Free The Dark Shore (Atlanteans) by Kevin Emerson Page A

Otherwise I’d kill you, I swear to Tona—”
    “Get off!”
    Harvey was cut short by a thick thud. His weight left me. I flipped over to see Leech wielding another boccie ball.
    Harvey careened sideways. Fresh blood seeped down from his hairline. He wiped at it, his eyes darting this way and that like they were out of sync with each other.
    “You think you can use me?” Leech shouted at him, spit flying, his voice shredded from vomiting. In the weird angles of light cast by the fallen lamp and the flames, he looked insane, a wild creature. “You think you can use us?” He lunged and tackled Harvey.
    I staggered to my feet and saw Leech straddle Harvey’s body. “Want to trade us like meat?” Leech shouted. “You think we’re worth nothing?”
    “Nnn,” Harvey moaned weakly.
    Leech’s hand rose high over his head. The boccie ball, already shiny with liquid from its last attack, glistened in the lamplight.
    “Leech, don’t!” I shouted.
    Leech’s arm hurtled earthward.
    There was this awful sound, like something damp and fibrous cracking. I heard a patter as droplets splattered against surfaces, and then a horrid, soft moan oozed through the darkness.
    I stood frozen, knees shaking. My shoulder burned. I saw the grilling fork on the ground, covered in my blood.
    Leech stood up over Harvey. His shoulders were heaving with hard breaths, his head dropped. He turned and staggered back toward us, his blood-soaked weapon in hand.
    “Uhhh,” Lilly moaned, sitting up. She wiped at her face. “Yuk.”
    I could barely think. We needed to get out of here. I looked to the smoky ceiling and started shoving my fingers down my throat. They grazed against the back of my tongue, the weird smooth-but-hard of my throat, and the fingers felt foreign there, wrong, scraping and blocking. I fought the urge to pull them back out and pushed farther, gagged, gagged more, and then my insides finally convulsed and I doubled over and thick, mealy soup poured out onto the shards of what had been the coffee table. Squishy sour chunks clogged my nostrils and I coughed and heaved again and again. I looked down at the mess of spatter and for a moment had the dumbest thought, feeling guilty that I’d ruined the food. . . . It was like my brain wanted to think about anything other than all the awful reality around me.
    “Quick,” said Leech, low and lethal, “before Eden comes.”
    The fire had spread to the carpet, licking toward us, and I heard sharp cracks as it stampeded hungrily through the store.
    Leech stalked over to the shopping cart, loaded his arms with the noodles, the can of stew, the pink blanket and pillow. The boccie ball was still tight in his fist.
    I turned and held out my hand to Lilly. “Can you stand?”
    “Yeah,” she croaked. She pushed up from the couch, wobbled, and grabbed my shoulder. The touch caused a fresh surge of pain. “Sorry,” she said when I flinched.
    “It’s fine.”
    Thick smoke wrapped around us. As we turned to go, I heard a weak moan from Lucinda. Don’t feel sorry for them , I thought. They were going to give you to Paul .
    “Come on!” Leech shouted from ahead.
    We ran through the clouds to the center of the store. Lilly and I were leaning on each other, hobbling along. I was seeing spots in my vision, and my body felt so tired, so empty. The rancid odor of vomit lingered with us.
    We staggered up the stairs, leaning against the railings. Rounding the last flight, we saw the rectangle of pure blue sky. Leech hurried through. Lilly and I made our way up and out into the light, only to run right into Leech’s back.
    “Shit,” he said.
    We looked ahead.
    The craft was gone.
    “Aw no.” I ran forward anyway, looking around wildly. The roof was empty.
    “Where did it go?” Leech shouted.
    “No, no, we should have known !” I said. “I should have . . .” I scanned the horizon, but there was nothing.
    Smoke was beginning to seep out of cracks and vents, obscuring the view.