Tags:
Paranormal,
YA),
Young Adult Fiction,
Young Adult,
teen,
teen fiction,
ya fiction,
ya novel,
young adult novel,
Paranormal Fiction,
teen novel,
teen lit,
abyss surrounds us,
emily skrutsky,
emily skruskie
feet wide. By my estimates, the pupâs probably around two hundred pounds, almost twice my weight. As soon as this thing gets free, itâs going to have a mind of its own, and itâs up to me to get out of the way before it gets any ideas.
Santa Elena seems aware of this. I can see it in her smirk as she declares, âHave at it.â
I kneel, the water seeping into my shorts, and grab the sac by its bottom. The pupâs awakeâits paws press at the leathery womb that surrounds it. Still trembling, I press the blade into the purse until its point punctures the skin. A bubble of amniotic fluid oozes out, and I press harder until the knifeâs hook makes it inside the sac. I yank back.
The bladeâs sharp, but the membrane is tough. It doesnât make a clean slice like it ought to. The edges are ragged. I grit my teeth and pull harder until Iâve sliced all the way across the sacâs bottom. The syrupy fluid gushes out, drenching the front of my shirt as I lean over the sac and reposition it, this time so that Iâm kneeling at the top.
This is the part Iâve been dreading. This is why it takes so many hands, why my own two wonât be enough, why I stand a good chance of losing one of them.
I hook the knife in the middle of the first incision and start to pull back, carving a T-shaped gash in the membrane. I try my best to lean back, to get out of the way. The pup twitches, and one of itsâ his , I can see that nowârear legs stretches out into the open air, kicking for the first time without any resistance.
I glance down to find that his reptilian eyes have slid open. His gaze is fixed on me, and for a moment he reminds me far too strongly of Durga. The lines that shape his body are unfamiliarâclearly he isnât one of my motherâs constructionsâbut heâs a terrapoid through and through, and itâs enough to rattle me. Sheâs gone. Sheâs really gone.
Breathe , I remind myself. What comes next?
âMake it fast,â my mother told me. âThe quicker the cut, the slower heâll react.â
I pull too hard. The blade dips against the pupâs skin, flaying the purse membrane wide open as he rushes toward me, and all of a sudden the baby Reckoner is free.
And heâs pissed .
He lunges up, his beak snapping, and before I can react, heâs got a chunk of my hair locked in his bite. The deck behind me comes alive, Santa Elena shouting as her crew draw their guns and point them at me and the pup. He twists viciously, his stubby limbs flailing, and the sharp edge of his beak shears off some of my hair.
The rest rips right out of my scalp.
But Iâm free. I stagger backward as the baby continues to thrash, rolling off his back and into the water. He lets out a nasally squeal as if the world heâs been born into has already offended him.
âLower your guns,â I shout, using the partition to haul myself to my feet.
The crew doesnât obey meâof course they donâtâbut after a nod from Santa Elena, they stand down. The baby Reckoner runs up against the tankâs barrier and bounces off, still squalling. His stumpy tail thrashes against the water.
I lunge for the bellows and the thermometer. Iâve got mere seconds to get this done before the pup locks onto me again. Thereâs some part of me thatâs gone raw and wild and animal, and I let it loose as I rush toward the beast. The Reckoner wheels, but I hook my fingertips under his keratin plating and swing myself around onto his back before his jaws can reach me. He bucks and screams, his eyes rolling. I drive the bellows into his primary blowhole and squeeze them, forcing the noise back down his throat and then sucking it right back out.
I toss the device to the side, not caring where it lands. But before I can get the thermometer placed, the pup rolls on his back, plunging me underwater. I choke on the putrid mix of saltwater
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