That they do.
Now, though, I’m wondering if we’ve made a horrible mistake. The weather comes at us in waves: from monsoon-like rains to blistering heat, to devastating frost, to hailstones that leave tiny bruises along my arms. In flashes, the development around us changes, from how it might have looked fully completed, filled with happy families, to cultivated farmland, to nature reclaiming this space.
My hand is secure in Henry’s, but the Screamers are intent on driving us apart. So he reels me in until I’m flush against his chest. And while our umbrellas are collapsed—this gale is too much, even for them—they have enough power to create a protective bubble around us.
Granted, we can’t maneuver like this, but we can catch our breath.
It’s warm here in his embrace, even though sleet lashes my back. My hair is plastered to my scalp, and my T-shirt and jeans are drenched. Rivulets of rain cascade down the side of Henry’s face. We take tiny, stuttering steps, but at this rate, we won’t reach the main gate by next week, never mind before dark.
Something tells me we really need to leave before dark.
“I think we should split up,” he says, his breath so hot against my cold ear, it nearly scorches. “Force them to divide their strength. They can’t manifest weather if they’re stretched too thin.”
All this sounds reasonable, but I don’t like it. I don’t want to split up. I don’t want to stretch ourselves too thin. Most of all, I don’t want to let go of Henry.
“I want you to run as fast as you can for the gate.” His words are nonnegotiable.
I protest anyway. “I won’t leave you.”
“Listen to me.” All at once, his voice turns deadly serious. “This isn’t normal Screamer behavior. This isn’t something the two of us can fight.”
Yes, something’s changed. I sense that. But what that is, I can’t say. These Screamers don’t even feel like King’s End Screamers. My mind reaches out, curious as to why that might be, and the rush of blood is hot and thick against my upper lip.
I swipe my nose with the back of my hand, and the flow stems almost immediately. But not before one, two, three drops of blood spatter on the damp soil.
The ground rumbles beneath our feet. I watch in horror as the earth swallows up those drops of blood. Henry looks ashen. It’s this, more than anything else, that makes my throat constrict with panic.
He takes me by the shoulders. “Run as fast as you can for the gate. Don’t look back. Just run. I’ll be right behind you.”
That last sentence is a full-on lie.
“Promise me, Pansy. Run and don’t look back.”
I make no such promise.
But I do run.
Chapter 40
Henry
King’s End, Minnesota
Thursday, July 13
So, this was how it was going to be, then? Here was where it would end, in King’s End and not the Sahara. Polite of the Screamers to make the trip halfway around the world just for him.
He could only hope Pansy had run when he told her to. He didn’t have the margin to check. Yes, he was most likely going to die today. But no, he wasn’t going to make it easy for the Screamers. Henry stood, the rain battering him, umbrella humming with anticipation. He would miss this. Whatever was on the other side, he felt certain he’d have to leave both this fight and his umbrella behind.
Well, yes, you can’t take it with you.
What first, then? Which of this mass was the nastiest of the bunch, the ones destined to give Pansy the most trouble? Start there. What had Max Monroe said?
You protect her with your life. That’s your role in all this.
Henry could see that now, although if he were honest with himself, he’d known his role from the moment he’d arrived in King’s End. It was there, flavoring the air, swirling just out of reach. Ophelia, no doubt, could’ve told him.
Ophelia. He shook thoughts of his sister from his head. Pansy could reach her; Pansy might be the one to save her. With that idea, that hope, he raised his umbrella and sent out a pulse. Then he smiled.
