Sisters Red (30 page)

288

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Rosie

Time to act.

At long last, the daylight fades. The tiny square of light around my door dims, and the Fenris begin to rise. They bark at one another, tousle and fight in a clattering of nails and deep snarls. A few scratch at my door but move on when the others snap in protest. I ignore them and crawl around the generator in the center of the room, groping with my fingertips along the machine until I find the little access panel on the side. I brace my fingers underneath it and pull.

Nothing happens, and my fingers begin to bleed as the sharp rust slices into them. I hold my breath as I yank again. The door gives, sending flecks of metal raining onto the cement floor and into my eyes. I squeeze them shut and ignore the urge to release the door. I slowly pry it off; the

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hinges are so old that they give way and the heavy iron door falls into my hands. I ease it to the ground and blink away the dust in my eyes as the smell of gasoline overpowers my nostrils.

I grope around on the dirty shelves behind me, fingertips trailing across the cleaners and old rags until they finally wrap around the bits of hose. I turn back to the generator and run my hands across the open space. Wires, cords--I can't see anything, but I hope that my fingers will know what they're looking for when they find it. I root my nails underneath a row of cables and grab on to a tiny metal bar--it turns to the right almost too easily and lifts off to reveal the fuel tank below. I glance up worriedly. Surely they'll smell the gasoline.

I tug the wires aside with one hand and feed an end of the hose into the fuel tank with the other. How much can there possibly be left? The hose hits liquid quickly, which is promising. I glance at the door again, put my lips around the end of the hose, and inhale.

I almost instantly yank my face away and gasp for air that isn't pure gas fumes--my lungs burn and scream in pain, but it seems to have done the trick. The hose snakes in my grip, and I hear the quiet splashing of gasoline pouring onto the floor. I quickly aim the hose at the tiny crack beneath the door and watch as the liquid begins to flow out. I prop up the hose on one of the bottles of cleaner and step over the river of fuel. I tear a strip of fabric off the bottom of my shirt. Outside, I hear the wolves sniffing around the fuel.

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One Fenris scratches and howls at the door, his voice half human, half animal.

"John and Mary were born in a cave and lived in the cave their entire lives. They always stayed far back in the cave in the near darkness, because if they tried to leave, they saw giant dark monsters on the wall. John and Mary didn't know it, but the monsters were only shadows."

I wrap the fabric around my forehead and pull one side down so it covers my right eye. It's not as effective as my sister's eye patch, but it'll do. I tug the cloth tightly so it completely obscures my vision. The wolves gather by the door, a chorus of sniffs and growls punctuated by piercing howls. I hear the crunch of a few changing to human form and shouting for the Alpha.

"One day their grandmother came into the cave. She grabbed John and Mary by the hands and led them to the monsters, then explained how the monsters were only shadows."

Oma March's storyteller voice is crisp and clear in my head, the memory of the scent of fabric softener on our fleece blankets stronger than the sharp odor of gasoline that's still pumping furiously from the generator.

"Darling, I can't promise I can hold back my pack if you

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force me to open this door," the Alpha sneers through the crack. It doesn't matter; I'm going forward with my plan whether he opens the door or not. Granted, I'll die if he doesn't, but really... I would've died either way. I slink over to the shelves and reach for the lighter, muscles now well accustomed to navigating this space in the dark.
Here we go
.

I flick the lighter on, the little flame illuminating the dark room with what feels like a flood of light after so many hours of darkness. The wolves begin to scratch at the door, their claws cutting into the metal. The hose finally slows to a steady drip of gasoline as I stare with my uncovered eye at the flame.

My eyes begin to water as I hear the Alpha's threats again, the howls of the wolves, maniacal laughter of those in human form, crunching spines of those changing back and forth between the two. They want in; they're thriving off one another's desire for me combined with the curiosity over what I'm doing to flood the tunnel with gasoline. The Alpha gives a command to the other wolves in a low, guttural growl. I stare at the flame and in it see images: me with Scarlett as little girls with Popsicle-stained tongues, visiting her in the hospital after the attack, the first day I held the punching bags for her when she began training to hunt, the day I hunted with her and Silas for the first time, the moment I knew I loved Silas, the day he and I kissed in the thunderstorm...

Time moves in slow motion. I hear the Alpha unlock the door. It swings open, but I see them only for a glimmer of a moment. Hundreds of them staring at me with hungry,

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reddish eyes, tongues dripping saliva to the concrete floor below.

"Then," Oma March said, "their grandmother took them outside into the bright, bright sunlight."

The wolves lunge. I drop to the floor and hold the end of the lighter to the stream of gasoline. It lights up like an explosion racing out the door, flames leaping high, illuminating ancient graffiti with more brightness than the tunnel has probably ever seen. It burns my hand. I release the lighter and push forward like an Olympic sprinter bounding off her starting point.

"It hurt and burned their eyes because it was the first time they'd ever seen the sun after living in the dark for so long."

The wolves paw at their eyes, blinded by the sudden brilliance of the flames. My uncovered eye is used to it, and I run through the flames that lick at my cloak and legs, feel my skin blistering as I dart around and past wolves who snap at my ankles with their eyes closed. It's an obstacle course, a sea of flame and teeth. The Alpha is screaming orders, and the wolves are trying to follow but stumble around blindly, falling toward the fire. Eventually there is nothing but screaming and howling in my ears, one steady, horrific cry of agony.

Keep moving forward, keep going.
Ahead I see the stairs,
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but the Fenris by the door struggle less, their eyes becoming accustomed. I hit the steps running, legs burning from exertion and fire, and the wolves dash forward, long jaws outstretched, hunger and anger overwhelming them. I leap above one and punch both feet downward on another's jaw, whirling around to avoid teeth. I think that one nipped my side, but it's not bad.
Keep moving, keep moving
.

I break past the final line of wolves as the rush of night air hits my skin, cooling the burns lashing my body. I grab for the makeshift eye patch and yank it to the other side of my face, unveiling the eye that's been shrouded in darkness and covering the one that just saw my way through the firelight. I don't stumble, don't blink with the sudden change--I can see fine. I press forward, feet pounding the pavement of an empty street, and look back to see a few wolves stumble from the smoke-filled tunnel only to be thrown from blinding light to blinding darkness.

It doesn't matter in what direction I run--I just have to keep moving away from them as they recover. The howls and infuriated snarls of the wolves echo between the buildings on either side of me, but I have to keep moving.

Run, Rosie. You're the only one who can save yourself.

294

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

SCARLETT

YOU READY FOR THIS?" I ASK SILAS. ONE HOUR TO
go before the exchange. We'll have to leave shortly.

"To lose Rosie and possibly my soul?" Silas shakes his head and manages a halfhearted grin. "Not exactly."

"But are you?" I say seriously.

Silas stands. "I'm ready."

He grabs his ax, straps knives to his waist. I sharpen the edge of my hatchet, throw my cloak over my head, and pick up Rosie's knife belt for good measure. One of the three of us is bound to need two extra knives. I hope it's Rosie.

She
will
make it out alive. My sister is the priority. I will save Silas, I will fight for Silas, but if I must, I'll take my sister and go. I have to protect her. I don't tell Silas, but I'm sure he knows--and I'm sure he'd tell me my priorities are in

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order. Partners know each other like that. Yet some wicked part of me is still furious with him. If he didn't love her, they wouldn't have taken her. If she didn't love him, she might have been able to focus on stopping the wolves instead of pining for Silas.

If Rosie were like
me,
she would be safe.

If she were filled with the same obsession, the same need to avenge Oma March's death and a body of scars, the same drive to stop the wolves at any sacrifice, she would be safe.

Would Silas's death be the thing that makes Rosie focus? If they take him from her, would the hunt become her passion, the way it is mine?

Probably. For a glimmer of a moment, I allow myself to imagine Rosie and me hunting together without Silas. My sister and I, side by side, equally driven, undistracted and unrelenting. A flicker of wanting shoots through me.

I shake my head.
Focus, Scarlett,
I snap at myself as guilt fills my mouth, masking the taste of anger on my tongue.
Forget that. Saving Rosie is the priority, not your anger, not Silas, not revenge against the Arrow pack, not the Potential. Rosie.

We descend the stairs, trying to hide the fact that both pairs of hands tremble in nervous fear. I throw open the door, hoping I look more confident than I feel, and we take to the night.

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CHAPTER THIRTY

Rosie

I feel them lurking behind me, closing in, even though
when I look back I don't see them. My lungs are full of smoke, but adrenaline yanks me onward. I finally begin to see signs of life--hoboes and the occasional car with hydraulics rocking down the street. Can't they hear the howling? Don't they know they're in danger?

I can't keep running. I can feel the burn blisters on my legs popping, and the wet skin underneath stings as wind reaches it. The bottom of my cloak is singed and barely reaches my lower back now, and my throat is dry and pleading for water. I can't outrun them. Maybe they'll lose my scent--I slog through as many puddles as I can as I cut through alleys and parking lots, but I have to stop soon. The wolves' howls are growing fainter, but it's hard to tell if they're far away or if

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the metallic skyscrapers between us are merely muffling their cries. In the distance I can see the cupola that perches on top of our apartment.
Go there? Now? Where else?

I see one of the boarded-up apartment buildings ahead, and I know the lot where Silas and I first kissed is beyond it. I duck under a rotted fence, ignoring the No Trespassing sign, and cut through the apartment's ancient courtyard, over a crumbling fountain and between long-dead hanging plants. Yes, finally. My feet force me to slow even as my mind urges me onward. Something about knowing I can slip beneath the fence, cross the street, and be back in the apartment convinces me it's safe to slow down.
Breathe. You're safe.
I slink between rusted cars, panting heavily and ignoring the furious barks of the junkyard dogs nearby.

And then I hear them.

298

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

SCARLETT

I WOULD RECOGNIZE A SINGLE SOUND FROM MY
sister's lips in a crowd of thousands. Which is how I know when we open the apartment door that the smallest, tiniest whimper the wind carries to our ears is hers. I signal to Silas and we hurry to the edge of the abandoned lot, like my sister's spirit is reeling us toward her. We peer through the grasses and chain-link fence.

Her back is to us, the remains of her charred cloak fluttering in the wind. Her legs, usually creamy and pale, are covered in burn blisters, and there's a bandanna wrapped around her head, tangling her long hair in its knot and covering one eye.

She looks like me.

A sound escapes from my throat, something between a plea and a cry of joy that, at the very least, my sister is alive.

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Pride swells beneath fear as I realize she must have escaped on her own, but now the Fenris are closing in on her, backing her toward the fence that Silas and I crouch behind. Her hands don't tremble like they usually do when she's nervous, and I can feel her breathing slowly, trying to focus.
Good job, Rosie.
Why did I expect any less? She's a hunter.

The Alpha takes a step toward my sister, his eyes deep ocher and raging like darkened flames. The other wolves--not the full pack, but at least a dozen--cluster behind him, pawing at the ground like racehorses readying for their starting gates to spring. The dog next door howls furiously and throws himself against the fence. Apart from the dog and the heavy breathing of the wolves, the street is eerily silent. Even the street corners are empty, as though the junkies ran off like townspeople before a Western showdown.

"Lett," Silas whispers, tensing. It's not a warning but a question--Silas knows that a plan is already running through my head, building like a snowball rolling downhill.

"There are three of us again," I mutter, counting the wolves behind the Alpha.

"We can take them. We've fought nearly this many before."

"You can't get bitten. The Alpha is with them, and he wants you."

"You know what to do if it happens," Silas says seriously. I meet his eyes for a moment, and he grabs my hand and squeezes it. In unison, we break our stare and slide through the fence opening.