Pink-scaled and ostrich-sized, they sprinted on powerful legs, their long necks extended forward, and their beaked mouths open to release the strange barking cries. Smaller versions tumbled along behind the adults, fluffy pink chicks that peeped frantically as they struggled to keep up. Their scales caught the sunlight, flashing like pieces of rose quartz. Their eyes, surprisingly large and intelligent, gleamed with what looked like anger.
“Chumbles,” Aunt Inla breathed, a touch of awe in her voice. “Tressa found some chumbles and brought them here.”
I’d never seen them before, but Hail had described the enormous chicken-like birds orcs raided for eggs. His stories hadn’t done them justice. They moved with a prehistoric grace, their claws tearing at the earth as Tressa herded them into the middle of the clearing.
“What the—” Rosey said.
Right behind Tressa and the chumbles came another figure, smaller and human. Max, Holly’s teenage son, waved his arms and whooped as he drove even more chumbles into the camp. His face was flushed with excitement and his eyes bright with the thrill of danger.
“Max,” Holly gasped, her voice strangled with horror. “What ishedoing here?”
There was no time to wonder. The chumbles raced around the clearing like a pink hurricane, their shrieks turning to angry screeches as they were driven in all directions. The sound wasdeafening, a combination of prehistoric cries, claws scrambling across rocks, wings flapping, and men bellowing in dismay.
Guards shouted, raising their weapons but seemingly unsure what to shoot at first—the wolf, the boy, or the bizarre pink birds swarming around them. One fired a shot into the air, which only seemed to agitate the chumbles further.
Their beaks opened to reveal rows of sharp fangs, glistening wet in the sunlight. Their wingtips ended in curved claws that looked capable of gutting a small animal with one swipe. And they were pissed off.
The chumbles’ screams changed in pitch, becoming primal and chilling, a sound from an ancient time when humans were prey, not predators. The hair on my arms stood on end.
“Now,” I shouted, sprinting around the scruffy patch of pine trees. “While they’re distracted.”
My friends and I burst from cover, charging into the camp. My legs burned with effort, and my lungs worked hard, dragging in air thick with dirt and the musky scent of the chumbles.
The guards were in chaos, swatting at chumbles that lunged and snapped at them with fanged beaks. One man stumbled backward, his gun forgotten as he raised his arms to protect his throat from a large chumble leaping at him, its claws extended. His scream cut off fast as the creature impacted with his body, driving him to the ground.
More chumbles poured into the clearing, the adults herding their chicks into a defensive formation. The chicks themselves were more agile than they appeared, darting between legs and pecking at anything that moved. Another guard went down hard, tripping over a cluster of chicks.
A scream cut through the din, coming from inside one of the buildings. The door burst open, slamming back against the wall with a crack that echoed across the clearing. Will staggered out, batting frantically at three small chumble chicks that hadsomehow gotten inside and were now climbing the front of his expensive suit, their tiny beaks nipping through the fabric, drawing blood.
“Get these things off me,” he snarled, stumbling around the clearing. A chick had latched onto his ear, and he swatted at it.
Two other men raced out of the building with chumble chicks riding their spines and heads, pecking hard enough to draw blood.
The chumble adults focused on Will and the shrieking men, maybe drawn by their frantic movements or a need to protect their young. They converged, driving Will and the remaining men toward the mine entrance. Their cries becoming frenzied, the creatures swarmed.
One of the guards grabbed Will’s arm and pulled him inside the dark opening.
A guard fired wildly, the bullet embedding itself in a wooden beam. Splinters exploded outward, adding to the furor.
Through the swirling dirt, I caught glimpses of Hail, still bound to the chair. His eyes darted from the chumbles to Will to me, wide with disbelief and something that I swore was admiration.
Tressa stood at the center of the storm, her white fur stark against the sea of pink, directing the chaos like a conductor. She herded chumbles toward the guards whenever they tried to leave the mine entrance. When one of the guards raised his gun toward her, three adult chumbles leaped at him in unison, driving him back with a feral scream.
“Move,” Aunt Inla cried, brandishing her cast iron skillet as she waded into the fray. “Free Hail!”
We split, circling around the edges of the camp. Her rolling pin clutched in her hand, Holly veered toward Max, her face a mask of motherly fury. She latched onto his arm and pulled himbehind a building, her mouth moving rapidly in what I assumed was a fierce scolding.
Beth, Rosey, and Gracie headed for the mine entrance, improvised weapons raised. They cut off any escape for Will and his men, waving at the chumbles to drive them toward the men, making the guys back deeper into the cave.
I ran toward Hail.
His shirt was torn and dirty, and bruises bloomed on his chest. His wrists were raw where the ropes had cut into them. But his eyes were alert and searching, until they found me.
“Allie,” he called. “Be c-c-careful.”
A new guard appeared from behind a building, raising his gun toward me. The black eye of the barrel seemed to expand until it filled my vision.
Time slowed.
