Kat Falls - Inhuman

Wait. A wizard surrounded by silver guys. Silver, as in light gray uniforms, maybe?

Okay, Dad, got it. Dr. Solis and the line guards. Wow, that wasn’t even subtle.

I got to my feet. I didn’t need to take the story any further because I didn’t need to know all the ways that the little girl made it across the bridge and into the magical forest. I wasn’t going anywhere near the magical forest, aka the Feral Zone, even if that was where the little girl met the boy who lived all alone in a castle. He was wild and uncivilized and would say the rudest things imaginable, which, of course, delighted me when I was younger. Out of all of my dad’s characters, the wild boy was my favorite. But tonight, there would be no wild boy, no bridge crossing, and no magic forest for me. All I had to do was talk to the wizard. Dr. Solis, who was surrounded by killer robots. With Uzis. No problem.

I studied the rocky hill that lay between the road and the riverbank. I didn’t see any other green glowing spots on the slope below, but they were there for sure. If I couldn’t see the land mines, how was I supposed to avoid them? Too bad there were no talking animals around to give me advice. I crept closer and suddenly the land mine by the blackened tree lit up again. Had I activated it by moving?

No. The land mines wouldn’t glow in warning when you got close or quarantine breakers like me would just avoid them, making the mines pointless. However, the guards who set the mines would want to know where not to step….

I held out the patrol badge as far as I could without leaving the road. Not only did the glow by the tree intensify, but also, farther down the embankment, other rocks began to glow.

Thanks, Dad.

I zigzagged my way down the steep hill, steering clear of demolition wreckage, trees, and glowing harpy eggs. I headed for the landing pad next to the gated bridge. Of course, I still didn’t know how I was going to get across the bridge or find Dr. Solis once I was in the patrol camp. For some reason I’d pictured a patrol camp as a few rows of tents — an image that had nothing to do with reality. How did the word camp apply to what looked like a medieval town, complete with limestone buildings and a clock tower? But that was most definitely the line patrol camp. The rows of barracks on the south end of the island was one giveaway, the high chain link fence topped with razor wire another. And then there were the spotlights and watchtowers.

How was I supposed to snoop around such a brightly lit and highly guarded island?

Pounding footsteps sent me darting behind a tree. When I dared to peer out, I saw a man throw open the gate, leap off the end of the bridge, and bound down the gravel slope to the riverbank. He took cover in the shadows as three more people burst through the gate and ran onto the landing strip. They paused under a floodlight to scan the area. With their crew cuts and military fatigues — gray on gray camouflage to match the wall — they had to be line guards. Also known as killer robots. After a moment of whispering, they fanned out.

I didn’t dare hope that the fugitive hiding in the shadows below was my father. Though who else would be running from line guards? If that was my dad down there, he’d make a break for the tunnel at some point. I’d have my answer then. In the meantime, I was staying put.

The man stumbled along the dark riverbank and dropped behind a rubble pile, the remains of some demolished building. When he appeared on the other side of the rubble and started up the steep hill, hope rose in my chest.

No way. My father, here, now. That would be too lucky.

The three guards exchanged hand signals that didn’t take military training to figure out, and then two skidded down the gravel slope by the bridge. The tallest one jogged across the landing pad and disappeared behind a patch of scrubby bushes — gun in hand.

I had to see the fugitive’s face. I spotted him crouching behind a rock outcropping halfway up the slope. Below him, the two guards swept the riverbank with flashlights. The bushes off to my left rustled. The third guard was closing in fast. I tucked the badge into the front of my vest and scurried along the ridgeline until I was directly above the fugitive, which meant closer to the lit-up landing pad. Not good. I crouched in the shadows and waited for the man to do something — to make a run up the hill. But the seconds ticked by and he remained as still as an animal caught in the glare of headlights. The guards below gave up on the riverbank and turned their high-powered flashlights onto the hill, inching their way up. I couldn’t wait any longer. Scooting a little ways down the slope, I whispered, “Hey.”

The fugitive didn’t move.

“Hey,” I said a little louder.

He whipped around at the noise and rose, but his face remained shadowed. Just as I considered creeping down farther, I caught a flash of his eyes in the moonlight — yellow and bestial — and knew then, beyond all doubt, the man was not my father.

I wasn’t even sure he was human.

Fast-rising panic surged through me as I stared at the fugitive man crouched on the hill below. His yellow eyes glowed with hostility and I’d swear he was growling. Horrified, I shoved back, kicking earth to get away, but he lunged up the hill after me. I heaved my bag at him, hitting him squarely in the face. He stumbled back.

Turning, I scrambled up the steep slope, only to feel a steely grip clamp around my ankle. I cried out and clawed at the weeds, trying to get a handhold, but still the terrifying man dragged me to him. As I kicked at his hand, a hornet blew past my ear, its wings brushing my skin. The man released me with a roar. He slapped at his arm, which had somehow sprouted a dart. When he tore it out, another dart punctured his neck.

I crabbed backward up the hill, only to get hooked from behind and hauled to my feet. I whirled to run and slammed in to a wall of a boy. His badge and dog tag dangled against his chest, inches from my nose. A line guard.

He dragged me aside with a “Shh” and raised his gun. Mouth tight, he took aim, but before he could pull the trigger, the maniac on the slope toppled over. The guard exhaled slowly, and then turned a cold look on me, made even colder by the color of his irises — pale gray, the exact shade of the wall. “What are you doing over here?” he demanded.

I couldn’t speak. My brain had blown a circuit back at yellow eyes. Yellow .

“Who gave you permission to cross the —” The guard’s words cut off as his gaze swept over me. “Oh … got it. You’re one of the captain’s friends.”

I nodded dumbly. He could assume whatever he wanted as long as he let go of my arm so that I could put some serious distance between me and the groaning, yellow-eyed man.

“Stay here,” the guard ordered. “There’s no reason for them to see you.” He tipped his head toward the bottom of the hill, indicating the other two line guards, and then he lowered his voice. “They resent the brass enough as it is.”

He said it like he wasn’t one of them, though he sure looked like any other line guard — hair buzzed, expression brutal.

“Do not try to walk back without me. Understand?” He slid the dart gun into a thigh holster. “You’ll just get blown to pieces.”

Right, land mines. Nice scare tactic, jerk. I nodded again.

“Cruz,” a voice yelled from the riverbank. “Did you find Bangor?”

“I tranqed him. He’s down,” the guard at my side shouted back.

I jumped at the sound. I needed to get a grip, and fast.

“I’ll be right back,” the guard named Cruz whispered, then he picked his way down the slope.

One hippopotamus, two hippopotamus … With the patrol badge in hand, I dashed up the hill, watching for the telltale glow of the mines. On the rise, I paused, gasping, and ducked behind the same bush as before. Wait there so he could come back and arrest me? Yeah, right.