Croak by Gina Damico Page A

while its crooked, gnarled branches stretched widely across the sky. No leaves adorned the limbs, but a single large nest sat perched atop the highest bough, as if it had been dropped there by a disoriented seagull.
    “This is the Field,” Uncle Mort said. “The runway and landing strip, if you will.”
    “Huh?” Lex asked futilely, knowing full well he wouldn’t clarify.
    He didn’t.
    Lex wondered what Cordy would have to say about all of this—the bizarre town, the confirmation of their estranged uncle’s lunacy, the fact that it was almost noon and she still hadn’t consumed a drop of caffeine. She started to make a mental list of things to tell her, in the unlikely event an Internet connection existed somewhere in the Land That Cable Forgot.
    She poked her uncle’s shoulder. “Can I have some coffee?”
    “You’re only sixteen, Lex. Try getting high on life.”
    To keep from strangling him, she turned her thoughts to the weather. A series of fluffy, trout-shaped clouds dotted the sky. She didn’t feel the least bit hot in her black sweatshirt, despite the scorching sun. No breeze either—though she could have sworn she saw a nearby shrub rustling of its own volition.
    “Okay, we’re all set,” Uncle Mort said, hanging up and looking at something behind Lex. “Ah, at least someone’s on time today.”
    Lex turned around and gulped. Walking toward them was a girl, maybe a couple of years older than Lex, wearing a tight long-sleeved T-shirt and jeans. She too carried a bundle of black fabric. Slender, tall, and toned, her limbs undulated as if only marginally attached to her body. Though her pale face was angular and serious, her eyes were light and thoughtful. Yet Lex was entranced more than anything by her hair, which was long and thick, with a slight wave to it, and absolutely, unmistakably silver.
    Not gray, not white, but silver—as if it had been melted down from jewelry and stretched out into a waterfall of gorgeous, silky strands. Lex tried to tear her gaze away, but couldn’t. What was it with this place and crazy hair?
    “Lex, this is Zara,” Uncle Mort said, pronouncing both syllables in her name with an
ah
sound, which Lex thought was an unnecessarily fancy way to say it. “She’s here to help with training.”
    The girl smiled and extended her hand, all while gazing deep into Lex’s eyes, as if attempting to decipher some secret hidden within them. “I’ve heard a lot about you,” she said in a strong voice.
    “Really?” Lex numbly shook her hand, then willed herself to stop staring at the girl as if she were a freak. Which she definitely was.
    “Okay, Lex,” said Uncle Mort. “For your first time, all you have to do is watch. But pay close attention, because it’s the only observation run you’re gonna get.”
    “Um—huh?”
    Zara laughed. “Don’t worry,” she said, the intensity fading from her wintry gray eyes. “You’ll get the hang of it soon enough.”
    “All right.” Uncle Mort slapped his hands together. “Suit up.” Both he and Zara unfolded the balls of black fabric they had been carrying and slid them over their heads. Uncle Mort reached into his pocket. “And for you, Lex, a lightweight, durable, thermoregulated—oh.” He stopped and scrutinized her. “You already have the uniform?”
    They looked at one another. All three were wearing identical black hoodies.
    Uncle Mort scratched his head. “Did I give that to you this morning?”
    “No, this is what I always wear. Actually,” she said, a curious memory suddenly occurring to her, “didn’t you send this as a thirteenth birthday present?”
    “Did I?” he said, his mouth upturning ever so slightly. “How reprehensibly irresponsible of me.”
    Lex looked at Zara, who shrugged.
    Lex clapped her hands together. “Well, let’s get this show on the road!” she said in an overly chipper voice. “Bring on the death! These souls aren’t going to reap themselves!”
    Uncle Mort looked about