Lydia

By B. D. Messick

A long time ago, I asked someone who loved me why they were helping save us when so many humans hate us, hunt us and kill us for just being. She said everyone has a right to live, and that there is beauty is everything around us, even if we can’t see it.

Years later, someone I loved asked me why I was helping to save the humans when they do such terrible things to us. When they hate us, hunt us and kill us for just being. I told her that we needed to be more humane than they are, and that where there’s hate, there can be love. Where there’s evil, there is always good.
But after all these years, after so much pain and loss, those words seem to ring hollow in my ears.

The world as we know it is at a turning point. There’s a storm coming and I’m not sure any of us will survive it, but I will do everything I can so that everything that I’ve lost will not have been in vain.

Join Lydia as she treks across the devastated former United States to find Zach and Melody, but more importantly, the one person that Cain Blackthorne thinks can help save the world; their daughter Lyra.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Melange Books, LLC
• Release date: Apr 7, 2020
• ISBN: 9781680468670

B. D. Messick

B.D. Messick was born in Baltimore, years and years ago. He has held a lot of jobs in his lifetime, including retail professional, board game designer, and even farm hand (best job ever).He currently resides somewhere in the Pittsburgh area where he spends his time writing as much as possible while cleaning up after FAR too many cats.

Book preview

Chapter One

"Stay down until I signal you, and when I do, run like hell. Do not look back. Do not stop, because if they catch you, they will fucking kill you."

A young woman accompanied by a girl about seven years old gives me a dirty look, probably for my cursing. The rest of the group; a man in his thirties with dark hair and a ragged beard, two younger males, maybe brothers, one about fifteen or sixteen, the other about twenty or so, and a middle-aged lady with red hair and a fierce gaze, stare at me as we huddle behind the bombed-out ruins of an old Arby’s.

What do you want me to say? I ask, looking at the young lady. That everything’s going to be okay, because it’s not. It’s way too late for that. You want to live, then you fuckin’ run!

I shake my head and sigh before turning my attention to the little girl. She stares at me with dark blue eyes that peek out from under a mop of blonde hair.

You understand? I ask her, ignoring her mother, sister, or whoever the hell she is.

She nods in response.

Say it.

They’ll fucking kill me if they catch me. So run like hell, she says, a look of grim determination on her face.

Good girl. Now make her understand, I say, gesturing to her older companion.

I move to the corner of the building, stepping carefully over a pile of tumbled bricks. I peer around the wall at three huge beasts covered with heavy coats of black hair as they rummage through the scattered piles of debris barely twenty yards away. One of them turns slightly and the sun glitters off the enormous tusks protruding from each side of its mouth, but it’s not the huge canines that draw your attention, it’s their eyes—bright orange orbs that look like they’re on fire. Looking to the north, I can see the border wall that separates California and Arizona. Unfortunately, we’re on the Arizona side.

What the hell are those things? the older man asks as he crouches behind me.

Listen, I say, looking back at him. Don’t crowd me.

Sorry, he replies as he scoots back.

They’re called bugganes. They’re from Ireland or something.

Dangerous?

Stupid question, I answer as I move back to the rest of the group.

I can see the look of fear in all their eyes. I know at least one of them, maybe more, isn’t going to survive this, but there’s nothing I can do about that. I’m not risking my life any more than I have to. It’s survival of the fittest out here, and it has been for at least five years. I’m surprised that some of these people made it this far.

Okay. Here’s what’s going to happen. The wall is about a quarter mile away. I’d like to wait until these bugganes move on, but we can’t risk staying here any longer. At some point, something else is going to come along and then we’ll really be up shit’s creek.

So, what are we doing? the older of the possible brothers asks.

He’s good looking, but too young for me, although he has all the attributes I like, including short, dark hair and bright green eyes. The muscles that are poorly concealed under his shirt don’t hurt either. If I was only a seventy-five years younger…

I’m going to distract them and you’re going to head to the wall. There’s an old semi-tractor trailer parked alongside it that you should be able to use to get over.

How are you going to distract them? the little girl asks.

Don’t worry about it. Just do what you need to do.

Her older companion reaches out and touches my arm.

Thank you for this, she says.

Yeah. Whatever. Just get her over the wall.

I start to stand when the older man steps up next to me.

I can’t let you do this by yourself.

Sure you can.

No, he says, shaking his head. I’m coming with you.

Not a good idea, I reply, frowning at him.

Don’t care.

You’re probably gonna die, I say, looking him straight in the eyes.

I’ve had my life, he says. They deserve a chance at theirs.

It’s your funeral, I reply, pulling my Taurus Veridian handgun out of its holster and checking the magazine. I slap it back into place and stand, looking down at the party of frightened but hopeful faces. As soon as you hear the first shot, start running. Get to the wall and get over.

I look at the incredibly brave, or unbelievably stupid man standing next to me. I pull the pistol out of my other holster, a Remington RP9, and hand it to him. He holds it like he knows how to use it, so I don’t ask.

I’m ready if you are, I say.

Let’s do it.

Target their eyes, okay? Anywhere else will be pointless.

Got it.

We leave the rest of the group behind and jog down to the far end of the building. Peeking around the corner, I spot the three monsters at the end of the old brick structure. I flip the little switch that controls the strobe light on my pistol, and we begin advancing on the creatures. I raise the gun and squeeze the trigger as we walk. The slug rips through the beast’s shoulder, pushing him back slightly, but it’s not even enough to knock him down. He roars and his companions follow suit, racing toward us.

You asked for this, I say to the man.

I know.

What’s your name? I ask as I target the lead buggane.

Phil. What’s yours?

Lydia.

Okay then.

He fires twice, the first shot missing by mere inches, but the second slug flies through the monster’s left eye and it goes down hard. The other two leap over their fallen comrade, their eyes blazing like fire.

Come on! I yell and we turn and run back around the side of the building.

I hope the others are already running. They should be halfway to the wall by now.

We turn again, our weapons raised, ready to fire as soon as the beasts appear, but after a few seconds, there’s no sign of them.

Where the hell are they? I ask out loud just before the wall to our right explodes outward.

We’re showered with broken bricks and other debris as the two bugganes throw themselves at us. I start to turn, swinging around to the right, but it’s too late. The monster slams into me, knocking me down, the pistol slipping from my grasp. The creature roars at me, bits of foul-smelling saliva dripping onto my face and into my mouth. I kick out, but I can’t get any leverage. I spot my companion wrestling with the other attacker. After blocking one punch, I strike back, landing four blows in quick succession directly to the creature’s face.

It seems stunned momentarily and I spot a sharp fragment of brick just inches away. I grab the shard and drive it deep into the monster’s neck, pounding it in with my fist. The beast rises up as it scratches and claws at the improvised dagger until it finally gets a grip on it. It yanks the brick out, and a second later a torrent of thick, black liquid gushes out of the hole and the creature wavers for a moment before growing still and then collapsing off to the side. I scramble to my feet and dart for my pistol.

I spin around, lowering the weapon and targeting the remaining buggane as it struggles with Phil. Before I can fire, a scream pierces the air and I look off in the direction of the wall.

Go! Phil yells at he as he pumps two shots into his attacker’s mid-section, the sound muted by the creature’s thick fur. The monster slashes at him with his powerful claws and they both fall to the ground.

Shit!

I take off running, using the hole in the building created by our attackers. As soon as I clear the rubble, I spot the rest of the group running toward the border with another buggane in pursuit.

Where the hell did you come from? I ask no one.

I start after them at full speed, leaping over scattered pieces of debris and dodging the abandoned shells of cars. I raise my pistol when I’m just within range, but it’s too risky to shoot. The two girls are almost to the barrier, but the boys are lagging behind, and then they do the worst thing they could possibly do; they turn to fight. I don’t see the redhead anywhere.

The buggane leaps onto the closest one, knocking him to the ground, its claws tearing into the poor kid’s chest. His younger companion stands there, stunned, unable to react or even scream. The girls are scrambling up onto the old semi parked by the wall, yelling for him to start running again.

When I’m within five yards, I fire once, just grazing the creature in the shoulder. It turns away from its prey and glares at me. I push the button for the strobe and the light begins flashing rapidly, visible even in the early afternoon. The buggane rears back, covering its eyes and roaring in pain and confusion. I race past it, grabbing the young man’s arm and pulling him along with me.

Come on! Run! I yell.

But—

He’s fuckin’ dead. Now run!

It takes a second or two, but he starts running alongside me. Within a minute, we’re at the base of the old truck. The girls are already on top of the trailer. They extend their arms and I push the boy up. When he’s settled, I clamber up, easily leaping and grabbing the edge of the trailer. The little girl looks at me, her mouth wide.

You’re one of them, aren’t you? she asks.

I nod and smile.

I’m one of the good ones, I reply with a wink. Where’s the redhead?

They all shake their heads. I look back toward the ruined building and sigh.

Fuck it! Everyone over the wall.

As the others boost the girl up to the top of the metal barrier, I look back toward the remaining buggane. It spots me at that exact moment and begins charging.

Hurry up! I yell.

The two girls are already up, sitting on the top of the wall, the air shimmering around them with an odd blue hue. They extend their arms down and help the boy boost himself up. I stare at the dilapidated building where I left Phil battling the other buggane, but there’s no sign of him.

Come on! the girl screams. It’s coming!

I turn and jump up, just missing the top of the wall, but three hands grab my arm and pull me up just as the monster leaps onto the top of the trailer, its claws missing me by mere inches. The blue light seems to wrap itself around me as I stand on the top of the barrier.

Tuck and roll, I say before pushing everyone off the ledge, eliciting a scream from the older girl.

Fortunately, the ground on the other side is much higher, so the drop is only about five feet. As soon as my boots touch the ground, I pull the others next to me as we huddle against the warm, hard steel of the fence. Reaching into my back pocket, I pull out a little notebook with a tiny pencil tucked into the binding. I open it and look at the boy.

What was your friend’s name? I ask.

What? Why? he asks, still in a state of shock.

What was his name?

Joseph, he replies.

I write Joseph and Phil, one after the other, adding to the collection of names filling the first half of the book.

What about the other lady?

I don’t know. Do you want my name? he asks.

No, I say, writing Unknown Lady before closing the book.

Why?

You’re still alive. People will still say your name.

I slip the book back into my pocket and look at my three remaining companions.

What do we do now? the older girl asks.

We wait.

For what?

For them, I say, nodding behind them as a dozen heavily armed military vehicles crest the ridge, each one loaded with soldiers wearing brown and tan camouflage.

I raise my hands slowly and lower my head. The others follow my lead. I look at the little girl and give her a reassuring grin and wink. The Humvees and jeeps come to a stop a few feet away and soldiers pour out. Some of them surround us, while others proceed to the top of the barrier. A second later, the sound of gunfire fills the air.

All clear, one of them says. It was one of the buggane things.

Roger that, Sergeant, a woman replies before she steps up to us. So, what do we have here?

I look up at her, my head tilted to the side.

Jesus Christ, she says. Lydia Maxwell.

Chapter Two

Here, I say, raising my hand when Miss Weaver calls my name.

My best friend, Sarah, looks at me and smiles. We always giggle during attendance because our names come one after the other.

Sarah Miller?

Here, she replies.

We sit through the rest of the list, doodling or just being quiet so we don’t draw Miss Weaver’s attention; nobody wants that. Even being in the fifth row doesn’t always shield us from her seemingly inhuman hearing.

Everyone stand for the pledge of allegiance, she says as soon as she’s done with the roll call.

We all stand and face the flag. I glance at the picture of President Johnson just before we begin reciting. When we’re done, we all sit, the sound of chair legs scraping on the tile floor filling the room.

Miss Weaver picks her notebook off the desk and turns to the board. She starts writing, the chalk clicking and squeaking on the hard, black surface.

We’re going to talk about the presidents today, children, she says, without turning around.

I tilt my head to the side as I read off the loose-leaf pages in her book, quickly memorizing the names and dates, all of them in her neat, compact handwriting.

Can anyone tell me who was President during the Spanish-American War?

I raise my hand.

Miss Maxwell?

William McKinley.

Very good, she says, giving me a friendly nod of the head.

Sarah looks at me as she’s flipping through her book.

How did you know that?

It’s in her notebook, I reply.

She frowns at me.

When did you look at her notebook?

When she was holding it up there.

Really? You can read it from here?

Sure. Can’t you?

No, of course not.

Oh.

You eat a lot of carrots or something?

I guess, I reply, feeling slightly awkward now.

Or maybe you’re just a weirdo, she says and we both giggle.

Miss Maxwell. Miss Miller. Is there something you want to share with the class?

No ma’am, we both say at once.

She turns back to the board and Sarah and I look at each other and roll our eyes.

The rest of the morning goes quickly, and finally, the bell for recess rings. We pour outside through the doors like a wave of pure excitement. The warm spring air only serves to invigorate us. The long eastern Pennsylvania winter is finally loosening its grip and even some of the crocuses are peeking through the leaf-covered ground in the small flower beds.

Sarah and I run, side by side, directly to the old jungle gym. I scramble up to the top, easily scaling the slightly rusty bars, in just a matter of a few short seconds. Sarah follows after, but at a much slower pace, carefully picking and choosing her path. I reach down and take her hand, pulling her up to the top with me. We sit down on the narrow bars at the peak, her holding on with her hands on both sides, while I sit with more confidence, not needing any additional support.

After a couple of minutes of watching the other kids running around the playground, I stand up on the thin metal bar and walk back and forth behind Sarah, even leaping over her on one of my trips.

Now you’re just showing off, she says, grinning at me and shaking her head.

I sit down next to her again.

Sorry, I say, and then I let out a sigh.

She looks at me and frowns.

What’s the matter? she asks.

Nothing, I reply, unconvincingly.

Uh huh. Just tell me.

You don’t really think I’m a weirdo, do you? I ask, looking down at my feet as they dangle below me.

What? No way. I was just kidding, Lydia.

Are you sure?

Lydia, you’re my best friend; you have been forever, she says, taking my hand. You’re not weird, you’re special.

You sound like my mom.

Well, she’s right. Just because you can run faster, jump higher, and see farther than anyone else in this school, it doesn’t make you strange, it makes you amazing.

I smile at her and she pulls me into a tight hug. We hold each other for a few moments until the sound of the bell lets us know that it’s time to go back inside. I stand up on the narrow top bar and do a handstand and then flip myself over Sarah, landing near the end of the jungle gym. She looks at me and shakes her head. I turn and face her and then do a double back flip off the bar and land firmly on my feet in the short, green grass.

Sarah makes her way down and walks over to me.

Now you’re really showing off, she says, laughing.

I laugh along with her, then we run up the steps, not wanting to be late to class.

Sarah and I walk home like we do on a regular basis, although we take the long way today, stopping at Iacano’s Deli, the little neighborhood market that’s only a few blocks from the school. By the time we get there, the cramped, old store is crowded with kids, all buying sodas, candy, gum, and other snacks and treats. When it’s finally our turn, we step up, placing our stuff on the old-fashioned white marble counter.

Mr. Iacono looks at us from under his bushy, white eyebrows as he sorts through our selections.

And how are you two young ladies? he asks, his thick Italian accent making him slightly difficult to understand.

We’re fine, Mr. Iacono, I reply.

He leans down a little and smiles at us.

Such polite girls. Paying together?

Yes, sir.

He bags our purchases and sets the little paper sack on the counter. I hand him a dollar, but when I touch his rough, stubby fingers everything seems to stop around me for half a second and I don’t see him as the kindly, curly white-haired shop owner, but as a taller man with long, dark hair, pale skin, and pointed ears. I pull my hand back and everything returns to normal. I stare at him, my heart racing as Sarah touches my arm.

You okay? she asks.

Um…yeah…yeah. I’m okay, I reply.

Here’s your change, Lydia, he says, smiling warmly.

I take the money as he drops the coins into my hand, not touching me this time.

Thanks, I manage to utter.

He nods and then gives me a little wink, which seems like much more than a wink. I grab the bag and push past the crowd of kids behind us with Sarah following. When we get outside, I stop, and she almost runs into me.

Hey. What happened back there? she asks as she comes around in front of me.

Nothing, I answer.

I start walking, heading toward the stop sign at the end of the block. Sarah jogs up alongside me and grabs my arm, forcing me to stop.

What’s going on with you? she asks, frowning at me.

If I tell you, you’re really gonna think I’m a weirdo, I say quietly while looking around to be sure no one is listening.

I promise I won’t.

I pause for a moment, trying to decide what to say, or if I should say anything. This isn’t the first time that I’ve seen something like this. It’s been happening more and more frequently, but never with anyone I know so well. It’s always been with strangers I pass in the store, or at the park, or someplace like that. Sometimes it happens when I touch them, but sometimes I’ve just been close to them. Sarah is staring at me, waiting for a reply, and I know she won’t drop it until I tell her.

For a second, when I looked at Mr. Iacono, he was…different, I finally say.

Different? What do you mean?

He was…taller and…

Maybe he was standing on something behind the counter.

Maybe…but he had dark hair.

Yeah, maybe fifty years ago, she says, laughing.

I can’t help but smile, and slowly the memory of that split-second image begins to fade.

Come on, I’m starving, she says.

We dart across the street and cut through the yard of the second house on the right side, pushing our way through a tangled thicket of vines and tall weeds, emerging on the other side at our secret hideaway—a little pond surrounded by reeds and filled with flowering lily pads. A dozen frogs, disturbed by our sudden appearance, leap into the water. We walk over to the large, flat rock that sits by the edge of the water and open our bag of treats.

I hand Sarah her bottle of Coke and I set my Orange Crush on the rock. Little beads of sweat roll down the glass and then spread out and vanish when they reach the stone. I remove two Sky Bars and two boxes of Satellite Wafers from the bag before folding the sack carefully and setting it under my foot so it doesn’t blow away. After opening the candy bar, I break off the vanilla and peanut sections and hand them to Sarah. She gives me the fudge and caramel portions from hers and we both lean back against the rock and look out across the little pond.

We rarely speak when we’re at our hideaway. We both just sit and enjoy the quiet and the dual-solitude. A few minutes later, Sarah looks at me and I know it’s time to go before our moms start worrying that we’re late. I sigh and start packing all the wrappers and empty bottles in the bag. We leave everything exactly as we found it.

Our houses are only about five blocks from our secret oasis, and of course, they’re right next to each other. When we reach my driveway, Sarah gives me a hug.

See you tomorrow? she asks.

I’ll be here.

She jogs across our yard toward her house and then disappears from view a few seconds later. I check the mailbox, pulling out two letters and a copy of Life magazine. When I start down the driveway, I notice that my father’s car is there, and the garage door is open. It’s not that out of the ordinary for him to be home this early, but it’s not a regular thing, either.

I walk inside, and the place is a mess. It looks like a tornado went through the living and dining rooms. Papers are strewn on the table and there are boxes everywhere, some filled and some empty.

Dad? Mom? I call out.

She emerges from the kitchen, a distressed look on her face.

What’s going on? I ask.

Lydia, she says. We need to talk.

Chapter Three

"I’m not saying a word until my lawyer gets here," I say as I lean back in the old wooden chair, my boots on the desk.

Will you shut up about that, already? There’s no lawyer coming and you know it, the young man in the neatly pressed uniform says as he sits across from me, a sour expression on his face.

Fine. You know, you’re taking all the fun out of this.

He sighs and shakes his head.

Miss Maxwell, can you—

Call me Lydia.

Another sigh, a little deeper this time.

See, this is what happens when you have a one-night stand. You never know when you’re going to run into them again, I say, grinning at him.

He leans in close, his eyes darting to the camera mounted in the corner.

You’re going to get us both in trouble, he whispers.

But that’s what I do. Besides, the last time, you were all about ‘trouble.’

He shakes his head and leans back.

Miss Maxwell, can you tell me what you were doing in the Western Territories?

You mean Arizona?

I mean the former state of Arizona, now part of the Western Territories of America.

I was doing what I always do.

Which is what?

Saving you sorry sons of bitches one person at a time, I reply before putting my head back and looking up at the ceiling. If you’re not going to help me, can you just send in Major Thomas, so I can get this over with and get the hell out of here?

He looks over at the mirror that comprises most of the wall to my left before turning back to me.

You know, you are not in any position to make demands here, he says.

I’m not making any demands. I’m asking you to let me talk to Major Thomas, who just so happens to be standing behind that mirror along with three other individuals, probably men, but one of them might be a beefy woman, I say, turning my head and staring at the window.

My interviewer touches his hand to his ear, and I grin.

You’re being summoned, I say, winking at him.

Don’t move, he says, pointing at me.

Wouldn’t dream of it.

I close my eyes and start running the floor plan of the facility through my head, or at least the parts that I got to see. I hear him open the door, close it, and then the sound of three locks latching into place sort of puts a damper on my escape plan.

One lock, no problem. I’m gone.

Two locks, tougher, but not insurmountable.

Three locks, unless this is one of those crappy Mission Impossible movies, forget about it.

I finish mapping my route to the outside anyway. Who knows? They could always fuck up and I might be presented with an opportunity. So far though, they’ve been pretty by the book. Things have changed since the last time I was here. I look over at the mirror again, listening intently. I can hear voices and breathing through the glass. He’s back there now, talking with the other four. I can’t make out the words, but the discussion is quite lively.

I pull my legs down and lean forward just as the locks on the door are released. It opens and a tall, muscular woman walks into the room. She’s dressed in military fatigues, but they do nothing to disguise the lovely and enticing curves of her body. Your momma wears combat boots dig would not work on her. She strides over to the chair on the other side of the table and sits down, facing me. Her dark blue eyes bore into me like lasers and her lips part just the tiniest bit. I inhale her perfume combined with her natural scent and I can’t help but smile.

She has my handgun and the wickedly curved blade that’s been my constant companion for the last few decades. It’s also one of the only things I have that my parents left me. She slides them across the table and then sits back, her arms crossed.

Lydia. Why do you always have to be such a pain in the ass? she asks.

Hi, Deanna, I say with a big smile. We all have to be who we are, don’t we?

She shakes her head and stares at me.

I suppose so.

Anyway…when are you going to cut me loose? You’ve never kept me here like this before.

In a little bit, she replies.

Is this about me not calling you after? I ask, grinning at her.

She frowns and leans across the table.

Jesus, Lydia, she hisses at me through her teeth before looking over at the mirror.

Well if it’s not that, what is it?

Someone wants to talk to you.

Who?

Blackthorne, she replies as she removes a small tablet from her pocket and slides it across the table.

I just stare at it for a moment before looking back at her.

What if I say I don’t want to talk to him?

Just do it, she says with a sigh.

If I don’t?

It’s your choice, she says quietly, her expression unreadable.

Then I can just go, right?

Sure…it’s just that your paperwork is going to take some time. You know, red tape and stuff.

What paperwork?

You know, who was doing what, when, and to whom.

So, it really isn’t my choice, I say, frowning at her.

Of course it is. You can choose to talk to him, or you can choose to sit here until everything gets sorted out, you know, with all the red tape and stuff.

Goddamn it!

I lift the tablet, unfold it, and press the power button on the side. The logo for Blackthorne Enterprises appears on the screen.

Please hold for Mr. Blackthorne, a pleasant female voice announces.

I sigh and look up at Deanna.

Can I have some privacy?

Sure, she says, as she stands and heads to the door.

I look back at the screen and a moment later, the logo fades away and the image changes to a man sitting behind a glass and metal desk. He looks like he’s about forty-five or so, with dark hair with a bit of gray on the sides. His eyes are light blue and piercing. It feels like they’re looking right through me.

Lydia.

Cain.

You are a hard woman to find, he says.

You know that’s how I like it.

I know, but I need you.

I lean back in the chair and growl while looking up at the ceiling.

What do you need? I ask without moving.

I need you here.

Oh, come on. New York? I whine.

Yes.

Just tell me.

It’s not something we can discuss remotely.

I lean forward again, setting the chair on all four legs.

You know how much of a pain in the ass it is to cross the country now?

I am aware.

Can’t you send a plane?

My assets are currently deployed elsewhere.

For the last four years, air travel has been basically shutdown. The only way to get from one place to another safely by air is by military transport, but they’re far too busy to be acting as a taxi service. I put my head down on the table, my skin cooled by the smooth metal.

If this is so critical, un-deploy them.

It’s not so easy.

Whatever you say. I’m guessing you need me right now.

As soon as possible would be ideal.

Fine. Are you arranging for a vehicle?

It’s being handled, he replies.

I lift my head and look at the screen again.

What if I had said ‘no’?

I knew you wouldn’t.

Did you?

I know you, Lydia, even better than you know yourself.

I feign vomiting.

"Blechh."

Classy as always.

You know it. I’ll head out as soon as the car is ready.

Oh, there’s one more thing.

Of course there is, I say, sighing.

Do you know where Zach and Melody are?

Maybe… I reply, suspiciously.

Their little girl. I need you to bring her with you to New York.

How the hell is that going to happen? I don’t think they’re going to let me take their nine-year-old daughter with me.

Then bring them along.

Whoa, whoa, whoa, slow it down. Now you want me to go on a family fucking road trip through Maleficus infested and war-torn territory with June and Ward Cleaver.

Hmm. Yes, I guess that about sums it up.

They’re probably not going to be happy to see me.

Whoever is? he asks, grinning wickedly.

Funny. Can you just tell me what’s going on?

Chapter Four

Okay, my mom says. Come sit down.

She leads me into the living room, weaving her way through the mess of boxes and other clutter until we reach the couch. We sit down together, and she takes my hand. She looks tired, stressed, and worried.

Clive! she says, calling out for my dad while looking past me toward the stairs to the second floor. Lydia’s home.

I’ll be right down, he calls back.

She turns and looks at me again, a loving but nervous expression on her face. I look around at the boxes, the papers, and the other belongings strewn all over the house.

Mom. What’s happening?

Hold on one second, darling, she says, smiling nervously.

The sound of my father descending the stairs draws her attention. She stands up, smoothing the front of her dress as he walks into the room. I look up at him and he smiles warmly at me.

Sweetheart, he says, his finger brushing gently against my cheek.

He sits down next to mom and she scoots herself over next to him. No one says anything as I look back and forth between the two of them waiting for someone to say something.

Are you going to tell me, or what? I ask, unable to wait any longer.

We’re moving, honey, my father says.

Moving? Where?

Away.

What does that mean, ‘away’?

It just means we have to leave, my mother says.

Why? I don’t understand.

My parents look at each other and then he nods.

There are people who would not be happy if they found your mother…here…with me, my father says.

What do you mean?

Have you been seeing anything strange lately. Anything out of the ordinary?

Like what?

I shift back and forth nervously, wondering how they know about Mr. Iacono.

Well, maybe when you see someone, they don’t look exactly like they always used to, or maybe they just look…strange.

I swallow hard and my mother reaches out to take my hand in hers.

It’s okay, honey. It’s nothing to be afraid of.

Today, when Sarah and I stopped by the store, Mr. Iacono looked different…just for a second.

How did he look different?

He was…taller. His hair was darker…and—

And what, honey?

He had pointy ears, I reply, looking down at my lap instead of at her.

She looks at my dad, and he gives her a little nod.

Like these? she asks as she pulls her hair back.

Oh my God! What is happening? I blurt out, jumping to my feet and backing away from them.

My mother stands, but my father remains seated.

It’s okay, honey. Calm down, she says.

Stay away from me! I scream.

I turn and make a dash for the door as they both call out for me to stop. I sprint down the front walk, looking left and right when I reach the bottom of the driveway, trying to decide which way to go. For a moment, I think about heading to Sarah’s house, but after what happened at the store, I’m not sure if she would believe me, so I head toward the only other place I can think of—the pond.

I can hear my parents somewhere behind me as I run down the street, so I turn and cut through the neighbor’s yard, jumping over their bushes and racing around the back of their house. I use the secret paths that Sarah and I mapped out years ago through the lines of hedges and over or even under fences so I can keep off the streets. I’m sure my parents are looking for me, and I don’t want to be found right now. Eventually, I have to slow down as the tears that are running down my cheeks blur my vision, while vines, branches, and thorny weeds, entangle, slap, and scratch me.

When I finally reach Mr. Snyder’s yard, I race past his rickety old deck directly to the tangle of weeds and small trees that form a natural fence along his property line. I find our little, hidden access tunnel and crawl through, emerging on the far side of the pond. I stand for a moment trying to calm myself, but my mind is racing with a million questions and my heart will not slow down. I walk over to the rock and lie down on my back and stare up at the bright blue sky. It feels like my world is coming apart at the seams, or maybe I’m just going crazy.

There you are, I hear my dad say.

I jump up as he comes through the little tunnel. I