Her Yearning for Blood (2 page)

Thud, swish.

Suddenly, on
e of
my
crutches sank
and
twisted out of my hand,
spilling
me
onto
the rock-strewn sand.
A
thousand spikes of pain
rocketed
from
my
kneecap
straight
to
my
brain.
A
week earlier,
when
my
doctor removed
my
cast
and replaced it with a plastic and foam brace
,
he
had
warned me that my
knee would be
fragile
for
several more
months
.

Just one more price I had paid for trying to impress Evan Groacher
.

I sucked in a ragged breath.
That’s what I got for thinking he might actually see
me
as something other than the grease-
monkey
who made out his bills whenever he stopped for an oil change or tire rotations at my father’s garage.
The worst part about my
soccer
accident
was that he had not even been c
oaching th
at day
.

Knowing
I was either t
he unluckiest
or dumbest
person in Groacherville,
possibly both,
I
struggled to
get up
,
but agony shot
like lightning bolts
from my knee. I
had
definitely
fractured
it
again
.

Fighting back the nausea,
I
focused on the one positive point in my plight:
I had at least reached the edge of the concrete. Coughing, I
peered
out
into the gloom
but could see no sign of Amanda’s gold convertible
or any
other cars
for that matter.
I also couldn’t hear anything but my own
hitched
breathing
.
My head swooned but I forced myself to stay conscious.
I took a dozen deep breaths through my collar. The
air wasn’t much
better down here.

“Help!
”
I screamed, not bothering to disguise my terror. “
I’m over here!”

My bad luck held. No one answered.

Chattering and
screeching sounds
came from the murk beyond my feet
.
Though
Maine wasn’t
known for dangerous animals, f
ear clawed up
my
spine
. I grabbed the nearest aluminum crutch and made ready to defend myself.

“Amanda
.
Rachel.
Anyone!”

Sucking
breath
through
my
collar
like a
trapped
fire-victim
,
I
tried to understand why the
smoke
had not
yet cleared
. Instead,
the brownish haze hung like
polluted
swamp
fog.
M
y
eyes
had long since
started to sting.
Wincing,
I
tried to pull
mys
elf up by
my
crutches but
the pain struck me like a fist.
I shook the white spots from my vision.
My
knee couldn’t be moved.

Deep growling sounds came from
my left
.

You’re imagining it
,
I
told
my
self
but t
he deep noise came again.

“Amanda, Rachel!”

D
id they leave me
?

No.
Rachel never would have left
–n
ot unless she thought I
had
caught a
ride with someone else
. Amanda on the other hand wouldn’t have thought twice about
hurr
ying
away
without me
, especially since
the
police
were sure to be on their way to
investigate the explosions
.
The ex-cheerleader
had lost her
license two months
earlier and wasn’t s
cheduled to g
et it back for another month.
If her father had not been on one of his long business trips,
Amanda
never
would
have dared to drive
to the military base
at all.

T
he screeching
came again
,
s
o close
that
I
instinctively
jerk
ed
my feet away from the sound
. I
n
early passed out from the pain. I
held onto
awareness
and tried to make out the threat. Unfortunately,
I could
not
even see my own
shoes
. The
b
izarre
roiling smog
surrounded me like a black dome
.

Could
the explosions have released a
military toxin
?
Maybe the boys from school had been right. Maybe
the
Army had sealed off secret
underground laboratories
beneath
the
acres of concrete
.
My
parents
seldom discussed
Fort Groachervill
e
, but the few times they did it
was
only to express relief that the local
disappearance
s had stopped
once
the base had been dismantled.
That was fourteen years ago.

I still couldn’t believe I had allowed Amanda to talk me into this.

Something stung
my
finger
.

“
Ow
!”

I yanked my arm
away
but
dozens of
other painful pricks
exploded across
my
fingers and
hand.
More p
ain shot like a gasoline fire
up both ankles and
across my other hand.

Insects!

I screamed and tried to drag myself back to the concrete.
Every
movement was like
a
stabbing sword in my kneecap.
I ignored the surges of w
hite hot agony
, however, and kept trying to push backwards. Finally, d
izzy,
unable to move
any further
,
I
stopped and
held
both
painful
hands
up
to see
dozens of
a
nts!

Large
,
red
fire ants
!

Disgusted,
I tried to brush the
m
from my fingers and palms
, but the
oversized insects might as well have been glued to my
skin
. I could feel hundreds of tiny pincers
also
embedd
ing
in both
my
legs.
I
must have
fallen
on an
anthill. Knowing that
I
had to get away,
I
r
edoubled my efforts to pull myself
back
toward
the concrete
.
My hands sank into the sand as I struggled to drag my lower body. My teeth ground together.
It
felt
as though an
engine
was
backfir
ing inside m
y knee
,
but
I had to get free of the anthill. It took a half dozen
more
heaves before I finally
felt concrete under
my
hands.
My arms and shoulders trembled from the effort as
I
dragged
my
rear end
over the
hard foundation
edge
.
Then I
slumped, exhausted
, the back of my head resting on the hard
concrete
surface.

My limbs were
stiff
, t
he m
uscles numb and tight.
My body felt like an over-filled
water balloon
that might pop at any moment. T
housands of
stinging signals
came
f
rom all over my body
. The ants
had reached
my scalp, neck and cheeks.
In a final effort,
using
every last ounce of strength in
my
cramped
arms,
I
lifted my
torso
and
dragged myself
backwards
once, twice, three times.
F
ireworks exploded in my head as
my
foot struck the edge of the concrete.

I
gasped and
sucked in acrid smoke
,
sending
m
y lungs into
a coughing fit.

Tears streamed down my cheeks. I could still feel
thousands of
tiny pincers digging into my flesh,
sting
ing
me
everywhere imaginable.
My last dying effort had been for nothing.
The ants had not returned to the sand.
They continued feasting on me, their pincers like
electric
needles stabbing
all over my
body. I
felt them but
didn’t have the energy to
rip the
m
from m
y
face
.

I
heard
moaning and
angry screeches. It took
me
several seconds to realize
I
was the one moaning.
Close as coffin walls, t
he brown air
swirled and
clotted
around me
.
My
lungs longed for oxygen. Still the ants crawled
around my
nose
,
my
ears.
Their agonizing companionship would take me to my
death.

The screeching came again
, c
lose
r
this time.
I
felt something on
my
chest.

Realizing my eyes had drifted closed, I
forced them open
to see
gray fur, red eyes,
and
a tiny mouth filled with
oversized
fangs. A squirrel
but n
ot like any squirrel I had ever seen
. T
he little creature screeched again, saliva dripp
ing
from its open maw.
It leaned forward and
I knew it was going to bite my n
eck
. I
fought to stay conscious but the pain and l
ack of oxygen
were a potent mix.
I had
to get
away,
but how? A
ll I could do was to lie
on the hard concrete
surface that was,
apparently
,
to be my
bloody altar.