No, no, I won’t die.
Think, Avilyna,think!
Without another moment of hesitation, I move. My hands shoot to the monster’s head, fingers searching for what I know is vulnerable. The texture is slick, disturbingly soft. Shoving my thumbs in the creature’s skull with every ounce of strength I have, my fingers dig into the squishy, wet matter beneath them. It roars, snapping its jaws at me in an attempt to tear me apart, but I hold. With every ounce of strength I have left, I hold.
Pushing my feet against what I think is its chest, I try to maintain the distance while I shove harder, grinding my thumbsdeeper. I feel something shift, something giving way. A sickening pop and the demon shrieks, a sound so loud and guttural it rattles through every bone in my body. A black goo begins to ooze from the holes where its eyes used to be, coating my hands in its putrid liquid.
But the pressure is too much. My grip slips, and I crash to the ground with a thud. The force knocks the breath out of me. Looking up, dazed, my pulse roars in my ears, and smoke curls from the creature’s empty eye sockets.
Without warning, the deafening crack of a shotgun blasts through the air. On impact, the creature disintegrates into a cloud of ash. The pungent, acrid scent of rotten eggs lingers in the air, heavy and bitter. My heart races as I spin around, my head swimming with disbelief.
What the fuck just happened?
At the bottom of the porch stairs, my dad stands like a silhouette against the moon’s dim light. His right hand grips the glowing shotgun, still smoking from firing it. Weird drawings shimmer faintly before dying off the barrel.
My dad’s left arm is wrapped tightly around his middle. His flannel shirt is tinted red, the blood quickly seeping out of his midsection. The overwhelming relief of seeing him collides with the horror of what just happened. His face is pale, jaw tight. For a second, I can’t breathe.
The crash of relief and terror collide all at once.
My dad is hurt.
5
Avilyna
THIS TRUTH
My boots crunchover the gravel as I sprint to my dad’s side, panic flooding every step. My own pain and injuries are completely forgotten. Dropping on the porch steps, I ease him down as gently as I can. He is pale and bleeding.
There’ssomuch blood.
The metallic scent hits me hard, thick in the back of my throat. It makes my head spin, my vision blur, but I force myself to stay focused. His wound won’t heal itself. My hands are pressing down hard, but it’s not enough.
It’s not working.
My mind scrambles for anything useful, anything at all.
“I’ll call 911!” I barely stand to get my phone.
“No.” My dad’s voice is breathless, strained, but sharp enough to freeze me.
“I’ll be quick?—”
“I said no!” His grip clamps around my wrist, surprisingly strong despite how weak he looks.
“Lyna,” he says, forcing my name through clenched teeth. “Listen. I don’t have much time.”
I open my mouth to argue, to beg, but the look in his eyes silences me.
It’s final.
The kind of look that makes you listen.
“There’s a strong chance I won’t make it.” My dad’s breath hitches. “You know it. I know it. My organs are…” My dad trails off, glancing down, his lips twitching in a bitter half-smile. “Not where they should be.” Tears prick my eyes. My heart screams at me to do something, but then his voice lowers and the words that follow gut me.
“I tried to protect you. That was your mother’s dying wish.” His eyes glisten, and there’s a softness in them that breaks me further. “God, I loved that woman. But, even if I wished for it with every part of me… It’s not true.”
“What’s not true?” I ask, barely a whisper.
