Free Pilgrimage by Carl Purcell

stopping only a second, toe to toe with the scarred man to look down at him and make sure the man knew exactly how much bigger Roland was. Neither man wavered. Having made his point, Roland moved on, silently, down the stairs and the scarred man followed behind.
    Griffith waited until he couldn't hear their footfalls on the stairs and crept out of his hiding place. He sneaked to the banister and peered down to the lower floor, again. He could hear voices in the living room and chatting in the kitchen. The front door hung open and the cold night breeze swept up the dust in the hallway. Moving slowly, so not to make any sound, he backed into the bedroom to consider his situation.
    The plan was shot. He'd been an idiot. He'd been stupid and acted on impulse. Roland should have gotten out of sight – he had tried to tell Griffith as much. Now, instead, they'd captured Roland and he was twiddling his thumbs in the bedroom, trying to come up with a plan. Roland would break, that was almost inevitable. How much taunting would it take? He didn't know, but Griffith knew if he didn't act fast then they'd all probably be dead before sunrise.
    He couldn't go for help. He didn't know where to go and he wouldn't have any hope of escaping a Pentdragon search party. Then there was the thing he’d seen moving outside. He'd neglected to tell Roland – Roland could handle himself, especially if he was armed. And Griffith didn't even know, for sure, if something was out there. All he'd seen was movement and shadows. Sure, it was probably an illusion – some kind of trick of the light. Sure.
    Griffith moved to the window and scanned the fields. Nothing stirred. If there was something out there, surely the cows would be nervous, making a commotion. Right? Griffith realised he knew nothing about cows.
    There really was only one option. They'd have to drive the invaders away. How? The gun. That was a good start.
    Griffith made his way back to the stairs and listened to the movement in the house. More voices emanated from living room, the kitchen was quiet, a voice echoed against bathroom tiles. Step by step, Griffith descended the stairs. He stopped at the bottom and looked to both ends of the hallway. His heart beat high in his chest, drowning out the sounds of voices. Setting his sights on the front door, he readied himself to run. He let go of the railing by the stairs. One. He lowered his body, sinking into the shadows on the wall. Two. Griffith leaned forward. He closed his eyes. Three. He sprinted forward, not stopping until he felt the air turn cold and the—
    The ground had disappeared. Griffith's feet slipped through the air. He hit the dirt face first and hugged the ground, waiting.
    “Did you hear that?” The voice came from the door.
    “What?” Another voice, further away. This one sounded like the man who had taken Georgia. Griffith thought dirt and grass thoughts. If he just became one with the ground, they wouldn't see him. As long as they didn't step onto the porch, he could stay in its shadow, out of sight.
    “I thought I heard something.”
    “Like what?”
    “Like … something . What do I have to do, spell it for you?”
    “It's probably just Lance. He's still out there.”
    “It didn't look like Lance.”
    “Oh, so now you saw something?”
    “I think so.”
    “You think so? What the fuck is that, you think so ? Stop wasting time and get back in here.”
    Footsteps from the door faded back into the house. Griffith waited until everything was silent before lifting his head and scanning the front yard. The corrugated iron shed stood beside Thomas' truck, almost invisible in the darkness. Griffith didn't dare run again, in case they spotted him from the window or the door. Instead, he pushed himself up onto his hands and knees and crawled over the driveway to the shed door. The door opened with a quiet clunk that gave Griffith pause. He listened for voices from the house. None came and he continued with a little