Anywhere But Here (The Starborn Ascension) (7 page)

They sounded like ravenous animals determined to find meat before they died. Fear had replaced my grief, and I sat staring at the door, my hands shaking so badly that I had to set the gun down in front of me for fear of letting off a round by accident. Hattie took no notice of me as her remained fixed on the door above us. It took a minute or two, but the pounding became less severe and it seemed they had finally lost interest in us.
 

Then, I heard a noise that sent icicles through my chest. I could hear my mom’s voice from the front of the house.
 

“Waverly? Hattie? Are you home?” she yelled out. Her voice was frantic with worry.

I wanted to yell for her, to tell her to get out of the house, but Hattie reached out and covered my mouth, shaking her head vigorously.
 

“We’ve got to get out of the city,” she said, coming nearer to the basement door.
 

Hattie let go of my mouth, and it was everything I could do not to yell out, but if I did, I knew that the scratchers would be down here in a second. Mom would see them and run, surely.
 

Her steps came closer to the basement. “Waverly? Are you down…” Her words stopped short and were replaced by a scream that sent chills up and down my spine.
 

“No!” I scream out.
 

Something slammed against the door and the horrific grunts mingled with her screams flooded into my ears. I started running up the stairs, but Hattie grabbed me by my pants and pulled me down. “Waverly, no!” she said harshly. She dragged me to her and pulled me close. I tried to fight her for only a second before the screaming stopped and blood started oozing between the crack from under the door and onto the steps ahead of us.
 

My sobs were silent, but not because I tried to quiet them. I cried so hard I thought my ribs might crack. I had no way to gasp for air. It was as though my windpipe had closed off and would allow no breath to come in or out, yet the tears flowed freely from my eyes. I could hear the sounds of chomping jaws closing around soft tissue, lubricated by my mother’s blood that I could see dripping just above. Hattie pulled me away from the stairs and let me lie on the floor.
 

She lay next to me, holding me tightly. “Just breathe,” she whispered into my ear. “There’s no time for crying yet, just breathe.”

Just breathe,
I thought.
Just breathe.
Finally, air entered my lungs and the result was a loud gasp. The chomping from upstairs stopped and the scratchers suddenly seemed interested in the door again. The moaning grew louder as the house became populated with more and more of these creatures.
 

“Why are they coming in here?” I asked. “Why?”

“I don’t know,” Hattie said. She reached down and clutched her gun and handed me the pistol I had set on the steps. “We’ve got to get out of here. Whatever those things are, they know we’re down here.”

“Where are we going?”

Hattie nodded at the television. “They say it’s all over the city. We’ve got to get out of Oakridge. My house will be safer.”

“My parents…”

“Are gone,” Hattie said bluntly. She set the gun down and grabbed my shoulders with her sturdy hands. “Waverly, listen to me. If we don’t get out of here, those things are going to tear that door down and we’ll meet the same fate as your father and mother.”

“How do we know they are dead?” I asked.
 

“Waverly, stop it!” Hattie yelled. As a result, the scratchers started pounding against the door even harder. Both of us turned our heads toward the stairs. When the sound of cracking wood reached our ears, I jumped to my feet, gun in hand. Hattie turned back to me. “My car is in the driveway. If we run out the back we can get out of here fast enough.”

“Your keys?”

She reached for her pocket and nodded. “I’ve got them.”

The grunting and breaking of the wood became louder and then the door hinges snapped. I let out a scream as the creatures came tumbling down the stairs. The first few fell face first, but that didn’t deter them from getting back up to their feet, bones jutting out of their skin. I was frozen in place as about ten of them started toward me. The pictures I had seen on the news were not nearly as terrifying as seeing one of them up close. Their eyes were black, their skin was grey, yes, but their teeth chattered at me, biting the air as if they could already taste my flesh. They smelled like a dead animal, rotting on the side of the road. I lifted my pistol into the air and let off five shots into the chest of the first one coming after me, but he only gained in speed. Then, he was running toward me.
 

A hand grabbed my wrist. “Waverly, run!” Hattie’s voice screamed out. There was no time to fight them. I followed her through the basement living room and to the mudroom at the other end. She unlocked the deadbolt and swung the door open. I ran out first and she tried to slam the door shut just as arms snaked through the opening. Hattie pulled on the knob, smashing the arms over and over, expecting their pain to make them recoil, but it was as if they felt no pain. I lifted my handgun again and shot twice into the crack. Even though their dark, black blood flew, they were undaunted. Hattie gave up on the door as two more arms crashed through the glass at the top. She yelled for me to run. Hoping she was close behind me, I bolted up the stairs and into the driveway. I stopped when I got to Hattie’s car, a sudden realization overtaking me. Looking up and down the street, the grey people were everywhere. Some had claimed victims; a group of them was devouring a man on the ground. I looked at the street in front of my yard and saw my mom’s SUV parked, but emotions of sadness would come later. Shock had taken over me. How could this have happened? Where had they all come from?

“Get in the car, Waverly!” came the voice of Hattie. The grey people were right behind her as she swung open the driver’s side door. She lifted her gun into the air and shot one of the grey people in the head and it dropped to the ground, lifeless. There was no time to think about it, however. I jumped in the front seat as the monsters crowded around the car, smashing through windows. One of them grabbed my shirtsleeve and was coming in to bite me, but Hattie revved the car into reverse and its fingers were unable to maintain its grip. We were in the street and Hattie slammed on the gas pedal, screaming past more of the grey people.
 

The tears began to flow again. “I shot five bullets into one of those things!” I yelled. “It didn’t even flinch! What are they, Hattie? What are they?”

Hattie simply stared straight ahead and shook her head, too focused to cry. Too shocked to answer.

My parents were dead. There was no way to know if my sister was still alive. It felt like my world had ended in a matter of minutes. Perhaps there was still time to save Hattie’s.
 

Sneaking through Crestwood in the middle of the night feels like walking through any old town at dark before the outbreak, minus the armed guards on the wall…and, of course, the wall itself. I’ve got to be careful, though. One of the first rules Gabe made sure to tell me when I got here was that curfew was always at eleven. Anyone caught outside their homes any later might be put in a holding cell, because anyone outside after eleven was probably up to no good.
 

It’s midnight, and I’m up to no good.
 

There is a roundabout on Main Street in the middle of the town across from my apartment building. When I reach it and crouch behind some bushes, I look all around me. Crestwood isn’t huge by any means. In fact, it seems like it might have been the most boring town in the world before the greyskins. I would have hated living here. Its size also means that I have to be extra careful. Guards will usually keep their eyes fixed outside of the walls, but occasionally one or two will do a sweep of Crestwood to make sure everything is quiet and under control.

I look at the front wall and can see two guards holding their rifles at their hips, chattering quietly with each other. If I wanted to, I could listen to what they were saying, but I’ve done it before, and unless I want to hear how much liquor one could hold or how many women another has had, I’ll keep my ears focused on where it matters.
 

I look up at the red brick building to my right. It’s a three-story structure that used to have a café on the first floor. The sign has faded and boards have been nailed into the outside wall below it with writing that says:
Headquarters.
The first floor is usually reserved for Paxton to meet with people like Gabe or the food and ration committee, or the medical staff, but the second floor is where Paxton and the other four elders meet, and that’s where I want to be. The third floor is where Paxton sleeps, and I
don’t
want to be there. According to Gabe, Paxton doesn’t have a bodyguard, so I shouldn’t be running into anything unexpected. But he did warn me that the town leader is notorious for his insomnia and often spends much of his nights on the second floor, going over meeting notes or plans that may have been discussed.

All it will take for me to know if he’s there is a slight tilt of my head and my ears will be able to tell me. I have no idea
why
I gained this ability. I know
when
it happened, and it saved my life, but ever since then I’ve been able to turn it on and off as I need it. I haven’t told a soul about it, and I don’t plan to. That’s why I was so startled when Paxton had asked me about special abilities. I just knew he had me figured out, but he hasn’t asked me about it since. Of course, I don’t exactly make a habit of hanging around Paxton. Mostly I just try to avoid him whenever I can. He seems nice enough now, but I’m not going to take any chances. Then again, I’m crouched outside Headquarters ready to break into the floor just below him. I suppose my skills of avoiding him will be truly tested in a few minutes. I feel nervous, but confident. There is no reason I should get caught. I’ve got an advantage over anyone that might try to catch me. I suppose that the nervousness that creeps into me comes from knowing that I can’t be completely sure I won’t get caught.
 

I turn my head toward the second story of the headquarters building and try to focus my hearing. The sound of a few hundred or more people breathing heavily, snoring loudly, and some of them arguing in bed come into my head all at once, but the key is to tune all that out. The voices, the breaths, all fade away as I focus on the second floor. If Paxton is awake, I will hear him breathing, I will hear the sound of movement, the turning of pages, the creak of a chair.
 

My eyebrows crease when I hear a short squeak and the sound of tiny nails scratching against a wall. My lips curl up into a smile as I pull my head away and turn to look up at Headquarters. The second floor is quiet as a mouse.
 

I glance to my left toward the wall and see the guards still chatting away. To my right, the street is clear. No patrols yet. This is going to be too easy. I stand with my back still hunched over as though I’m ducking for cover from bullets. It feels stupid since there isn’t anyone around - almost like I’m pretending to run from bad guys. Within three seconds I’m standing in front of the Headquarters door. The faded words above read
The Crestwood Café
, and I suddenly remember that most cafés answered each new customer with the sound of a happy bell. Though I’m sure the cute welcoming jingle used to put a smile on someone’s face, it’s a quick way for me to get caught.

I bite my lower lip and look from side-to-side. Would anyone actually hear it? At midnight, most people in Crestwood would have been asleep for at least a couple of hours. Of course, who knows how deeply Paxton sleeps when he’s actually out.
 

I decide against going through the front door and make my way to the left of the building. There is a narrow alley that leads to the next street over, but it’s the door next to the dumpster that catches my attention. I walk swiftly but softly to the door and feel the doorknob. It is locked, but I had expected as much. I reach for my back pocket and pull out a tiny flathead screwdriver - the kind people used to have for repairing glasses. I would have never thought about carrying one of these things around before I had been on the road for a few months. A guy named Jerome taught me its wonderful uses and I’ve always made sure to keep one on me. Luckily, Gabe hadn’t seen it as a threat when they took my knife and gun away. I remember half-heartedly smiling at him and saying that if I ever live to be forty, I might need reading glasses.

I insert the screwdriver into the lock and wiggle it softly until the blade is between the tumblers. With a gentle push and a soft twist, the knob turns as easily as if Paxton had made me a copy of the key. Before opening the door all the way, I hold my breath for a moment, listening for movement ahead of me. The worst part of sneaking around is being caught by surprise. I would rather know my doom was ahead of me than be blindsided by it. There is nothing but silence ahead. Quietly, I pull the screwdriver from the doorknob and slip it back into my pocket.
 

I pull the door open all the way, relieved there is no squeak from the hinges. I hold onto the side of it until it closes silently behind me. I let out a sigh of relief and turn to find myself in the café’s old kitchen, though it isn’t much of a kitchen anymore. Sinks sit dirty and bare, and refrigerators stand open and unplugged. Dirt and a sticky slime is pasted against the walls. A roach narrowly escapes the destructive power of my boot as I take a step forward.

This place isn’t quite up to code,
I think to myself. Of course, the kitchen has probably never been used by Paxton or anyone else here for that matter. I just hope it isn’t completely closed off to the main seating area where I will gain access to the stairs. I walk to the end of the kitchen and stand in front of a set of double doors that are meant to swing in or out. I take a deep breath and push against the right one softly but it doesn’t move. I try the left one, same story. Next, I try to slip my fingers into the small crack between the doors, and once I finally get a good hold on the left one, I pull it toward me. I’m relieved to see that only a table has been pushed up against the doors, and I will be able to sneak past it. I’m not taking my chances by crawling on top of it, so I hold the door open with my left and crouch to my knees. There is plenty of room for me to crawl underneath and to the other side, so I start to move slowly and I ease the door shut against the table.