he finds me at home I’ll never be able to explain. If I try, I’ll be putting his life in even more danger than he’s put mine. The Big Man won’t hesitate to kill him if he finds out Hitch knows about the Invisibles or the shots or the magic or anything else. Of that, I have no doubt.
“I have to keep going. I have someplace to be,” I say in a calm, even tone.
“Go away!” The fairy’s shout ends in a familiar Fey screech. I decide to take that as a good sign.
I slam my foot down on the gas. The fairy shoots straight up into the air, barely avoiding becoming a squishy spot on my windshield as the truck roars down the road. I can’t help but be disappointed. It would have been nice to see his guts splattered, even if they are imaginary guts.
I check my rearview in time to see the old man flip me the bird again before whizzing off into the bayou. My hands relax and I breathe a little easier. It’s over. And it didn’t last that long. Not much longer than the dream, and I had a good hour and a half of normal in between the dream and the hallucination. If I book it and have luck on my side, I can make it to the dock and talk to the guys there before I start seeing things again.
“Better not count on luck,” I mumble as I give the Rover more gas, kicking the jostle into a full-on bone rattle.
Lucky isn’t a word that applies to my life. I need to think of a Plan B. They have to have toilets out at the docks. If I start seeing things, I’ll fake a potty emergency and go hide out in the lav until I talk myself down from the edge. Then, as soon as I get back to Donaldsonville, I’ll go on a hunt for Tucker. I know he’s living somewhere close enough for him to get to my house with wet hair. If I have to, I’ll search every formerly vacant house in the town until I find him and—
My thoughts are interrupted by a high-pitched screech and then another and another, until the screech becomes a roar, a wave of sound that smacks into the truck hard enough to make it vibrate. I scream and slam on the brakes, hunching my shoulders, squeezing my eyes closed, smashing my hands over my ears as hundreds of rocks thud against the side of the truck.
Thud, thud, thud-thud-thud-thud-thud-thud!
Not rocks. Rocks don’t thud; they ping or crack. But what else could it—
I slit my eyes—still afraid of shattering glass—in time to see another fairy hit the window. And another and another and another, pink and golden bodies slamming into the Rover’s side until they block the sunlight and hundreds of tiny shoving hands become thousands of tiny shoving hands and the world tilts on its axis.
No, not the world. The truck. They’re lifting a two-ton truck off its wheels. They’re trying to tip me over.
I whip my head toward the other window to see water rising all the way to the side of the road. The bayou’s deep here. If the truck flips, it’s going to sink until it’s submerged. Then I’ll have two choices: stay in the cab until it fills with water and I drown, or get out and make a run for the iron gate.
I’ll never make it. There’s no way. It’s like I was thinking in my dream last night. If enough of this swarm decides to bite me, I’ll bleed to death and immunity won’t matter.
“It was just a dream,” I shout as I hit the gas pedal. The truck rolls forward on its two right wheels, but the fairies don’t miss a beat. They fly alongside, pushing hard enough that the Rover’s center of gravity begins to shift. I slam on the brakes, surprising enough of the Fey that the left side dips back toward the ground.
Last night might have been a dream, but this is real. I’m not hallucinating the two tons of steel shiftingand rocking around me. There’s no way the truck could be moving
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