Shadows Read online

  I looked at him. He looked nervously back at me. “I know you had your hands over your head and everything,” I said. “I don’t think you were exactly bluffing. But why aren’t you more afraid of us? And why are you telling us how to get out?”

  Jamal’s eyes slid away from mine. “Oh . . . well,” he said. “My mom . . .”

  Arnie laughed. “I told you, babe. There are so many of us.”

  I heard myself saying, “If there are so many of—if there are so many, why are only you and Val here?”

  “Huh,” he said, and opened the door. Takahiro tactfully retreated behind me and Jamal went out first. “I’m worried about Clare,” Arnie said. “But most of us are pretty half-volt. Little ’uns. Not me, although I’m stiff as a seized brake. Not your stepdad. Not you. Not you either, whoever you are,” he added, looking at Takahiro.

  We all followed Jamal out the door, including Mongo and the gruuaa flood, I for one feeling bewildered and rather silly. The corridor was still grey and empty. “There,” I said as we went past the room where Paolo was, and Jamal opened the door and went softly in. “Oh, man,” he said.

  “I’ll lock you in, shall I?” said Val.

  “Oh yeah, thanks,” said Jamal’s voice from behind the door.

  Val’s hand lingered on the knob before he closed it. “If you need to get out,” he said, “the charm will break from your side.”

  “Thanks,” said Jamal’s voice.

  We went on. The gruuaa were still rolling on in front of us but as we went farther down the corridor it was like they were hitting some kind of shoal, and getting humped back toward us.

  The corridor suddenly widened, and the ceiling got a lot farther away. From feeling like we were walking into an ambush I felt like we’d just walked out onto the open battlefield and the guys with the cannon and the air-to-rescue-party missiles would blow us away in a minute.

  We were maybe all breathing a little hard as we approached a big open door on the left. The corridor was badly lit all along its length, but there was a lot of bright flickering light shining out through that door. It didn’t look friendly. Well, it wasn’t likely to be friendly, was it?

  “Wait here,” said Arnie. “Let me scope it out. And I’ll leave Jamal’s gun under someone’s desk.”

  I began to notice that there was some kind of confused noise going on—I thought outside the building. Some kind of whizztizz, Jamal had said. Maybe Jill and Casimir and the gruuaa had found a way to make my non-plan work after all. We were about twenty feet from the end of the corridor, which was barricaded by a gigantic pair of double doors, like they sometimes used this end of the corridor as a garage for their cobey-unit trucks. But I was mostly thinking about Jill and Casimir and Bella and Jonesie and the others. The sick feeling in my stomach, which had mostly gone away while we were talking to Jamal, was coming back, and had brought friends. Uggh.

  The light flickered in a different pattern. There were some pinging and popping noises and the double doors cracked open. Not enough to let me squeeze out, let alone Val or Arnie, who was Val-width and a good head taller.

  But the crack let the noise rush in. There was crashing like an army getting lost in a lot of undergrowth, and there was shouting like an army getting mad about getting lost in a lot of undergrowth, and there were revving engine noises like army trucks having trouble bashing their way through a lot of undergrowth—and there was one voice shouting all by itself like whoever it was was really mad at someone else for doing something stupid—like maybe getting locked out of their own compound?

  And there was barking.

  There was Bella’s deep bay, and Bella was not a barker. I’d heard her bark maybe once before—but the noise a wolfhound makes is pretty memorable. There was Jonesie’s no-nonsense not-completely-ex-fighting-dog bark and then Dov’s mess-with-me-at-your-peril warning bark. No, I thought. Don’t do it. Those guys have guns. The gruuaa can’t protect you from bullets. My sick feeling was getting a lot worse.

  Val said, “Wait here,” and followed Arnie through the office door.

  Mongo and Taks and I went to the front door and peered out cautiously. It was strangely hard to breathe; it was like there was a giant hand pressing against my chest. I had my own hand on Mongo’s collar. I wasn’t sure what the gruuaa who had been with us were doing; in the weak shifting light I couldn’t tell them from the real shadows. Maybe they were swirling out to join their friends in the field. I tried to look for the gruuaa-network thing that I’d hoped Jill and Casimir could use—but that had been when we’d been assuming the army guys we had to deal with were inside the buildings, not outside. It was just supposed to look weird. It wasn’t supposed to have to stop anybody.

  Yes. There it was. It was all mixed up in the undergrowth that the army guys were having trouble with. And I was pretty sure there were more gruuaa weaving themselves into it now—the ones that had been with us, presumably. Somehow my stomach didn’t feel any better.

  I jumped back as the doors jerked open a little farther, dragging Mongo with me. I was just thinking, It’s dark out there, and the corridor lights are really showing up that the door is opening—when the corridor lights went out. Then there was the mother and father of all BANGS and the office lights went out too—but at the same time an alarm went off, WOOP WOOP WOOP WOOP WOOP, the loudest thing you ever heard, and a bunch of emergency lights burst on outside as the front doors ground slowly about three-quarters open.

  We could get out. But so could the bad guys get in. Or see us trying to get out. And there were a lot of bad guys out there. There was certainly something going on besides picking up two prisoners. I could see three trucks branded with the cobey logo from where I had flattened myself against the corridor wall.

  I couldn’t hear anything through the alarm, but I could see the two guys with rifles running toward us.

  Then three things happened simultaneously. The guys with rifles stopped like they’d run into a wall of something like extra-strength plastic wrap—invisible in the murky twilight and slightly springy—and I found that I was breathing and blinking and moving more easily.

  Not quite invisible. As I stared at it I could see spiky, too-many-leggy, wiggly, faintly sparkling shadows. But there were new . . . strands, like skinny wires, that the leggy-wiggly things seemed to be winding themselves into. Were these what Arnie and Val were doing in the office? I didn’t think the gruuaa alone would have that rubbery strength.

  I took a deep breath . . .

  . . . As a familiar furry shadow that turned mahogany-brown under the emergency lights leaped out from somewhere, raced toward us, and . . . sat down in the middle of the doorway between the three-quarters-open doors.

  Majid stuck out a hind leg, examined it carefully, and began to wash.

  The lights and siren began doing complicated dropping-out things. The alarm would miss a WOOP and then a light would go out. Then that light would come back on and another light would go out. The alarm would WOOP twice and miss again. Under other circumstances it might have been kind of interesting. Or it might just have made you crazy.

  WOOP. Flash. Dazzle. WOOP.

  It was hard to see through the plastic wrap. Everything looked kind of swimmy, like looking into a scummy pond. It was pretty manic back there though. In the silences I began to hear voices: “That’s—”

  “—and all the dogs—”

  “—monsters—”

  “—damn cat—”

  “—shelter—”

  “Of course I’m gods’-engines sure!”

  Jonesie gave one last sharp bark and subsided—I hoped that meant some human had told him to shut up. And that that meant that the critters and the humans—our critters and our humans—were okay and together. Except, of course, for the one enjoying the spotlight while he went on with his left hind leg.

  Majid glanced back at me, as if he knew I was t
hinking about him. He did that a lot at the shelter. You’d think, Now what we particularly don’t need right now is Majid—and there he’d be. The shadows around him in the doorway moved. Some of them were gruuaa. Majid turned his attention to his right hind leg.

  Val and Arnie were using him for some kind of focus. Now I could feel sharp little splinters of whatever-it-was glancing off him, sliding toward me.

  If you didn’t know Majid, you might think he was only a cat.

  Only a cat would have run away.

  I hoped Casimir and Jill and the dogs were running away as hard as they could.

  WOOP. BANG. WOOP. I thought they sounded like they were getting tired—the woops and bangs. Like when we got out of here—when—maybe the army guys wouldn’t be able to turn them back on again.

  I’d’ve almost said that Majid was having trouble holding his leg up at that angle. A perfectly normal cat-washing-leg angle.

  There were at least three different voices. Maybe four or five. I could hear them through the plastic wrap.

  “—evil spirit!”

  “Get real, it’s a cat. An unholy big cat.”

  “—twice?”

  “We don’t have evil spirits. This is Newworld, you moron.”

  “Then what about those shadowy things? The ones that aren’t dogs.”

  “They are dogs. They’re just—”

  “—cobey. The rules change with a big one. You know there’s a fourth one over at—”

  “—a fifth at Nofield—”

  “Yeah, it’s why we’re so short-handed. Why they’re sending everyone who’s left here. But it’s still only—”

  “—not. Where are Paolo and Jamal?”

  “Five—when’s the last time we had five?”

  “—this unit twenty years, never—”

  “My dad said that Genecor didn’t get everyone—”

  The plastic wrap caved so suddenly the guys with rifles all staggered forward. I could see the quality of the light change as whatever it was fell apart. The road seemed to have disappeared; there were saplings down all over the place, and brush—and three big army trucks parked at funny angles. But there were seven or eight guys with rifles now, facing us. No, ten. And one of them was shivering, and his eyes were so wide and crazy I could see them from where I was, hiding in the shadow behind the door.

  The siren stopped.

  About half the lights went out. Not the ones on the open doors. Not the ones shining on Majid.

  I thought I saw a lot of shadows, spilled on the ground, racing outward. Some flung themselves into the suddenly flimsy-looking heaps of brush and scrub. Some of them shot off to the right, as if following someone. Some of them joggled and slithered back toward Majid and the door.

  “—evil spirit if you like.” This was the shouting, authoritative voice I’d heard first. “I don’t dreeping care. We need to get back in there since Paolo and Jamal are too dumb to live. So go ahead and shoot it if it makes you happy. Or anything else you see. It’s just a couple of illegal magicians. We’d be doing ourselves a favor. If they’ve got out, then they’re dangerous, you know?”

  What?

  Several more riflemen came trotting forward. They were lined up now like a firing squad.

  No way out.

  The crazy guy’s rifle came down and pointed at Majid and the doors the fastest. . . .

  But werewolf reflexes are a lot faster than human ones. Takahiro had already bounded forward and was in midair over Majid’s head, his silver-white fur shining like the moon in the lights, when several rifles fired. I should have dropped to the floor, but I’m not used to being shot at. I watched in horror as several bullets missed and caromed with tiny evil screaming noises against the corridor walls behind me—and then our Hounds of the Baskervilles unit burst out of somewhere and knocked several of the riflemen over. I’d never seen Bella snarl before. Jonesie bit someone and threw him down like a dog toy. It took me a minute to realize that they were draped with gruuaa—and that the soldiers couldn’t see them properly. Monsters. Shadowy things that weren’t dogs. I could barely see dark brown Dov, but I saw where he’d been when more soldiers behind the riflemen fell down, yelling and kicking. More confusion.

  More bullets wheeeeeeeed gruesomely past me, and a few thudded into the walls—but at least two of them struck.

  Not Majid. Not me. Takahiro. Majid bushed out his fur till he was as big as Dov and ran—and Val and Arnie picked me up, one under each armpit, and ran like fury. The Baskerville unit turned and flung themselves back into the fray—Mongo was beside me—no—he turned back—Mongo! But I saw—I thought I saw Mongo ram Takahiro as the next volley came past. That volley missed.

  But there were too many of them, and some of them were looking at us. More riflemen were lining up. I just saw Takahiro stop and rear up on his hind legs, the blood pouring down his neck and chest, his eyes more dazzling-bright than the emergency lights, more beautiful than a dragon or a unicorn out of a fairy tale. I swear he got bigger and bigger till he was as tall as a tree, and his shining curved fangs were as long as swords, and then Val and Arnie were dragging me through grass and little saplings, and I realized I was hoarse with screaming Takahiro’s name.

  We stumbled into Jill and Casimir—and the rest of the dogs. Jonesie was the last of the dogs to rejoin us: in the light there was something dark on his teeth—it might have been blood. Blood. So much blood. His white fur red-black with blood. When Arnie dropped my other arm, I felt Mongo’s head thrust itself under that hand, but I was still screaming. Val wrapped his arms around me and shoved my head down on his shoulder. “Listen to me,” he said into my ear. “Takahiro is a werewolf. He is not dead. He is not dead. He has covered for us long enough to let us run away. You must run, Maggie. Don’t waste what he’s done for us.”

  Another shot rang out. I heard it slice through one of the little trees near us.

  I screamed again because I couldn’t help it, but I also nodded, and Val let me go, and we ran, or anyway we stumbled. Val had taken my knapsack. Val and Arnie seemed to know which way we were going. There were still shots shrieking past us, but I almost didn’t notice. I followed Val blindly—he looked back for me every step or two, and sometimes I felt his hand under my arm again, but all I could see or think about was the blood on Takahiro’s chest. So much blood. So much blood . . . Vaguely I knew the story that ordinary bullets couldn’t kill a werewolf—Val should know, he knew real werewolves. Or would he have said that just to make me keep going? If Taks wasn’t dead, why wasn’t he catching up with us? We weren’t going that fast—there was a little part of my brain that wasn’t thinking about Takahiro, but about the bullets, the bullets that were still chasing us, faster than a werewolf, much faster than I could run, half-paralyzed with shock. . . . Even if the bullets didn’t kill him, they must hurt. So much blood . . .

  Sssssss whump. Whump.

  I don’t know how long we kept going till we stopped for a rest. I didn’t think I’d heard any bullets in a while. Jill was now the one hanging back with me, putting her hand under my arm when I staggered. I was exhausted, but Taks . . . where was Takahiro?

  I’d dropped my algebra book when they shot Takahiro. It had saved my life and rescued Val and Arnie and I’d left it behind.

  It hadn’t rescued Takahiro.

  • • •

  I think we didn’t exactly stop. I think I fell to my knees and couldn’t go any farther, and everyone else stopped too. I heard Val and Arnie talking in low voices: “. . . puzzled them for a while; I can make nav ’tronic go wrong easy as breathing, and your gruuaa are still on the job.”

  “We’re still leaving a trail of magic the gruuaa can’t begin to abolish, nor the six dogs either and one large cat, and when Takahiro rejoins us it will be much, much worse.”

  When Takahiro rejoins us. I took a deep breath.

 
“Takes an awful lot of critters to damp me, even when I haven’t just been taking out army headquarters,” said Arnie. “Not much we can do about it. Keep going. I can carry Mags a while. She’s not all that much bigger than when I used to give her and Jill piggyback rides.”

  I wanted to protest this but I was too tired. Jill was crouched beside me with her arm around me. I think she was pretending we weren’t listening. I hadn’t noticed my face was wet with tears. I thought it had been that way for a while. Mongo was lying next to me with his head in my lap, worrying, wanting something to do to make me feel better. I took his head in my hands. “Mongo, my love,” I said. “If you ever, ever felt like taking the initiative in your life, now is the time. We need all the critters we can get.”

  I stood up and took the Dog Commanding Posture. Mongo sat up eagerly. “Away,” I said, and threw my arm out in the go-get-those-balky-alpacas-at-the-bottom-of-their-field-now gesture. The one that said, and don’t let them give you any nonsense either. Alpacas are notorious for giving herding dogs nonsense.

  Mongo disappeared. I looked at Jill. Jill looked at me and gave me a tiny worried smile.

  We joined the others. “I can walk a while longer,” I said. “I’m sorry, I’m just a little tired.”

  “You have every right to be extremely tired,” said Val. “But we must keep moving.”

  “You start folding up, babe, you let me know,” said Arnie. “I bet I remember how to give a good piggyback ride.”

  It was only a minute or two later when the first rabbit dashed across our path. Bella turned into a blur and snatched it out of the air, and brought it to me, unhurt, kicking like sixteen pistons, and obviously terrified out of its mind. I looked around for Val. “Say yalarinda orfuy la and then put your hand on its head,” he said.