[Anh Ngữ] World After (Penryn & the End of Days #2) - Susan Ee (English)

[Đông Tịch]

World After (Penryn & the End of Days #2)
Author: Susan Ee
Genre: Fantasy thriller

Chap 10:​

Spoiler

IN THE END, the only thing we bring back is what’s left of the few dead scorpions that we found scattered beneath the rubble, and their one surviving victim, Clara.

When we park in front of the school, Sanjay walks with her, quietly asking her questions. I don’t have to ask her anything to know that she just wants to find her husband and kids. Everyone who sees her moves away, looking like they think she’s contagious.

When I get back to our history class, the stench of rotten eggs hits me as soon as I open the door. The windowsills are lined with cartons of old eggs. Somehow, my mother has managed to find a stash of them.

Mom is out. I don’t know what she’s doing or where she is but that’s pretty normal for us.

Paige sits on her cot with her head down so that her hair covers her stitches, and I can almost pretend not to see them. Her hair is as shiny and healthy as any seven-year-old’s. She’s in a flower-print dress, tights, and pink high-top sneakers that dangle over the edge of the cot.

“Where’s Mom?”


Paige shakes her head. She hasn’t said much since we found her.


On a chair beside her cot is a bowl of chicken soup with a spoon sitting in it. Looks like Mom hasn’t had much luck feeding her. When was the last time Paige ate? I pick up the bowl and sit on the chair.

Lifting a spoonful of soup, I move it toward her. But Paige won’t open her mouth.

“Aaand the train goes into the tunnel.” I give her a little clown smile as I push the spoon toward her mouth. “Choo-choo!” It used to work when she was really little.

She peeks up at me and tries to smile. She stops when the stitches begin to crinkle.

“Come on, it’s delicious.” There is meat in it. I had laid down the law and declared that Paige could no longer be a vegetarian as soon as we started having trouble finding food. Maybe that’s what keeps her from trying the soup?

Maybe not.

Paige shakes her head. She’s no longer throwing up, but she’s no longer trying to eat either.

I put the spoon down into the bowl. “What happened when you were with the angels?” I ask as gently as I can. “Can you talk about it?”

She looks at the floor. A tear sparkles on her lashes.

I know she can talk because she’s called me “Ryn-Ryn” like she used to when she was little, and “Mom” or “Mommy.” And “hungry.” She’s said that several times.

“It’s just us. Nobody else is listening. Do you want to tell me what happened?”

She shakes her head slowly, looking at her feet. A tear drops onto her dress.

“Okay, we don’t have to talk about that right now. We’ll never talk about it if you don’t want to.” I set the bowl on the floor. “But do you know what you can eat?”

She shakes her head again. “Hungry.” The whisper is so quiet that I barely hear it. Her lips hardly open to talk, but I can still catch a glimpse of her razor teeth.

My insides churn. “Can you tell me what you’re hungry for?” A part of me desperately wants to know the answer. But the rest of me dreads what she might say.

She hesitates before she shakes her head “no” again.

My hand comes up without me thinking about it. I’m about to stroke her hair like I’ve always done. She looks up at me, and her hair falls away from her stitches.
Crude, uneven stitches crisscross her face. The stitches that run between her lips and ears give her a forced grin that cuts her face. Red, black, and bruised, they scream for attention. They run down her neck and into her dress. I wish there wasn’t one cutting across her neck like they’d sewn her head onto her body.

My hand hesitates over her head, almost touching her hair but not quite.

Then I drop it back to my side.

I turn away from Paige.

A pile of clothes sits on my mother’s cot. I dig through for jeans and a jersey. Mom didn’t bother ripping off the tags, but she has already sewn a yellow starburst on the bottom of the pant leg for protection from the boogeyman. I don’t care so long as it’s dry and doesn’t smell too badly of rotten eggs.

I change out of my wet clothes. “I’m going to see if I can find something else for you to eat. I’ll be back soon, okay?”

Paige nods, looking at the floor again.

I leave, wishing I had a dry jacket to cover my sword. I consider wearing the wet one but decide against it.

The school sits on a prime corner with a grove owned by Stanford University across one street and a high-end strip mall across another. I wander over to the shops.

My dad always said there was a lot of money in this area and even the strip malls show it. Back in the day, in the World Before, you could see Steve Jobs, founder of Apple, eating breakfast here while he was still a living resident of Silicon Valley. Or catch Mark Zuckerberg, founder of Facebook, grabbing a bite with his friends.

They all looked like middle managers to me but my dad was into all that. Technocrats, he called them. I’m pretty sure I saw Zuckerberg digging the latrine ditch beside Raffe at the camp a few days ago. I guess a billion dollars doesn’t buy much respect in the World After.

I skitter from car to car as if I’m just a random survivor on the street. The parking lot and walkways are mostly deserted, but inside the shops, people mill about. Some are picking out clothes. This is probably as good a place as any to find a jacket, but food comes first.

The signs of burger joints, burrito places, and juice shops make my mouth water. There was a time when I could walk into any of these and order food. Hard to believe.

I head for the supermarket. There’s a line inside, where people can’t be seen from above. I haven’t been in a market since the early days of the attack.

Some stores had their shelves emptied by panicked people, while others shut down completely so no one could get in. The established gangs from the World Before took over stores as early as the day after the Great Attack when it became clear that nothing was certain.

The bloody feather hanging on the door tells me that this supermarket is gang-owned. But by the looks of all the people in here, the gang is either generous enough to share with the rest of us, or they lost some kind of fight with the Resistance.

The bloody palm prints smeared on the front door glass make me think that the gang was none too happy about giving up their treasures.

Inside, Resistance personnel give out small amounts of food. A handful of crackers, a scoopful of nuts, instant pasta. There are almost as many soldiers in here as there were during the aerie attack. They stand guard by the food tables with their rifles plainly in sight.

“This is all you get, folks,” says one food worker. “Hang in there and we’ll be able to start making meals soon. This is just to keep you going until we get the kitchens fired.”

A soldier yells out, “One package per family! No exceptions!”

I guess no one has told them about the food delivery in Obi’s headquarters. I look around and scope out the situation.

There are kids my age, but I don’t recognize any of them. Even though a lot of them are as tall as adults, they don’t stray far from their parents. Some of the girls are tucked under the arms of their moms or dads like little kids. They seem safe and secure, protected and loved, looking like they belong.

I wonder what that’s like? Is it as good as it looks from the outside?

I realize that I’m cradling my elbows like I’m hugging myself. I relax my arms and stand tall. Body language says a lot about your place in the world, and the last thing I need is to look vulnerable.

I notice something else. A lot of people are looking at me, the lone teen girl in line. I’ve been told I look younger than seventeen, probably because I’m small.

There are big guys carrying hammers and bats who I’m sure would prefer to carry a sword like the one on my back. A gun would be better but guns can be tricky to steal, and at this stage of the game, only burly men seem to have them.

I watch the men watching me, and I know that there is no such thing as a safe harbor in the World After.

For no reason, Raffe’s chiseled face pops into my mind. He has an unnerving habit of doing that.

By the time I get to the front of the line, I’m pretty hungry. I hate to think of how Paige must be feeling. I reach the distribution table and put out my hand, but the guy takes one look at me and shakes his head.

“One package per family, sorry. Your mom already came by.”

“Oh.” Ah, the joys of fame and misfortune. We’re probably the only family who is recognized by half the people in the camp.

The guy looks at me like he’s heard it all—any excuse to get more food out of him has already been tried. “We have rotten eggs in the back if you want more cartons.”

Great.

“Did she just take rotten eggs or was there some real food in there too?”

“I made sure she got some real food.”

“Thank you. I appreciate it.” I turn away. I can feel the weight of eyes watching me walk alone toward the darkening parking lot. I didn’t realize how late it was getting.

On the edge of my vision, I see a man nodding to another, who then signals to another guy.

They’re all big and carrying weapons. One has a bat across his shoulder. Another has hammer handles sticking out of his jacket pockets. The third has a large kitchen knife stuck into his belt.

They slip out casually behind me.

 

[Đông Tịch]

World After (Penryn & the End of Days #2)
Author: Susan Ee
Genre: Fantasy thriller

Chap 11:​

Spoiler

I HAD planned to shop for a jacket, but no way am I going into an enclosed space at dusk with these goons behind me.

I head for the open parking lot, ducking from car to car as we were instructed to do.

The guys behind me do the same.

My World After instincts scream at me to break into a run. My primal self knows I’m being stalked and hunted.

But my World Before brain tells me they haven’t done anything threatening. They’re only walking behind me, and where else would they go except to the school across the street?

I’m back in a semi-organized group of people. I can’t behave like a savage, like I’m a paranoid schizophrenic.

Right.

I break into a sprint.

So do the guys behind me.

Their feet slap faster and closer to me with every stride I take.

Their legs are longer and stronger than mine. It’s just a matter of seconds before they’ll be on me. My center of gravity is way lower than theirs so I can zigzag like nobody’s business, but that’ll only buy me a few more seconds.

I run by several people who crouch behind cars on their way back to the school. None of them looks willing to help.

The standard advice against muggers is to toss away whatever they’re after and run like hell because your safety is worth so much more than your purse. That’s a no-brainer. Except they’re either after me or Raffe’s sword. I can’t give up either of those.

My adrenaline is pumping and fear is screaming at me. But my training kicks in and I automatically run through my options.

I could scream. Obi’s men would be out here in a second. But so might the angels if there are any within hearing distance. There’s a reason why we need to be quiet and stay out of sight. I’d be putting everyone at risk by screaming, and the soldiers might shoot all of us with their silencer-enhanced guns to shut me up.

I could run into Obi’s building. But it’s too far away.

I could stop and fight. But my chances are pretty poor against three men with weapons.

I don’t like any of my options.

I run as fast and as far as I can go. My lungs burn and I’m getting a stitch in my side, but the closer I can get to Obi’s building, the better the chance that Obi’s men will see us and stop the attackers.

When my back prickles, telling me they’re getting too close, I turn around and pull out my sword.

Damn, I sure wish I knew how to use it.

The men skid to a stop and fan out around me.

One lifts his bat to striking position. Another pulls out two hammers from his coat pockets. The third pulls out the kitchen knife from his belt.

I am so screwed.

People pause to watch—a few faces through the windows, a mother and child at an open doorway, an older couple under an awning.

“Get Obi’s men,” I whisper-shout to the couple.

They grip each other tightly and hide behind a post.

I hold out my sword like a light saber. It’s about the only sword knowledge I have. I’ve trained with knives, but a sword is a whole other animal. I guess I could bludgeon them with it like a bat. Or maybe if I throw it at them, I might get a chance to run.

But there’s a gleam in their eyes that tells me this isn’t just about getting a pretty weapon off an easy target.

I start shifting to the side to line them up in a row so they’ll get in each other’s way if they rush me all at once. But before I can position myself, one of the guys throws a hammer at me.

I duck.

They pounce.

Then everything happens so fast I can barely absorb what’s going on.

I don’t have room to swing so I ram one of the attackers with the sword’s hilt. I feel the crunch of his ribs as he goes down.

I try to swing the blade at the other men but hands grab me and shove me off balance. I brace for a major hit, hopefully from the bat and not the hammer.

Just my luck, both weapons go up together, one in each man’s hand. The bat and the hammer are black cutouts against the twilight sky in that heartbeat moment before they come down for a smashing blow.

A growling blur crashes into the men, knocking them both to the ground.

One of them gapes down at himself. Blood seeps across his shirt. He looks around bewildered.

All our eyes land on the crouching, growling thing in the shadows that looks like it’s about to pounce again.

When the thing steps out of the dark, I see the familiar flower-print dress, tights, and pink sneakers of my sister.

A zip-up hoodie hangs off her shoulders and her hair streaks down her face, giving glimpses of her angry stitches and razor teeth. Paige stalks around the men like a hyena, bent almost on all fours.

“What the hell,” says one of the attackers from the ground, crab-crawling backwards.

It’s freaking me out to see her like this. With all the slashes on her face and the metal shining on her teeth, she looks like a nightmare come to life, one I should be running from. I can tell the others think so too.

“Shh,” I say hesitantly reaching out toward Paige. “It’s okay.”

She growls a low guttural sound. She’s about to pounce on one of the guys.

“Easy, kiddo,” I say. “I’m fine. Let’s just get out of here, okay?”

She doesn’t even look at me. Her lip twitches as she eyes her prey.

There are too many people watching.

“Paige, put on your hood,” I whisper. I don’t care what the attackers think, but I worry about the stories the spectators might spread.

To my surprise, Paige pulls up her hood. Some of the tension eases from my muscles. She’s aware and listening to me.

“It’s okay,” I whisper inching toward her, fighting my instincts to run from her. “These bad men are going to go away and leave us alone.”

The men get up, never taking their eyes off Paige. “Get that freak away from me,” says one. “That thing’s not human.”

My mother has snuck up on the attackers without any of us noticing. “She’s more human than you could ever be.”

She shoves her cattle prod into his ribs. He jerks away from her with a muffled yelp.

“She’s more human than any of us.” Mom has a way of whispering that gives the impression of yelling.

“That thing needs to be put down,” says the guy who was holding the bat.

“You need to be put down,” says my mother, approaching him with her prod.

“Get the hell away from me.” Without his bat and his buddies backing him up, he looks like a regular-sized guy with less than regular courage.

My mom jabs her prod at him, zapping it in the air.

He jumps back, narrowly escaping. “You’re all goddamn crazy.” He turns and runs.

My mother runs after him as he scurries into a building.

That dude is not going to have a good evening.

I sheath my sword with hands trembling from the post-fight adrenaline. “Come on, Paige. Let’s go inside.”

Paige walks ahead of me. With her hood up, she looks like a docile little girl. But the couple under the awning isn’t fooled. They saw what happened and they stare at Paige with wide eyes, terrified. I wonder how many others are doing the same?

I almost put my hand on her shoulder but can’t quite do it. I let my hand drop without touching her.

We walk into our building with the weight of watching eyes on our backs.

 

[Đông Tịch]

World After (Penryn & the End of Days #2)
Author: Susan Ee
Genre: Fantasy thriller

Chap 12:​

Spoiler

THAT NIGHT I have a bizarre dream.

I’m in a village made of clay huts with thatched roofs. There’s a huge bonfire that lights up the night and everyone is eating, drinking, and running around in costumes. Music shrieks and people gyrate around the fire, throwing things into it.

All the hallmarks of a festivity are here but the people are too alert. They steal glances behind themselves into the darkness, and there are only a few shrill laughs. The big bonfire throws long shadows against the hillside that shift and twist like sinister beings.

Maybe I’m getting spooked because people are in monster costumes that are a little too organic for my taste. There’s no rubber and plastic to remind me that it’s just a costume. These people are wearing pelts, animal heads, and claws that look too real for comfort.

Raffe is nearby in the shadows, standing tall with his snowy wings halfway open. It’s breathtaking to see his broad shoulders and muscular arms haloed by his own wings. It makes me sad to know that outside of this dream, he doesn’t have them anymore.

The villagers look at him, especially when they walk by, but their glances are not shocked and fearful like I’d expect. They act as if they’re used to seeing angels and don’t pay him much attention. At least the men don’t.

The women, on the other hand, are gathering around him. Somehow, I’m not too surprised.

The women wear dark dresses that look like stage curtains. Their faces are made up with black circles around their eyes and bloody red lips. One has devils’ horns. Some have claws attached to their hands. Others wear goatskins complete with hooves and horns, and makeup to match.

They look bizarrely barbaric, and the shifting light of the fire adds to their savage appearance. Despite his wings, Raffe is the only one who looks “normal.”

Weirdly, my dream mind picks up on some of Raffe’s thoughts. I see humans the way he sees them, alien and bestial. Compared to the perfection of angels, these Daughters of Men are ugly and smell like pigs. He tries to imagine what his Watchers could possibly have seen in them. He can’t see anything worth risking a minor reprimand for, much less the Pit.

Even if he could get past their looks and behavior, they’re wingless. How could his angels stomach that?

“Where are our husbands?” asks one of the women. She speaks a guttural language I wouldn’t normally understand except that, in my dream, I do.

“They’ve been condemned to the Pit for marrying Daughters of Men.” His voice is controlled but there’s an undertone of anger. They had been his best warriors and good friends.

The women begin crying. “For how long?”

“Until Judgment Day when they’ll finally get their trial. You won’t see them again.”

The women cry in each other’s arms.

“What about our children?”

Raffe stays silent. How does one tell a mother that he’s here to hunt and kill her babies? He came to earth to spare his Watchers the pain of having to hunt down their own children. Even if they were nephilim—monsters who eat human flesh—what kind of twisted punishment is that for a father? He couldn’t allow it, not for his soldiers.

“Are you here to punish us?”

“I’m here to protect you.” He wasn’t planning to protect the wives. But the Watchers begged him. Begged. He couldn’t fathom the idea of his fiercest warriors begging for anything, much less for Daughters of Men.

“From what?”

“The Watchers’ wives have been given to the hellions. They’ll be coming for you tonight. We need to get you someplace safe. Let’s go.”

I look around at all the costumes and the bonfire and realize that this must be some ancient version of Halloween when monsters and demons supposedly roamed the streets. They’ll be coming in force tonight.

The women clutch at each other in fright.

“I told you to stay out of the business of gods and angels,” says a gray-haired woman who holds a younger woman protectively. She’s dressed in a lamb’s skin, complete with the head that drapes over her forehead. It has fangs attached to it like some kind of saber-toothed beast.

Raffe begins walking away from the village. “Either come with me or stay. I can only help those who want to be helped.”

The older woman pushes her daughter toward Raffe. The others follow, huddling together and rushing to keep up like some weird menagerie.

Music builds near the bonfire as we walk away from it. The tempo speeds up and the beat throbs until the women’s breathing matches it.

Just as I think the crescendo will crest, the music stops.

A baby cries into the night.

Then it suddenly stops in the middle of a wail. It ends too abruptly to be natural, and the sharp silence makes the hair on my arms curl.

A woman cries out brokenheartedly. There’s no surprise to it, just pain and mourning.

It makes me want to both run to the fire to see if the baby is all right and to run away from these barbaric villagers. They seem mostly unsurprised and unaffected by whatever is happening near the fire, as if this is part of their normal ritual.

I want to tell Raffe that we’re not all like these people. That I’m not like these people. But I’m just a ghost in my own dream.

Raffe quietly pulls out his sword, on full alert.

They’re coming.

Just as the music begins again, this time accompanied by chanting, Raffe spins to look behind him.

The hillside slithers with shadows.

 

[Đông Tịch]

World After (Penryn & the End of Days #2)
Author: Susan Ee
Genre: Fantasy thriller

Chap 13:​

Spoiler

CROUCHED AND LOPING. Stunted black wings. The shapes of emaciated men.

I don’t know what they are, but my primal brain recognizes them, because even in my dream, my heart speeds up and my instincts whisper run, run, run.

The shadows leap toward us.

Two of them land on a woman, knocking her down. They claw at her. She begs Raffe with her terrified eyes.

One of his warriors loved this Daughter of Man. Gave up his whole life for her. Worried over her even as he was being condemned to the Pit. The why of it is beyond Raffe’s comprehension, but that doesn’t stop his compassion from blooming.

Raffe kicks off a hellion that lands on him and swings his sword at the demons attacking the woman.

Then a strange thing happens.

Strange even for this dream.

Raffe goes into slow motion.

And so does everything else—except for me.

I’ve never had a slow-mo dream before. I can see almost every muscle as Raffe shifts his sword and cuts into the hellions that are clawing at the fallen woman.

As one screeches its death cry, I get a decent look. It has a bat-like face, squished and wrinkled, with sharp fangs. Pretty damn ugly if you ask me.

I’m about to put up my hand instinctively to block the slow-mo blood coming my way, when I realize that Raffe’s sword is also in my hands even though he is already using it.

Every detail of Raffe slicing the demons as they attack is clear. In slow motion, I can absorb his stance, the shifting of his weight, the way he holds the sword.

When he cuts a swath through the wave of monsters, that part of the dream stops. Then the sequence repeats.

This is like an instructional video of the organic kind.

I must have been seriously frustrated by my lack of sword-fighting skills to make all this up. My dream head hurts just thinking about it.

I put my sword up, mimicking Raffe’s stance. Why not? He is a master swordsman, and it’s possible that my subconscious picked up details when I saw him fight in real life that my waking brain didn’t. I try to swing, mimicking Raffe. But I must be doing it wrong because his swing repeats.

I try it again. Raffe completes his swing, rolls the sword, and swings back to complete a figure eight.

I do the same.

Slice to the left, swing up and around, slice to the right and back up and around. He does this a couple of times and then switches his tactic and stabs. Probably not a bad idea to make sure your moves aren’t predictable.

The sword adjusts itself here and there to improve my technique. It practically works itself, letting me concentrate on Raffe’s footwork. I’ve learned through years in various self-defense training that footwork is as important as what the arms and hands do.

He glides forward and back like a dancer, never crossing his feet. I mimic his dance.

Sinewy arms burst through the ground, spraying slow-motion dirt everywhere to grab the women. They pull themselves out of the soil, tearing up the earth and spitting it out of their mouths as they climb up.

Some of the women panic and run into the night.

“Stay with me!” Raffe yells.

But it’s too late. The hellions pounce on them and their screams intensify.

Raffe grabs the nearest woman as she’s being pulled into the ground by demonic hands. The sharp claws hook onto her flesh as she thrashes in slow-motion panic.

Raffe pulls her up out of the dirt, simultaneously swinging his sword while cutting and kicking at the monsters.

This is the way a hero fights.

I copy him, motion by motion, wishing I could help.

We fight, Raffe and I, all through the night.

IWAKE up trembling in the dark in that quiet time before sunrise. This dream was so vivid that it’s as if I was physically there. It takes a few minutes before my heart rate slows back to normal and my adrenaline dissipates.

I shift so my sword’s cross-guard isn’t poking into my ribs under the blanket. I lie listening to the wind, wondering where Raffe is now.

 

[Đông Tịch]

World After (Penryn & the End of Days #2)
Author: Susan Ee
Genre: Fantasy thriller

Chap 14:​

Spoiler

SHE HASN’T eaten in three days.

My sister has drunk some water but that’s about all she’s managed to hold down. Mom and I coaxed her into swallowing a couple of spoonfuls of venison stew but she gagged that right up. We’ve tried everything from broth to vegetables. She can’t hold any of it down.

Mom is deeply worried. So much so that she’s hardly left Paige’s side since we found her in the basement lab of the aerie. Paige’s skin is corpse white. It’s as if all her blood drained through the red-stained holes of the uneven stitches.

“Look at her eyes,” says my mother, as though she understands that Paige’s otherness dominates when I look at her now.

But I can’t. I keep staring at her stitches while I offer her some cornbread. The cut on her cheek is crooked, as if the surgeon couldn’t be bothered to pay attention.

“Look at her eyes,” Mom says again.

I force myself to raise my eyes. My sister does me the favor of looking away.

It is not the eye motion of a beast. That would be too easy. It is the downcast look of a second grader who is all too familiar with rejection. That’s the look she used to get when other kids pointed at her as she wheeled by in her wheelchair.

I could kick myself. I force myself to look at her but she won’t meet my eyes. “Do you want some cornbread? I got it fresh from the oven.”

She gives the slightest shake of her head. There’s nothing sullen about it, just sadness, as if she’s wondering if I’m mad at her or think bad thoughts about her. Somewhere behind her stitches and bruises, I glimpse the lost lonely soul of my sister.

“She’s starving,” says Mom. Her shoulders are slumped, her posture dejected. My mother is not exactly a glass-half-full kind of person. But I haven’t seen her feeling this hopeless since Paige’s accident when she lost the use of her legs.

“Do you think you can eat some raw meat?” I hate asking this. I’ve gotten so used to her being a strict vegetarian that it seems like I’m giving up on the idea of Paige being Paige.

She steals a glance at me. There’s guilt and shyness. But there’s eagerness too. She looks down again as if ashamed. Her gulp is unmistakable. Her mouth is watering at the thought of raw meat.

“I’m going to see if I can find some for her.” I put on my sword.

“You do that,” says Mom. Her voice is flat and dead.

I walk out, determined to find something that Paige can eat.

The cafeteria has a line like it always does. I need to come up with a story that convinces the kitchen workers that they should give me raw meat. I can’t think of a single reason. Even a dog will eat cooked meat.

So I reluctantly turn away from the food line and head for the grove across El Camino Real. I brace myself to go cave woman and hope I can catch a squirrel or rabbit. Of course, I have no idea what I’ll do with it if I catch it.

In my still-civilized mind, meat comes as packaged food in the refrigerator. But if I’m lucky, I’ll find out up close and personal why Paige decided to go vegetarian when she was three years old.

On my way to the grove, I take a detour to do a little shopping first. Joking around with Dee-Dum the other day got me thinking. Guys want a weapon. A badass killing machine whose primary job is to intimidate when you wave it around. But if the same sharp sword was disguised as a cutesy cuddly toy, then the big bad men might look elsewhere for a weapon to steal.

I’m in luck. There’s a toyshop in the strip mall. The second I walk into the colorful store full of giant blocks and rainbow kites, I get a tug of nostalgia. I just want to hide in the play corner, surround myself with soft stuffed animals, and read picture books.

My mother has never been normal, but she was better when I was little. I remember running around in play corners like this, singing songs with her or sitting on her lap while she read to me. I run my hands over the soft plush of the panda bears and the smooth plastic of the toy trains, remembering what it was like when bears, trains, and moms made me feel safe.

It takes me a while to figure out what to do. I finally decide to slice the bottom of a teddy bear and jam it onto the hilt. I’ll just have to pull off the bear if I need to use the sword.

“Come on, admit it, Pooky Bear,” I say to the sword. “You love your new look. All the other swords will be jealous.”

By the time I cross the street to the grove, my teddy bear is wearing a multi-layered chiffon skirt made of a wedding veil that I found in one of the boutiques. I tinted the veil in the bathroom with the stained water of new clothes so that it no longer has that bridal white meant to attract the eye. The skirt falls just below the end of the scabbard, hiding it entirely—or it will when it dries. The backside is split open so that I can yank the bear and skirt off without having to think about it.

It looks ridiculous and says all kinds of embarrassing things about me. But one thing it doesn’t say is killer angel sword. Good enough.

I weave across the street and scale the chest-high fence that surrounds the grove. This area feels open, but there are enough trees to give dappled shade from the late afternoon sun. A perfect place for rabbits.

I pull off the stuffed bear, satisfied when it comes off so fast. I stand on the overgrown grass with the angel sword pointed like a divining rod. A certain angel, who shall remain nameless because I’m trying to stop thinking about him, told me that this little sword is not an ordinary sword. There’s enough weirdness in my life as it is but sometimes, you just have to go with it.

“Find a rabbit.”

A squirrel clinging onto the side of a tree laughs in a series of chirps.

“It’s not funny.” In fact, it’s as serious as can be. Raw animal meat is my best hope for Paige. I don’t even want to think about what will happen if she can’t eat that.

I charge the squirrel, my arms loose and ready to be adjusted by the sword. The squirrel takes off.

“Sorry, squirrel. One more thing to blame on the angels.” An image of Raffe’s face comes to mind—a halo of flames around his hair, showing lines of grief on his shadowed face. I wonder where he is. I wonder if he’s in pain. Adjusting to new wings must be like adjusting to new legs: painful, lonely, and during war, dangerous.

I heave the sword above my head. I can’t look and I can’t not look, so I do a weird combination of turning my head and squinting while looking just enough to be able to aim.

I swing the sword down.

The world suddenly tilts, making me dizzy.

My stomach lurches.

My vision falters and flashes.

One second, the sword is coming down on the squirrel.

The next second, the sword is being held up to an azure sky.

The fist that’s holding it is Raffe’s. And the sky is not my sky.

He hovers at the head of an army of angels who stand below him in formation. His glorious wings, white and whole, frame his body, making it look like a statue of a Greek warrior god.

 

[Đông Tịch]

World After (Penryn & the End of Days #2)
Author: Susan Ee
Genre: Fantasy thriller

Chap 15:​

Spoiler

RAFFE RAISES his sword into the air. The legion of angels lift their swords in response. A war cry goes up as row after row of winged men take flight.

It’s a breathtaking sight to see so many angels lift in formation. The legion flies to battle, led by Raffe.

There’s a whisper of a concept in my head.

Glory.

Then, as quick as a heartbeat, the blue sky and winged men disappear.

We’re in a field at night.

A horde of scary-as-all-hell, bat-faced demons rush at me like an avalanche, screeching a hellish cry. Raffe steps ahead and starts swinging his sword with perfect precision, just like in my dreams.

Fighting beside him and protecting his back are angel warriors, some of whom I’ve seen before at the old aerie. They’re joking and egging each other on as they fight and defend each other from the monsters of the night.

Another concept echoes in my head.

Victory.

The scene changes again and we’re in the sky, only this time it’s in the middle of a lightning storm. Thunder rumbles through the dark clouds and lightning lights up the scene in stark contrasts. Raffe and a small group of warriors hover in the rain, watching another group of angels get dragged away in chains.

The prisoners fly with spiked shackles around their wrists, ankles, neck and head. The spikes are on the inside so they’re driven into their flesh. Blood washes away with the rain in jagged rivulets down their faces, hands, and feet.

A squat, bat-faced demon with bat wings rides on the shoulders of each prisoner. The demons hold the chains to the collar, using it as a bridle. They jerk the chains one direction, then another, cruelly driving the spikes in and making them fly like drunks. More hellions hang off some of the ankle and wrist shackles that bind the prisoners to each other.

Some of these angels had fought beside Raffe in the field. They had laughed with him and protected his back. Now, they watch him with excruciating pain in their eyes as they’re driven like tortured cattle.

The other angels watch with immense sadness, some with their heads bowed. But Raffe is the only one who flies out of the group, brushing hands with a few of the prisoners on his way down toward earth.

As the scene fades, another word takes shape in my head.

Honor.

And then, I’m standing under the trees again in Stanford’s grove.

My stomach lurches as I finish my swing and smash the blade into the ground where the squirrel stood a second ago. My hands are clenched so tightly around the hilt that my knuckles feel like they might split.

The squirrel has scampered into a tree and is watching me. It looks puny and insignificant after the things I’ve just seen.

I let go of the sword and land on my butt.

I don’t know how long I sit there panting, but I suspect it’s a long time. There’s nothing but the blue October sky, the smell of grass, and the unusual quiet that’s been everywhere since people abandoned cars.

Could the sword be communicating with me? Sending me the message that it was made for epic battles and glory, not for chasing squirrels and being dressed up as a cutesy stuffed animal?

Of course, that’s crazy talk.

But no crazier than what I just saw.

I want to bury my train of thought. Anything that smells remotely insane is a scent I don’t want to follow. But I let myself do it just this once.

Raffe said the sword was sort of sentient. If by some truly bizarre chance that’s true, then maybe it has feelings. Maybe it has memories that it can share with me.

On the night those men attacked me, did it get frustrated that I had no idea how to use it during the fight? Is it embarrassing for a sword to be wielded by someone who swings it like a bat? Was it actually trying to teach me how to use it through my dreams?

The thing freaks me out. I should switch over to a gun or something that’s a little less invasive and has fewer opinions. I actually get up, turn my back on it, and take a couple of steps away.

But of course, I can’t leave it.

It’s Raffe’s sword. He’s going to want it back someday.

ONMY way back, I hesitate near the food line. It’s a new group of people but the line is about the same length. The Resistance is setting up a system that includes limiting food to two meals a day. But while that’s getting set up, the newcomers are still hoarding and spending a good deal of their time standing in the food line.

I sigh and go to the back of the line.

When I get back to our room, it’s empty. I’m not sure it’s a good idea for Paige to be out in public but I assume they’ll be back soon. I put three burgers on the teacher’s desk. I didn’t ask what kind of meat it was but I doubt it’s cow.

I had asked for the patties to be super rare, specifically mentioning the word “bloody,” thinking that’s as close as I could get to raw without raising suspicions. But I’m disappointed to find that the meat’s hardly pink in the middle.

I cut away the cooked portion from the pink center and set it aside for Paige. I can at least try to see if she can hold down pink meat. I try not to think too much about it.

I suspect she hadn’t been out of the lab in her new form before we found her, otherwise, she’d know what she could eat. If I had found her a day earlier, could I have saved her from this?

I shut away those thoughts in the old mind vault and methodically eat my burger. The lettuce and tomato are reconstituted from something that’s probably not what it’s pretending to be, but it reminds me of greens and that’s good enough. The bread, though, is fresh out of the oven and delicious. The camp lucked out and found somebody who knows how to bake bread from scratch.

I pull out Raffe’s sword and put the naked blade on my lap. I stroke my fingers along the metal. The light hits the liquid folds along the steel, showing the bluish-silver waves that decorate it.

If I relax, I can feel the faint flow of sorrow coming from it. The sword is in mourning. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out who it’s mourning for.

“Show me more,” I say, even though I’m not sure I can handle more right now. My knees are already weak and I’m feeling drained. Even in a world where angels exist, it’s still a shocker to have one of your possessions share its memories with you.

“Tell me about Raffe.”

Nothing.

“Okay. Let’s practice fighting,” I say in an enthusiastic voice as if I’m talking to a little kid. “I could use more lessons.”

I take a deep breath and close my eyes.

Nothing.

“Right. Well, I guess I have nothing better to do now than to decorate the teddy bear with ribbons and bows. What do you think of dusky pink?”

The room wavers, then morphs.

 

[Đông Tịch]

World After (Penryn & the End of Days #2)​

Author: Susan Ee
Genre: Fantasy thriller

Chap 16:​

Spoiler

TIME HAS a way of being funny in dreams and I’m guessing it’s the same with memories. For what feels like a decade, I practice with my sword, fighting enemy after enemy by Raffe’s side.
The hellions must have been furious that he snatched some of the wives from their jaws and took what they thought belonged to them. They’ve been tracking him down ever since, hunting anyone who might have been a companion to him. I’m guessing that demons aren’t the type to forgive and forget.
Era after era throughout the world, it’s the same everywhere. Medieval villages, World War I battlefields, Buddhist monasteries in Tibet, speakeasies in Chicago. Raffe follows rumors of the nephilim, kills hellions and anything else that terrorize the locals, then disappears into the night. He flies away from anybody he might have connected with in the process to avoid getting them killed.
Alone.
Just Raffe and his sword.
And now he doesn’t even have that.
Just when I think the lessons are over, the sword’s memory flips to a situation that almost breaks me.
As soon as I arrive, I’m slammed with the intensity of it.
Raffe roars with outrage and agony.
He’s in serious trouble. The pain is excruciating. The shock is worse.
My phantom body sways as it loses its boundaries, making me feel totally disoriented. Raffe’s experience is so intense, my own thoughts and sensations are overwhelmed by his.
His ragged breathing is all I can hear. It’s all he can hear.
Hands and knees hold him down but blood makes their hands slip over his skin. Raffe is drenched in his own blood.
Pain radiates from his back through his entire body. Crushing his bones. Stabbing his eyes. Pummeling his lungs.
Blood spreads over asphalt.
Large hands move something white into the corner of his vision. He desperately doesn’t want to look but can’t help himself.
Wings.
Snow-white wings.
Severed and lying on the dirty road.
His breathing becomes harsher, and all he can see are those white feathers lying limp on the black asphalt.
A drop of blood from someone’s hand drips onto a feather. Beliel the demon stands over Raffe’s wings like he owns them.
It dimly registers with Raffe that someone yells, “Hey!”
He forces himself to look up.
His vision is blurred through the pain and sweat. He blinks several times to try to focus beyond the screaming pain in his back.
It’s a skinny Daughter of Man, looking tiny beside one of his attackers. She’s half-hidden behind the warrior’s burnt-orange wings, but Raffe sees her and knows she’s the one who yelled.
That’s me. Do I really look that insignificant beside an angel?
She throws something at him with all her little might.
His sword? Could it be?
He doesn’t have time to marvel. His sword would do anything for him, even let a human bond with her to help him.
A surge of fury lends him a shot of strength. He bursts out of his attackers’ hold and raises his hand. His arm trembles with the effort.
His world shrinks down to his sword, Beliel, and the angels before him.
He catches the sword and in the same motion slices the demon Beliel in the stomach. Raffe almost loses his balance in the process.
He then manages to use his momentum to cut into the angel beside him.
The scene doesn’t slow down like the other fights. It doesn’t have to. I feel every trembling muscle, every staggering step, every struggling breath.
He’s dizzy and barely managing to stay upright. As the attackers fly off, he sees the warrior with the burnt-orange wings smack the girl. She slams against the road, and Raffe thinks she must be dead.
Through the haze of agony, he wonders who she is and why a Daughter of Man would sacrifice herself to help him.
He forces himself to stay on his feet. It takes everything he has to hold his sword ready as Burnt assesses him. Raffe’s legs tremble violently and he’s losing consciousness, but he stays up out of sheer stubbornness and fury.
Burnt, obviously too cowardly to face him alone, gives up and flies off. Raffe collapses onto the asphalt as soon as Burnt leaves.
Lying on the road, the world blackens with only occasional splotches of color. His breath fills his ears, but he concentrates to hear sounds in the surrounding area.
Feet scuffle behind closed doors. Inside the buildings, humans whisper and argue about whether it’s safe to come out. They talk about how much Raffe would be worth if they tore him to pieces.
But they’re not the ones who worry him. There are more subtle scuffling, slithering noises. Soft clicking, like cockroaches in the walls.
They’re coming for him. The hellions have found him. They always do eventually.
But this time, they’re in luck. This time, he’s utterly helpless. They’ll be able to drag him down into hell and slowly torture him over the ages while he lies hopeless and wingless.
He desperately tries to stay alert, but the world melts into darkness.
Someone is calling out for her mother. The voice is strong and determined.
It must be a fever dream because no one would be that stupid in a place full of human gangs. But the footsteps in the building stairwells quiet. The human rats whisper, sure that the girl who calls out for her mom must have her gang nearby. What else would make a girl that bold?
The hellions stop their slithering too. They’re not smart enough to figure out much, otherwise they would have gotten to him ages ago by coordinating a real attack rather than just diving at random opportunities. They’re confused. Attack or run?
He tries to pull himself away from the exposed road, but black spots bloom across his vision and he fades out again.
Someone flips him over. Pain screams and claws into his back.
A small hand slaps him.
He opens his eyes for a moment.
Against the glow of the sky, dark hair flutters in the breeze. Intense eyes fringed with long lashes. Lips so red the girl must have been biting them.
It takes him a moment to realize she’s the Daughter of Man who risked herself to help him. She’s asking him something. Her voice is insistent but melodic. It’s a good sound to die to.
He fades in and out as she moves him. He keeps expecting her to cut him up or for the hellions to leap on her. Instead, she bandages him and lifts him into a wheelchair that’s too small.
When the girl grunts and overacts to indicate that he must be heavy—probably to show how strong she is—he can’t help but be amused, even through the haze of pain. She’s a terrible actress. Daughters of Men are notoriously dense and heavy compared to angels, and there’s something deliriously funny about her pretending.
Maybe his Watchers married their wives because they found them entertaining. Not much of a reason to be condemned to the Pit but it’s the first one he’s thought of.
Shoes slap on the sidewalk as human rats run toward Raffe. Emboldened by the rats, the hellions slither toward him too.
He tries to warn the girl.
But there’s no need. She’s already running into the shadows, pushing him as fast as she can go. If she can stay ahead of them long enough, the hellions will get distracted by the juicy human rats.
His last thought before he blacks out is that his Watchers would have liked this girl.

 

[Đông Tịch]

World After (Penryn & the End of Days #2)
Author: Susan Ee
Genre: Fantasy thriller​

Chap 17:​

Spoiler

THE SHADOWS through the windows are long by the time I jerk awake. I’m still shaking from Raffe’s experience. I didn’t just know what he was thinking; I actually felt what he felt, thought what he thought.

Was the sword really that close to Raffe? Maybe only in extremely intense times. The whole experience was bizarrely freaky at every level.
I run my trembling hand over the warm blade, telling my body that it’s okay.
I’m starting to put some pieces together. Some of Raffe’s actions make more sense now.
He couldn’t jump in to help me during my public fights at the last Resistance camp without rumors spreading about us. The hellions always tracked him down eventually, and it was probably a combination of luck, tracking, and listening to human gossip. A story about a fight like that would definitely be talked about. He against me to announce to everyone that we weren’t friends, that he didn’t care what happened to me.
And he hunted down the low demons in the forest even after they ran because they seemed like they came from hell, didn’t they? If any of them lived to tell about how he’d come to the rescue of a Daughter of Man, it’d just be a matter of time before they got to me.
But did he have to go as far as telling me he didn’t even like me after our kiss? That was totally unnecessary, in my opinion.
The kiss.
Like a germinating seed, I have the growing impulse to ask the sword about it.
It’s silly and embarrassing and maybe even shallow after what I just saw Raffe go through. But because of what I just saw, I want to see him in a different kind of moment. One where he’s cocky and in control. One where he’s experiencing something other than threats and pain, if only for two seconds.
That, and I’m dying to know what he felt during our kiss.
I know it doesn’t matter. I know it won’t change anything. I know it’s juvenile.
Whatever.
Can’t a girl be a girl for, like, five minutes?
“Show me your memories of the kiss.” I close my eyes. The heat creeps up my cheeks, which is silly because the sword was there when the kiss happened and saw the whole thing. So what if I’m curious about what he felt?
“Oh, come on. Do we have to do this again?”
Nothing.
“That last one was totally awful. I need a little comfort. It’s just a small favor. Please?”
Nothing.
“Extra ribbons and bows for you,” I try to sound like I mean it. “Maybe even sparkly makeup on the teddy bear.”
Still nothing.
“Traitor.” I know that’s a funny statement since the sword is actually being loyal to Raffe but I don’t care.
I slide it back into its scabbard, which has been leaning against my chair, and jam the bear over the hilt.
I slip the strap over my shoulder and step outside to see if I can find Mom and Paige.
The hallway is still crowded, as usual. Two identical guys with blond hair are weaving through the tight space, saying hello to a bunch of people as they walk by. It seems like everyone likes them. It takes me a second to realize that it’s Dee and Dum. Their hair is now sandy blond.
Dee discretely shows Dum something in his palm, and Dum almost crosses his eyes trying to hold in a laugh. I’m guessing Dee just pickpocketed someone for something the owner has probably already told them they can’t have.
They wave to me and I wait for them.
“What happened to your hair?” I ask.
“We’re spy masters, remember?” says Dee.
“As in masters of disguise,” says Dum.
“Well,” says Dee rubbing dye off the edge of his hairline, “‘master’ is kind of a strong word.”
“So is ‘disguise,’” I say with a half grin.
“Dude, you look great,” says Dum to Dee. “Handsome as ever.”
“What did you pickpocket?” I keep my voice down in case the owner doesn’t have a sense of humor.
“Ooh, you’re losing your touch, Bro. She saw.” Dum looks around to see if anyone is listening.
“No way. My touch is like butter.” Dee opens his now empty palms and wiggles his fingers. “She’s just smart, that’s all. She can figure things out.”
“Yeah, and that’s why we feel so bad about only thinking of you as a candidate for fights, Penryn. Speaking of which, how do you feel about wearing a nun’s habit?”
“Better yet, hot librarian glasses.” Dee nods at me like he’s giving me a tip. “Turns out we have both librarians and nuns here.”
“Does it get any better than that?” Dum’s eyes are wide with wonder.
They look at each other and simultaneously call out, “Librarian mud fights!” They shake their hands in the air like excited little boys.
Everyone in the hallway looks over at us.
“See? Look at the interest,” says Dee.
But then the hallway clears as people pour out through the door. Something is happening.
“What’s going on?” I ask someone as he peers outside.
“No idea,” he says. He looks scared but excited. “Just following the crowd to see what’s happening. You too, huh?”
A woman brushes past us. “Someone’s been found dead or mangled or something.” She pushes through the doors, letting cold air in.
Dead or mangled.
I follow her.
Outside, a small crowd full of tension hovers on the walkway in front of the main building. The sun may be low on the horizon but the overcast sky simply drains the color, painting everyone shades of gray.
People look across El Camino. On the other side is the fenced grove where I chased the squirrel. During the day it’s beautiful and peaceful, with the trees spaced far enough apart to give the area dappled shade without darkness. But as the light dims, the grove starts looking sinister and foreboding.
A few people run straight from the building to the grove, while others hesitate before walking there. Still others linger in hopes of safety near the building, while squinting to see what’s going on in the shadows beneath the trees.
I pause to take in the situation, then join those who are running to the grove. I can’t help but wonder what draws them there in the dimming light. Snatches of conversation along the way clue me in.
I’m not the only one who worries about someone they love. Lots of people got separated during the chaos of the angel invasion or the aerie attack. Now they’re frantically worried that whoever is left in their family might have been hurt or killed. Others are just more curious than smart, emboldened by being part of an organization full of people with purpose, something they thought might never happen again.
In any case, there are enough of us to create a logjam at the fence. It’s a metal-framed wire fence that’s chest high to me and requires actual climbing. Since the fence borders the grove for several blocks in either direction, there’s no choice but to scale it.
Under the trees, a small crowd gathers. I can feel their restlessness and hear the tension in their voices. A sense of urgency shoots through me. Something is seriously wrong here and I’m convinced it has something to do with my family.
I race to the crowd, shoving my way in.
What I see is something I won’t be able to blot out of my mind for as long as I live.

 

[Đông Tịch]

World After (Penryn & the End of Days #2)
Author: Susan Ee
Genre: Fantasy thriller

Chap 18:​

Spoiler

MY LITTLE SISTER struggles under the shadows.
Radiating out from her are ropes pulled by men. One rope is tied around her neck, two others around her wrists, and two more around her ankles.
The men struggle against the ropes like they’re holding down a wild horse.
Paige’s hair is tangled and there’s blood in it. There’s also blood smeared across her face and staining her flower-print dress. The contrast of the dark blood and the stitches on her pale skin make her look as if she’s risen from the dead.
She struggles against the ropes like someone possessed. She lurches when the men yank at her to try to gain control. Even in this light, I can see the bloody chafing of the ropes around her neck and wrists as she’s jerked around like a macabre voodoo puppet.
My first instinct is to screech like a banshee and pull out the sword.
But there’s something lying in front of Paige.
The shock of seeing her so cruelly tied up like an animal kept me from seeing the rest of the scene. But now I see a shadowy lump, still as rock but shaped like something I wish I didn’t recognize.
It’s a body.
It’s the guy who carried the bat when he and his buddies attacked me.
I look away. I don’t want to process what my eyes just saw. I don’t want to register the chunks missing from him.
I don’t want to think about what that means.
I can’t.
Paige’s tongue flicks out and licks blood from her lips.
She closes her eyes and swallows. Her face relaxes just for a second.
Peace.
She opens her eyes and looks at the body near her feet. It’s like she can’t help it.
A part of me still expects her to cringe in disgust at the sight of the corpse. There is disgust there. But there’s also a flash of longing. Hunger.
She darts a glance at me. Shame.
She stops struggling and looks right at me.
She sees my hesitation. She sees I’m no longer running to save her. She sees judgment in my eyes.
“Ryn-Ryn,” she cries. Her voice is filled with loss. Tears streak down her blood-smeared cheeks, leaving clear tracks. Her face shifts from looking like a fierce monster to a scared little girl.
Paige starts thrashing again. My wrists, ankles, and neck hurt in sympathy as the ropes chafe against her bloody skin.
The men seesaw at the ends of the ropes so that it’s hard to tell whether they have her captive or if she’s holding them. I’ve seen how strong her new body can be. She’s powerful enough to seriously challenge them and give them a real fight. On this uneven terrain, she might be able to throw them off balance and make them fall.
Instead, she struggles ineffectively.
Just enough to get the ropes to cut into her. Just enough to hurt herself in punishment. Just enough so that no one else gets hurt.
My little sister cries in heartbroken sobs.
I start running again. No matter what happened, she doesn’t deserve this. No living creature deserves this.
A soldier on my right raises his rifle and points it at me. It’s so close I can look right into the dark hole of its silencer.
I stop, almost skidding.
Another man stands beside him, pointing a rifle at Paige.
I raise my open hands.
Men grab my arms, and I can tell by their roughness that they expect a major struggle. We Young girls are getting a reputation.
The men relax when they see that I’m not about to put up a fight. Hand-to-hand is one thing but guns are beyond me. All I can do is stay alive until I get a chance to do something more proactive.
But my mother has her own logic.
She runs out from the shadows, silent as a ghost.
She jumps on the soldier pointing his rifle at Paige.
The other soldier raises the butt of his rifle and smacks Mom in the face.
“No!” I kick the guy holding my arm. But before he hits the ground and before I can get the other guy off me, three of them jump on me. They shove me to the ground like experienced gang members before I get a chance to stabilize.
My mom puts up her hand to deflect another blow of the rifle butt.
My sister ramps up her struggling. This time, it’s filled with panic and fury. She screeches into the air like she’s calling on the sky to come help her.
“Shut her up! Shut her up!” someone is whisper-shouting.
“Don’t shoot!” whisper-shouts Sanjay. “We need her alive for study.” He has the decency to throw me a quick, guilty glance. I don’t know whether to be angry or grateful.
I have to help my family. My brain screams at me about the guns, but what can I do? Lie here while they torture and kill my baby sister and mother?
Three men hold me down. One grabs my arms above my head, another has my ankles, and the third sits on my stomach. Looks like no one’s underestimating me any more. So be it.
I grasp the wrists of the guy holding my hands, using him as leverage, making sure he can’t get away.
I twist and pump my legs, scrape-kicking my ankle holder’s hand off my ankle. It’s hard for anyone, big or not, to match the power of a kick with the grip of his hand.
Then I pull back my free leg and kick him full in the face.
With my legs free, I heave and wrap them around the neck of the guy sitting on my stomach.
I slam my legs toward the ground, jerking him backwards. I yank my leg out from under him and kick at his open crotch.
I kick so hard he slides away from me on the grass with a breathless scream. He won’t be any trouble for a while.
By now, the guy holding my wrists has started to fight my grip, trying to get away. If I thought he’d just run and let me be, I’d be happy to let him go.
But there’s too much of a chance that he’ll get ideas about tackling me while I’m down. Guys are sometimes like that when it comes to losing a fight to a small female. They chalk it up to luck or something.
My hold on him is firm. Using him for leverage, I twist and spin on my hip in what someone in my gym has described as looking like I’m running up a wall, only I’m doing it while lying on the ground.
I swing my leg, pivoting on the side of my hip as I kick the guy above me in the head.
I he wasn’t expecting that little move.
I hop up, scanning the scene around me, ready for another attack.
My mom is on the ground, yanking a soldier by his rifle. She grips the barrel while it’s pointed right at her. She either doesn’t realize that all he has to do is pull the trigger to blow her away, or she doesn’t care.
My sister screeches into the sky like the monster they all think she is. The veins on her neck and forehead stick out like they’re going to burst.
Two of the men holding her ropes are on the ground now. A third one goes down as I watch.
I dive toward Mom, hoping the rifle doesn’t go off before I can do something.
Luckily, these soldiers are citizen soldiers, newly minted and inexperienced. Hopefully, this one hasn’t shot anyone yet and isn’t willing to have a desperate mother be his first kill.
o do with my family.
I race to the crowd, shoving my way in.
What I see is something I won’t be able to blot out of my mind for as long as I live.

 

[Đông Tịch]

World After (Penryn & the End of Days #2)
Author: Susan Ee
Genre: Fantasy thriller

Chap 19:​

Spoiler

WITHOUT THINKING, we all look up. At first, I’m not even sure why I do it.
Then I realize that there’s a buzzing coming from the sky. So low that it’s barely audible.
But it’s growing louder.
Through the gaps in the trees, I can see a dark blotch in the twilight sky. It grows closer at an alarming rate.
The buzzing stays low, just enough to feel it in your bones rather than hear it. It’s an ominous sound, like something recognizable at a primal level, a deeply buried unconscious fear turned into sound.
Before I can identify it, people turn and run.
No one screams or shouts or calls out to anyone. People just silently and desperately run.
The panic is contagious. The men holding my mom let go and join the stampede. Almost immediately after, the guys holding my sister release their ropes and run as well.
Paige pants, staring up at the sky. She looks mesmerized.
“Run!” I yell. That breaks her spell.
My sister turns and runs the other direction, away from the Resistance camp. She runs deeper into the grove with her ropes trailing in the dirt like snakes slithering in the shadows after her.
Mom glances at me. Blood trickles from her cut eye. Even in this light, I can see a bruise beginning to form.
After the briefest of hesitations, my mother chases my sister into the trees.
I stand frozen as the buzzing gets louder. Do I go after them or run back to safety?
The decision is made for me when the dark cloud gets close enough for me to make out individual shapes.
Winged men with scorpion tails.
Dozens of them darkening the sky. They’re flying low and getting lower.
There must have been another batch of them or several other batches outside the aerie.
I run.
I sprint away from them, which has me running toward the school like everyone else. I’m the last one of the bunch, so I’m an easy target.
A scorpion swoops down and lands in front of me.
Unlike the ones I saw at the aerie, this one is fully baked, complete with shaggy hair and teeth that have matured into lion’s fangs. Its arms and legs look disturbingly human except that its thighs and upper arms are extra beefy. Its body, at first glance, is human, but the belly and chest look a little like a cross between defined abs and the sectioned underbellies of grasshoppers.
The teeth are so large the beast can’t seem to close its mouth and drool drips from its lips. It growls at me and rears its fat scorpion tail above its head.
Fear grips me in a way that’s never happened before.
It’s as if I’m reliving the scorpion attack in the aerie basement. My neck becomes hypersensitive, almost twitching in expectation of a stinger jabbing into it.
Another scorpion lands near me. This one has needle-sharp teeth that it bares as it hisses.
I’m trapped.
I snatch off the stuffed bear and pull out my sword. It feels less clumsy in my hand than it did before but that’s as far as my confidence will go.
Gunshots go off but mostly the night is filled with the sound of the thunderous roar of wings and the high-pitched screams of people.
I barely have time to put myself in the ready stance that I learned in my dream before one of the monsters leaps for me.
I swing my blade at a forty-five degree angle, meaning to slice into the juncture of its neck and shoulder. Instead, I slice through its stinger as it whips toward me.
The monster screams, a disturbingly human sound coming out of its fang-filled mouth.
There’s no time to finish it off because the second one thrusts its stinger at me.
I shut my eyes and swing wildly in my panic. It’s all I can do to keep the memories of being stung from freezing me up completely.
Luckily, my sword has no such issues. The glee rolling off it is unmistakable. It adjusts itself to the right angle. It’s feather light on the upswing and lead heavy on the downswing.
When I open my eyes, the second scorpion is bleeding on the ground, its tail twitching.
The first one is gone, probably having flown away to nurse its injury or to die in peace.
I’m the only living thing standing in my part of the grove. I slide into the shadow of the nearest tree, trying to calm my breathing.
The scorpions are still landing, but not near me. They’re attracted to the mass of people who are logjammed at the fence.
They grab people and sting them repeatedly from different angles, almost as if practicing or maybe just enjoying it. Even when they latch on to their victims with their mouths to suck them dry, other scorpions come and sting the same victims.
People scream and shove each other at the fence, trying to climb over it. They spread out to try to get to a place where they can jump the fence, but they get picked off by the scorpions, too.
The few who make it to the other side seem to be okay. The scorpions are busy stinging the ones in the grove, like lazy predators, and don’t pay attention to the ones who manage to get out.
When the victims slide to the ground, the scorpions begin sucking. By the time everyone is either slumped against the fence or running into the school building across the street, the scorpions have lost interest. They take off into the air and swirl like a cloud of insects before they disappear into the darkening sky.
Something rustles behind me, and I spin with my sword ready.
It’s Mom shambling toward me.
We are the only people moving on this side of the fence. Everyone else looks dead. I continue to hide in the shadows anyway in case the scorpions come back, but everything remains silent and still.
My mother stumbles past me. “She’s gone. I lost her.” Tears shine on her bloody face. She staggers toward the fence, ignoring the fallen people.
“I’m fine, Mom. Thanks for asking.” I grab the bear and wipe the blood off the sword with its chiffon skirt. “Are you okay? How did you survive?”
“Of course you’re fine.” She keeps walking. “You’re the devil’s bride and these are his creatures.”
I slip the blade into the scabbard and put the bear back on top. “I’m not the devil’s bride.”
“He carried you out of the fire and is letting you visit us from the dead. Who else would have those privileges except his bride?”
She sees me once in a guy’s arms and she has us married already. I wonder what Raffe would think of my mom being his mother-in-law. “Did you see where Paige went?”
“Gone.” Her voice breaks. “I lost her in the woods.” My reaction to that would have been so simple last week. Tonight, though, I don’t know if I’m panicked or relieved. Maybe both.
“Did you hide from the scorpion?” I ask. “How did you survive?” No answer.
If someone told me that moms have magical powers, I’d have no trouble believing that. It doesn’t even surprise me much that she somehow survived.
I follow her to the fence. Along the way, I walk past the victims lying in uncomfortable and unnatural positions. Although they’re no longer being attacked, they continue to shrivel and dry like jerky. The grove looks like a battlefield with people strewn all over it.
I want to reassure the victims that they’ll come out of it, that they’ll be okay. But with the viciousness of the attack, I’m not sure that they will.
A couple of scorpion bodies lie among the victims on the field. One shot in the stomach, one shot in the head.
Mom scans through the victims as if she’s looking for someone. She picks the one with the most horrified, contorted expression frozen on his face and tugs him to a section of the fence that’s been trampled.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“An offering,” she says, laboriously dragging the poor guy. “We need to find Paige so we need an offering.”
“You’re creeping me out, Mom.” A waste of breath.
As if she knows better than to ask for my help, she heaves the man up against a fence pole. He slides back down in a heap.
I want to stop her, but when she gets a crazy project in her head, nothing on earth will stop her.
Night is starting to fall. The cloud of scorpions is getting farther away, and there’s not a single stray one in the sky.
The thought of wandering around the grove in the dark looking for my low-demon sister is not my idea of a good time. But she can’t be left roaming by herself, for all kinds of reasons. And it’ll be much better if I find her than if the frightened Resistance people find her.
So I leave my mother to do whatever she is doing and return to the shadows of the grove.