Free Her Yearning for Blood by Tim Greaton Page B

possibly both, I struggled to get up , but agony shot like lightning bolts from my knee. I had definitely fractured it again .
    Fighting back the nausea, I focused on the one positive point in my plight: I had at least reached the edge of the concrete. Coughing, I peered out into the gloom but could see no sign of Amanda’s gold convertible or any other cars for that matter. I also couldn’t hear anything but my own hitched breathing . My head swooned but I forced myself to stay conscious. I took a dozen deep breaths through my collar. The air wasn’t much better down here.
    “Help! ” I screamed, not bothering to disguise my terror. “ I’m over here!”
    My bad luck held. No one answered.
    Chattering and screeching sounds came from the murk beyond my feet . Though Maine wasn’t known for dangerous animals, f ear clawed up my spine . I grabbed the nearest aluminum crutch and made ready to defend myself.
    “Amanda . Rachel. Anyone!”
    Sucking breath through my collar like a trapped fire-victim , I tried to understand why the smoke had not yet cleared . Instead, the brownish haze hung like polluted swamp fog. M y eyes had long since started to sting. Wincing, I tried to pull mys elf up by my crutches but the pain struck me like a fist. I shook the white spots from my vision. My knee couldn’t be moved.
    Deep growling sounds came from my left .
    You’re imagining it , I told my self but t he deep noise came again.
    “Amanda, Rachel!”
    D id they leave me ?
    No. Rachel never would have left –n ot unless she thought I had caught a ride with someone else . Amanda on the other hand wouldn’t have thought twice about hurr ying away without me , especially since the police were sure to be on their way to investigate the explosions . The ex-cheerleader had lost her license two months earlier and wasn’t s cheduled to g et it back for another month. If her father had not been on one of his long business trips, Amanda never would have dared to drive to the military base at all.
    T he screeching came again , s o close that I instinctively jerk ed my feet away from the sound . I n early passed out from the pain. I held onto awareness and tried to make out the threat. Unfortunately, I could not even see my own shoes . The b izarre roiling smog surrounded me like a black dome .
    Could the explosions have released a military toxin ? Maybe the boys from school had been right. Maybe the Army had sealed off secret underground laboratories beneath the acres of concrete . My parents seldom discussed Fort Groachervill e , but the few times they did it was only to express relief that the local disappearance s had stopped once the base had been dismantled. That was fourteen years ago.
    I still couldn’t believe I had allowed Amanda to talk me into this.
    Something stung my finger .
    “ Ow !”
    I yanked my arm away but dozens of other painful pricks exploded across my fingers and hand. More p ain shot like a gasoline fire up both ankles and across my other hand.
    Insects!
    I screamed and tried to drag myself back to the concrete. Every movement was like a stabbing sword in my kneecap. I ignored the surges of w hite hot agony , however, and kept trying to push backwards. Finally, d izzy, unable to move any further , I stopped and held both painful hands up to see dozens of a nts!
    Large , red fire ants !
    Disgusted, I tried to brush the m from my fingers and palms , but the oversized insects might as well have been glued to my skin . I could feel hundreds of tiny pincers also embedd ing in both my legs. I must have fallen on an anthill. Knowing that I had to get away, I r edoubled my efforts to pull myself back toward the concrete . My hands sank into the sand as I struggled to drag my lower body. My teeth ground together. It felt as though an engine was backfir ing inside m y knee , but I had to get free of the anthill. It took a half dozen more heaves before I finally felt concrete under my hands. My arms and shoulders trembled