And look, Chris’s plan had worked. Just at the wrong time. Because here was the girl, and Ellie knew only one people-eater with a lime-green scarf.
Lena.
116
“Stay behind me,” Ellie said, snicking the Leek shut and dropping it in a front pocket. Not bothering to see if Dee minded, she hefted the Savage. Growling her don’t even think about it rumble, Mina had put herself between them and Lena.
Lena stopped short, about thirty feet away. She wasn’t as holloweyed as before. Except for the scarf, her clothes were different. From the stains on that bat, Ellie thought Lena had picked up a couple snacks on the road the way Ellie’s daddy used to stop at a Kwik-Mart for Krispy Kremes and Slim Jims. Already lean, the girl looked wolfish, like all that walking and fresh air and time in the woods had coaxed the animal out of hiding. Or maybe Lena was finally gone, the beast eating up her insides until all that remained was the glove of her skin.
But she still has the scarf. Ellie had no idea why, but then her thoughts jumped to Dee and her doll, the whistle Alex had always worn until she gave it to Ellie. The whistle was a . . . souvenir? That wasn’t right. For her, the whistle was Alex. For Alex, the whistle was her dad. Maybe the scarf was what Lena had been before everything fell apart.
From behind Ellie, back toward the road, came a faint crack of gunfire. Another. Two more. She couldn’t say if the gunfire had ever ceased. Whoever was doing the shooting was in the wrong place to help them anyway. The idea flitted through Ellie’s brain that she could shout, or have Dee scream. If it was the good guys, they might find them in time.
Unless it’s not. Perhaps Finn had blown through Rule and steamed north to grab them. If so, shouting would only land her and Dee in an equally terrible fix.
“Leave us alone, Lena.” Don’t ask Ellie why; it just popped out. “You know her?” Dee’s voice was a mousy shrill.
“Sort of.” Lena’s head tilted like a dog’s, and then the older girl
took a step. “Don’t,” Ellie said, choking up on the Savage. Swinging first would be a bad idea. Lena was taller and her reach was longer. All Lena had to do was wait for her to miss. Then, one crack of that bat upside the head and Ellie’s skull would break like an egg. Mina would try to protect her, but she didn’t want Lena to kill her dog.
Lena took another step, then halted when Mina’s rumble intensified. “Please, Lena,” Ellie said, “go away, just go away, just—”
Lena came at them, so swift and silent, Ellie never had time to say anything, much less give a command. At the same moment, Mina broke, not waiting for Ellie to tell her what to do but racing to close the gap. Two feet from Lena, Mina readied herself for the leap, and that was when Ellie finally snapped to; saw the danger, because she’d read the angle of that bat; knew exactly what Lena was going to do, because, as Jayden once explained: If you’re ever attacked by a dog or coyote, remember that they never come straight on. Dogs and coyotes and wolves always jump.
“Mina, no!” Ellie screamed, way too late, way too slow, because Mina was so fast, so brave, and she was stupid, stupid, stupid . . .
Lena swung. Ellie heard the cut of the bat, a whickering whir; saw the dull twinkle of aluminum in the light of this new day. The bat caught Mina under her jaw, smashing with a wicked brute force that snapped the dog’s head back with a loud and sickening crack! Mina never cried out or made a sound. There was no leap of blood. The blow sent the dog sailing off-target to crash into a hummock of dirty snow and forest litter.
“Mina!” Ellie shrieked, and darted forward. Behind her, Dee was screaming again, a sound Ellie barely heard over the thunder in her head. Ahead, through a furious red haze, she saw Lena stride to her fallen dog, her Mina, and bring that bat high over her head like a sledgehammer. Ellie had a moment’s hope when she wondered if Mina might still be alive—or if Lena only wanted to make sure.
Then Ellie was beyond caring, barely thinking, only moving, charging with murder on her mind and her heart already breaking. Roaring, she brought the Savage around in a vicious slice just as Lena began to turn. Speeding through air, the rifle axed Lena’s middle, knocking the girl away from her dog, her dog! Ellie barely registered the blow, wasn’t really aware she connected until Lena stumbled onto her heels. Off-balance, Lena backpedaled a few steps before her feet skidded on a patch of slick snow. As she fell, Lena lost her grip on the bat, which turned a drunken cartwheel before thumping to the ground a few feet to Lena’s right. That put the aluminum bat on Ellie’s left, and she had one second, one second . . . and hesitated, unsure if she should try for the bat or not.
One second was all the animal-Lena needed. In a flash, she was rolling, hand shooting for the bat, fingers outstretched.
“No!” Ellie brought the Savage down like that huge hammer her daddy once used to ring the bell on a county fair midway and win her a stuffed monkey. The rifle caught Lena’s left arm at the elbow with a tremendous whack. Lena let out a screech. Breaking apart from the force of the blow, the Savage splintered, the entire wooden stock assembly shearing from the barrel. Staggering from her own momentum, Ellie felt her boots skitter over snow humped atop old leaves and then her feet cut out from under. The Savage’s barrel spun off like a discarded baton. Crashing down hard on first her left ankle and then her hip, the blow knocked out her breath and sent an electric shock into the small of her back. A wheezy scream winged off her tongue. Retching, Ellie rolled onto her stomach. The forest wavered and she had a brief second when she wondered if this was what happened before you passed out.
There came the rustle of leaves as the monster gathered herself. Ellie looked up. On her feet, only ten feet away, Lena swayed, her face a clench of fury and pain. Her scarf dragged like the long, lime-green tongue of a sick lizard. From that nasty kink, her left arm seemed to suddenly have grown a second elbow.
With her good right hand, Lena picked up the bat.
“I hate you,” Ellie choked. Tears streamed over her cheeks. “You killed my dog.” Her closet-voice was shrieking, Get up, Ellie, get up, get up! So why wasn’t she listening? Because she was on her belly. Getting up meant pushing to hands and knees, setting her feet, and she was too furious and frightened to take her eyes from this girl. What you couldn’t see and only imagined was always scarier than what was real. Lena was already bad enough.
But Ellie did one thing. Her hand snuck into her pocket—and found her Leek. The knife was slim and, with the blade folded away, only just filled her hand.