Free Dawn of the Yeti by Winchester Malone Page A

follow. My only
hope is the Spire. Maybe someone’s left a first aid kit inside. I doubt the
Banjankri looted much from it, but who knows?
    I run.
    The sun is already
too far along for comfort. There is no way I’m going to make it to the Spire
before nightfall and even less of a chance that I’ll survive much after the sun
goes down. I’m bleeding too much, too weak from lack of food—there’s no
way I can stop to eat. And the Jo-Bran could make it to the Spire in just a few
hours. I figure I’ve got about six hours total before they’ll catch up with me.
    I run.
    The Spire looks
like it’s sprouting from the ground like a sprig of corn, growing higher and
higher as I approach. I finally collapse, still too far to gain the extra boost
of “being so close.” I take in deep, sharp breathes, the clouds puffing out
from my mouth, obscuring my view of the clear sky.
    It’s nothing but
blue above me, open wide and inviting me to just let go of the earth. Let
gravity switch and carry me out and away, into the void above. I wonder if
that’s where Genevieve and Krista are, looking down and watching over me from
somewhere so high that you can’t see them. They look through the stars and past
planets just to see me, my personal guardians, my personal demons. I can’t let
them see me like this, so broken and weak that I can’t move. Before I stand and
press on, I push my back deeper into the snow, allowing the cold to numb my
wounds once more. I take a handful of snow and pop it into my mouth.
    I run.
    The sun drifts
behind the ice range. And the sky threatens to fade. On the eastern horizon, it
has already given way to the creeping darkness. A loud ragged bellow drifts on
the open air from behind me. I take a look back, though I know I won’t see
anything. And I don’t. Just the buildings and snow that from this distance look
like they’ve fallen asleep, collapsed one upon the other to wait out the frozen
night.
    I run.
    The Spire looms
ahead, no more than an hour or two away, but the sun has left me. It sank too
long ago, the event bolstered by a mighty roar from thousands of screaming
Jo-Bran.
    Tonight is a night
for revenge.
    I run.
    I know that they are
after me. I can hear their grunts and growls, their pounding feet and paws as
they push themselves across the covered ground, snow gorillas.
    I run.
    The Spire is so
close. My back has gone numb, the pain fading into a dull ache that ebbs
throughout every corner of my body. Even my toes hurt. I can hardly breathe,
and I think that the weight of the gun and cans of food will drag me into the
earth. I drop the cans, figuring that there is no use for them if I don’t
survive. I even start peeling away the furs, dropping them into the snow.
    I run.
    Their sounds come
in clearly now. The individual breaths, the snorts, the thudding steps. They’ve
come for me, the first stop on their death errands.
    I run.
    They are so close
now that I think I can feel their breath on the back of my neck, though I know
this is wrong. They wouldn’t take the time to breathe on me unless I was
already dead. It sounds like the whole city is after me, their pounding feet
sounding like an endless drumbeat performed by a thousand players.
    I run.
    The snow has
melted then froze near the Spire’s entrance. Its door frame is charred black,
the opening just a gaping hole. I pray that I can make it inside, slide across
the ice patch and make it into the inner chamber before they come. I take a
quick glance over my shoulder and wish I hadn’t. Everywhere there are glowing
eyes, pair upon pair upon pair—and they’re all looking at me.
    I run.
    My heart feels
like it’s about to burst, it’s beating so hard. My strength has left me, and
I’m not sure if I can even open the inner door as I approach it.   A Jo-Bran slams into the wall, skidding
across the ice, and more of them behind him are slipping, but most of them make
it inside, their mouths open, claws extended.
    I pull at the
door,