“Let’s go!” I say. Logan and Ian ignore me, but Adam grabs my arm.
“The medical wagon still has people inside. The wagon behind it has the pregnant woman and at least five more who are too old to travel well. They can’t run, much less climb.”
The roar beneath us becomes a ferocious howl of rage as the crack widens beside me.
“Rachel, get out of here!” Logan yells as he braces his legs for balance. The device is clutched in his hand.
“Not without you,” I say.
He leaps over the jagged gap that is steadily tearing the field asunder, and we all race for the wagons.
Before we’re even halfway there, Frankie and Thom, still mounted on the horses they ride at the far end of our line of travelers each day, reach the wagons. Frankie leaps from his horse and thrusts the reins into Thom’s hands. Then he rushes for the lead wagon, the one filled with the survivors who are still recovering from the injuries they sustained during Baalboden’s destruction. The wagon’s donkey struggles against the traces, desperate to be free. Frankie grabs its bridle and tries to quiet it before it attracts the Cursed One with its noise.
“Look out!” Thom cries as the ground heaves, throwing all of us to our knees.
I skid forward on my palms and roll into a crouch just in time to see the Cursed One explode out of the ground six yards from the edge of the field. The trees closest to the monster snap at their bases and tumble to the ground with a crack-swoosh that echoes across the forest. Just beyond the carnage, people huddle on the ground or cling to branches, their eyes wide with terror.
Behind us, the donkey yanks free of Frankie’s hands and flees, dragging the medical wagon violently across the field. I glance back to see Thom spur his horse in pursuit, his hand still firmly wrapped around the reins of Frankie’s horse.
The Cursed One looks like a giant, wingless dragon with a serpent’s tail. It coils its huge body like a snake, muscles gleaming beneath black interlocking scales. Dirt, vines, and clumps of grass slide off the ridge of webbed spikes running down its back. Digging thick yellow claws into the ground, it pulls itself forward, puffs of smoke already leaking from its snout.
Ian crouches beside me. Adam shoves himself to his knees on my other side and says, “Holy—”
I slap my hand across his mouth, but it’s too late. The beast swings its head toward us, milky yellow eyes staring at nothing while it sniffs the air. I hold my breath as sharp bits of rock dig into my knees.
Ten yards to our right, Logan steps forward with Rowansmark’s device in his hands. The flutelike gray metal object gleams dully, but bright copper wires coil around the gears and lead to a small box in his other hand.
I hope his modification is enough to give him control over the beast before it incinerates us where we stand.
Logan steps to the side, distancing himself from us as he circles the Cursed One.
A low rumble shudders through the creature as it pins us with its sightless eyes and creeps closer. Only fifteen yards separate it from Ian, Adam, Frankie, and me. The puffs of smoke coming from its snout turn into steady streams of gray-black as the terrible fire that burns in its belly rises up its throat.
Logan had better hurry.
We can’t run without triggering an attack, but if we stay here much longer, it won’t matter. We’ll be dead either way.
Deep inside of me, the silence chills me to the core, and I wonder what it would be like to let the Cursed One burn it all away. All the memories. The nightmares. The yawning pit of loss that lurks within me, waiting for one tiny misstep to drag me under forever.
Maybe I would be free. Maybe in death, I would find the peace that eludes me here.
Or maybe the unfinished business between the Commander and me would haunt me beyond the grave.
The Cursed One claws its way toward us, snapping thick kudzu vines like twigs. Whatever Logan’s doing with the device, it’s not working.
“We have to move,” Ian breathes softly. “It will most likely shoot a stream of fire straight in front of it. On the count of three, scatter to the sides and don’t stop running.”
It’s as good a plan as any. I gather myself and get ready to leap to the left. Beside me Adam trembles, his breath grating harshly against the morning air. Behind us, Frankie says in a voice I can barely hear, “You three stay put. When it turns its head, run.”
Before I can question him, he leaps past us and yells, “Over here, you misbegotten creature from hell!”
Frankie runs toward the monster, angling to the right as if determined to drive his sword into the beast’s belly. The Cursed One snorts, jerks its head toward Frankie, and bellows.
A thick stream of red-gold fire spews out of its snout. Frankie dives beneath it, but flames grab hold of his tunic and his clothing ignites. He rolls across the grass, extinguishing the flames, while the beast gathers itself for another blast.
“Come on.” Ian wraps his arms around my waist and scoops me up off the ground. As he pulls me toward the trees, I realize Adam is already there, waiting for us, his dark eyes full of horror as he stares at Frankie.
Frankie lies on his back, his clothes still smoking, staring up at the Cursed One with defiance written in every line of his body. The creature is ten yards away, but the sinuous coils of its body close the distance between them quickly. A guttural choking sound issues from the beast’s throat, and the smoke in its nostrils turns gray-black again.
Frankie digs his fingers into the dirt and braces himself. I close my eyes, praying that Frankie dies quickly and that the pain is over in seconds. Praying that the monster leaves once he’s satisfied his prey is dead. Praying that everyone else has the good sense to honor Frankie’s sacrifice by remaining silent.
“No!” Logan’s voice cracks through the air like a whip, and my eyes fly open. The Cursed One swings its face toward him instead of Frankie. Logan stands alone in the field with the ruined Ferris wheel thirty yards behind him. No trees for protection. No place to run.
No exit strategy except his own death.
Terror is a bright shaft of pain through my chest as Logan walks closer to the monster.
I jerk against Ian’s arms, but he won’t let me go.
The muscles beneath the beast’s scales writhe as it gathers itself. Smoke pours out of its nostrils.
I slam my elbow into Ian’s stomach and stomp on his instep with my boot. I have to save Logan. I have to. I can run onto the field and scream. The beast will come after me instead. I’ll be far enough away from Ian and Adam to keep them safe. No one else will die.
No one else here deserves to die.
“Not going to happen,” Ian says against my ear, his grip tightening as I struggle harder.
I grab his arm, drop my shoulder, and twist toward him in a move I’ve practiced a hundred times. A move designed to send him flying over my shoulder and onto his back.
Instead, he pivots gracefully and uses my own momentum to trap me.
“Like I said. Not going to happen. I don’t think Logan would appreciate you sacrificing yourself for him, and I’m not going to be the one he blames for it.” His eyes find mine for a moment and then flicker toward Logan, standing alone in the clearing, facing the Cursed One.
The monster howls, smoke gushing from its mouth.
“No!” I scream the word, straining against Ian’s grip, all thoughts of protecting Adam and Ian forgotten as the beast claws the ground and lowers its snout toward Logan.