So it was true: The family had been broken up. She'd read how Dr. Burrows had stumbled upon the Colony under Highfield and been transported to the Deeps by the Styx. Most likely he would have perished by now. Nobody penetrated very far into the Interior and survived. Sarah had no idea where Mrs. Burrows or her daughter, Rebecca, had gone, and she didn't much care. Will was her concern, very much her concern.
Something caught her eye on the floor by the front door, and she crouched down to feel around. She found a pile of letters scattered on the doormat and immediately began to gather them up and cram them into her shoulder bag. Halfway through doing so, she thought she heard noises… a car door slamming… a muted footfall… and then the faintest suggestion of a low voice.
Her nerves fired like electrical short circuits. She held absolutely still. The sounds had been muffled — she couldn’t tell how far away they'd been. She strained to hear anything more, but now there was only silence. Telling herself that it must have been somebody passing the front of the house or maybe just one of the neighbors, she finished collecting the last of the letters. It was high time she left.
She hurried back through the dark hall and, stepping through the back door, had just turned to pull it shut when a man's voice sounded not inches from her ear. It was confident and accusatory.
"Gotcha!" it announced.
A large hand clamped on her left shoulder and heaved her away from the door. She jerked her head around to catch a glimpse of her assailant. In the scant light, she saw a triangle of lean, well-muscled cheek and a flash of white collar.
Styx!
He was strong and had the advantage of surprise, but her reaction was near-instantaneous. She swung her arm against his, sweeping his hand from her shoulder, then looped her arm around his in one skillful move that put him in a painful lock. She heard his sharp intake of breath: This wasn't going the way he thought it would.
As she arched her body to intensify the hold on him, he tried to push himself forward to relieve the pressure on his elbow joint. This brought his head within easy reach, and he'd just opened his mouth to cry out for help when Sarah silenced him with a single blow to the temple. He slumped unconscious onto the patio tiles.
She had disabled her attacker with savage precision and blistering speed, but she wasn't about to stick around to admire her handiwork; there was more than an even chance of other Styx in the area. She had to get away.
She tore across the garden, delving in her shoulder bag for her knife. As she arrived at the opening in the hedges, she thought she was in the clear and was already planning her escape across the Common.
"WHAT DID YOU DO TO HIM?" came a furious shout, and a large shadow loomed in her path.
She pulled the knife out of her bag, and the letters that she'd taken from the house came with it, flying through the air in a hail. But something whipped across her hand, sending the knife spinning from her grip.
In the moonlight she saw the silver glint of the insignia, the numbers and letters on the man's uniform, and realized far too late that these weren't Styx. They were policemen — Topsoil policemen. And she'd already knocked one out for the count. Too bad. He had gotten in her way, and her self-preservation was paramount. She probably wouldn't have done anything differently, even if she'd known.
She tried to dodge away from the man, but he moved quickly to block her. She immediately lashed out with her fist, but he was ready.
"Resisting arrest," he growled as he swung something at her again. A billy club! She saw it the instant before it made contact. It struck her a glancing blow to the forehead, filling her vision with cascading pebbles of bright light. She didn't fall, but the club was quick to come again, swiping across her mouth. This time she folded to the ground.
"Had enough yet, you crazy hag?" he seethed, his contorted mouth spitting the words into her face as he leaned over her. She did her best to throw another punch at him. It was pathetically weak, and he fended it off with ease.
"Is that all you've got left?" He laughed caustically, then fell on her, pinning her down with his knee on her chest. It felt as if an elephant were using her as a footrest.
She tried to worm her way out from under him, but it was no use. She felt a numbness descending over her as she teetered on the edge of consciousness. Everything was going into a lopsided kaleidoscope: the trace of the club against the indigo sky, the hazy circle of the moon eclipsed by the officer's face, a ghastly pantomime mask. She thought she was going to pass out.
No!
She couldn't give up. Not now.
From the patio, the injured policeman moaned, and Sarah's attacker was momentarily distracted. His arm poised above him for the next blow, he glanced quickly over at his partner. The crushing weight shifted for the briefest instant, enabling her to swallow a mouthful of air and regroup her senses.
Her hands scrambled over the ground for her knife, a rock, a stick, anything she could use as a weapon. All she found was the long grass. The policeman's attention was back on her again; he was shouting and cursing, raising the club even higher. She braced herself, prepared for the inevitable, knowing it was all over.
She was beaten.
All of a sudden, something formless and blurred with speed attached itself to the man's arm. Sarah blinked, and the next instant his arm was gone, his weight lifted. There was the oddest silence; he didn't seem to be shouting anymore.
It was as if time had ground to a halt.
She couldn’t understand it. She wondered if she'd lost consciousness. The she glimpsed two massive eyes and a blaze of teeth like a stockade of sharpened stakes. She blinked again.
Time restarted. The policeman let out a piercing scream and slid off her. He struggled clumsily to his feet, one arm hanging uselessly at his side as he tried to defend himself with the other. She couldn't see his face. Whatever was attacking him had wrapped itself around his head and shoulders in a storm of claws and hairless limbs. She saw long, sinewy hind legs raking furiously. The policeman fell flat on his back like a bowling pin as the onslaught continued.
Fighting her dizziness, Sarah sat up. She pushed her bloodsoaked bangs from her eyes and squinted, trying to see, trying to make out what was happening.
The clouds parted, allowing the weak moon to cast its light on the scene. She caught an outline.
No, it couldn't be!
She looked again, not believing what she was seeing.
It was a Hunter, a type of large cat specially bred in the Colony.
What in the world was it doing here?
With the most immense effort, she crawled over to a nearby gatepost and used it to drag herself up. Once on her feet, she felt so groggy and confused, she waited for several moments as she tried to collect her wits.
"No time for this," she chastised herself as the reality of the situation came back to her. "Pull yourself together."
Ignoring the groans and stifled pleas of the policeman as he continued to roll with the Hunter on top of him, she tottered unsteadily up the garden to where she thought her knife had landed. Retrieving it, she also gathered up the letters. She was determined not to leave anything behind. Feeling a little steadier on her feet, she turned to check on the first policeman. He lay unmoving on the patio tiles where she'd dropped him, clearly not posing any sort of threat.
Back at the end of the garden, the second policeman was on his side, his hands pressed to his face as he moaned horribly. The Hunter had detached itself and was sitting next to him, licking a paw. It stopped as Sarah approached, coiling its tail neatly around its legs, and regarded her intently. It flicked its massive eyes across to the groaning man, as if it had had nothing to do with his condition.