The Gift

Chapter 81

Wisty

The swarm of bodies, the claws and teeth, the screeches and growls, the stink and heat of their breath-it's everywhere. It's overwhelming, sickening. But I've never been more focused in my life.

The second that Byron blows the Command Pipe, I leap at him and it's as if we're two magnets. I'm on him-girl to boy-and I rip the pipe from his hands.

I'm surprised at how it slips easily out of his grip and into mine-but I'm one-tenth of a second too late.

I can already feel claws piercing the skin on my thighs.

There's a moment where I think my life is going to end just the way Byron wanted it to. With me on top of him, clutching him for dear life, his raucous monsters taking both of us down at once. I don't like the image one bit.

But my focus is back, and I no longer feel too much of the pain of whatever mutilation has already started on my back and legs. I close my eyes and hum the notes into the Command Pipe, the very same ones Byron used earlier to subdue his brutes.

Perfect pitch has never been more perfect. Over and over I send out the command until I have enough courage to let myself absorb what's going on.

The beastly strikes have stopped. All I feel now is the pounding of Byron's raging heart. He's alive. I'm alive. And Whit?

Continuing with the series of notes, I open my eyes and roll off Byron. Whit's just a few feet away, on top of the monster that had gotten to me a few seconds before. He actually has the beast in a stranglehold. My brother really is something else.

There's thick, gloppy blood on me, on Byron, on the floor, on Whit. But what freaks me out more than anything else is what the creatures really look like. This is the first time we're seeing them up close.

They're kids. They're human children. What has the New Order done to them?

I'm surging with energy and righteous anger and power. Looking up at the sky, and then at Whit, I transform us into birds. Really fast ones. In a heartbeat, we're supersonic hummingbirds disappearing into the sky. The Command Pipe I'd been holding sails down toward the rooftop.

Far below, the last thing I see is the feral children descending on Byron.

I turn my head away. I can't watch this.