Kat Falls - Inhuman

Just as the ends slipped through my fingers, a hand snagged my wrist. I looked up to see Rafe leaning into the hole, holding me in a viselike grip. As I twisted in midair, I grabbed his wrist with my other hand. But as hard as he tried to haul me up, the creature below was trying to drag me down in a game of tug-of-war that was going to tear my arms out of their sockets.

Suddenly Rafe slammed me against the wall of the tunnel. When a gunshot blasted next to my ear, I nearly lost my grip. I looked up to see the shotgun in his free hand. The pressure from below lessened for a heartbeat and he jerked me up another foot, but then the drag was back.

“Use your knife!” he shouted. “Let go with one hand and cut the rope.”

But I couldn’t get my fingers to uncurl from his wrist and couldn’t think where I’d put the knife. My belt loop. Rafe took aim again and shot past me. I forced myself to release my death grip on him and fumbled for the blade, nicking my hand in the process. I wiggled the knife free. Between the twisting and swinging I couldn’t see what I was doing. I felt for the rope and then pushed the tip of the blade under it and sawed. The snap was instant. The rope whipped from around my body and fell into the darkness. Rafe hauled me out and onto the ground where I spasmed in a fit of panting and moaning.

“This … this … did not just happen.” I covered my head with my arms. “It didn’t. It didn’t. It couldn’t.” Almost eaten by a chimpacabra. And all because … I sat up. “You took off the rope!”

“Yeah,” he said, sounding completely unrepentant. “I couldn’t reach the end of the tunnel with it on.”

“You weren’t going to come back for me.”

“I heard the chimpa scream,” he said defensively. “If you’d been bit, there was nothing I could do. And if it hadn’t gotten you yet, your chances were better if I came back with more than a knife.”

I didn’t love his answer, but how could I complain? I was in one piece, not paralyzed, and my throat still worked. I wiped my hands on my pants, leaving long smears of sweaty dirt.

“You okay?”

I shot a look at him, but his concern seemed genuine enough, so I nodded and got to my feet. In the sunlight, I was once again aware that his face was a heart-stopping combo of hard planes and a lush mouth. “Thanks for pulling me out,” I muttered.

“You’re lucky.” He holstered his gun and took a coil of wire from his knapsack. “You didn’t even get a scar to remember this one by.”

“This one?”

“Lesson. You know” — he pointed to a mottled line along his collarbone — “don’t lower your weapon until you’re sure the mongrel is dead.” He turned the back of his fist toward me to reveal another scar. “Don’t put a wet rock in the fire; it’ll explode.”

“Learn a lesson, get a scar?” I asked, brows raised. “You mean like this one I’ll have on my arm?” I pulled up my ripped sleeve, revealing Everson’s bandage. “Thanks, but I’d rather stay dumb.”

“Not dumb. Inexperienced.” He glanced at the bandage without even a murmur of apology. Then he went back to measuring a length from the coil and trimming it with wire cutters. “Want to know why we call the line guards silkies? Because of their skin. They come east with skin as lived-in as a newborn’s, like yours. And then there’s your boyfriend; he’s got to be the silkiest of the whole bunch.” He strode to the nearest light post, carrying his pack.

“He’s not my —” Stop. Who cared what this creep thought? “If you saw what most men in the West are like, you wouldn’t think Everson was so silky.”

“Uh huh,” Rafe said, disbelieving. “I was on Arsenal the day that stiff arrived. New recruits normally get dropped out of ’copters into the river. It’s part of their training. But not him. He flew over the wall in a sleek little two-seater plane.”

“Whatever. So, exactly what am I supposed to have learned from all this? Don’t fall down chimpacabra holes?”

“That’s worth knowing, but no. Try: You don’t belong in the Feral Zone. You’re too tame. So hurry back over the bridge and beg them to open the gate.” As he spoke he looped the cable over the neck of the post, and created a snare at the end.

If exasperation was a ledge, he’d just nudged me off. “I’m not tame.”

He snorted. “Right. You’re petted and pampered and fed on demand. All you’re missing is a jeweled collar…. Actually, that would look hot.”

As insulting as it was to be compared to a lapdog, Rafe wasn’t completely wrong. I didn’t belong here. And now that I knew chimpacabras were real and had come close to being one’s lunch, I couldn’t imagine taking another step alone. “I know I didn’t get you out of the hole, but would you please walk with me? It’s only a couple of miles.”

He crouched to hide the snare in the tall grass. “If going alone scares you, you shouldn’t have come alone. I’m working.”

“You can’t take off one hour?”

“No.” Rising, he faced me, his expression intent — fierce, even. All the easiness about him had vanished to reveal what he truly was: a ruthless hunter set on a kill. “The feral I’m after, it doesn’t stay in one place for very long. Usually it starts a killing spree by taking victims that no one misses right away, so that by the time people realize there’s a predator in the area, it’s too late, and the feral has moved on.”

“You think it’s about to take off again.”

He nodded. “I’ve been tracking this rogue for two years. It lies low for months between sprees and there’s no knowing where it’ll show up next. So, this is it, my chance. Because I will be the one who kills it.”

“I see.” And I did. As soon as my dad completed the fetch, we’d go back to our side of the wall, and worrying about being eaten would seem as distant and fictional as a bedtime story. But to the people who lived in the Feral Zone, it didn’t get any more real.

“So, you’re going back to Arsenal now, right?” he said.

“No. You do what you have to, and so will I.” I spotted my dad’s bag in the grass beside the fissure.

Rafe frowned, brows knit, but he didn’t ask me what was so important in Moline. He probably felt like he’d wasted enough time on the tame girl from the West. Treading carefully, I made my way over to the messenger bag. The last thing I needed was to fall into another hole.

“Do you at least have a weapon?” Rafe asked.

I scooped up my bag. “A knife.”

He grimaced as if I’d offered him a glue-stick smoothie. “To do any damage with a knife, you have to get in close. Is that what you want?” he asked. “To get within a foot of a feral or some convict that got booted over the wall?”

No, I most certainly did not.

He waved me south. “Go back to Arsenal.”

“I’m going to Moline.”

“Suit yourself.” He started to walk away but then swung back. “Only if you’re going on the road, don’t act like prey and don’t go around being helpful.”

Right. What a terrible flaw — being helpful.

When I turned to head north, he snagged my sleeve. “I’m just saying, be smart. If you see a freak caught in a trap, walk away.”

“What if the freak is stuck in a chimpacabra hole? Should I walk away then?”

“Yeah,” he said, sounding dead serious. He released his hold on my shirt. “As fast as you can, without looking back.”

I slid my dad’s machete out of the messenger bag. “I’ll be fine.” At least I hoped so.

Rafe straightened, eyeing the machete. “That’s not a knife….”

I dropped my bag and stepped back, blade up. Weapons had to be valuable over here. Revealing my father’s machete was probably the same as waving around a wad of cash in a bad neighborhood. Rafe’s gaze shifted to my leather bag. “There’s nothing in it that would interest you,” I said, toughening my tone.