Dweller - Jeff Strand [60]
Come with you.
“No.”
Yes.
“Okay, we don’t communicate well enough to have this kind of argument. So you win. We’ll both go home.” He repeated the signal: Both go home. “We’ll leave first thing in the morning.”
His plan was simple. As soon as Owen and the others fell asleep, Toby would sneak off and begin the journey home by himself. He couldn’t stop Owen from following him, but he hoped Owen would get the message and stay here by the pond.
Or…he could inadvertently lead three extra monsters to Toby’s hometown. That would be problematic.
Nah. They wouldn’t leave this nice pond in favor of a crummy little cave. Owen had never before abandoned his dwelling since Toby knew him, so whatever kind of creatures they were, they liked to stay in one place. He wouldn’t be able to get the other three to uproot themselves just to hang out with a skinny pink-skinned idiot. Right?
And if Owen did follow him back, great. He’d have his friend back with a clear conscience.
As evening approached, he spent a short amount of time making a rickety shelter out of branches. He was capable of doing much better, he was certain, but this one didn’t need to last long. As he laid the branches together, he watched Owen play-wrestle with the child in the mud near the pond.
Toby had named the child Scruffer. The female (he thought) he named Esmerelda. The male (he knew) he named Brutus. There was no hidden meaning to these names; he just thought they were appropriate.
After dark, the creatures went into their den and went to sleep.
Boy, was it dark. Toby couldn’t remember ever having been in such complete, enveloping darkness. He couldn’t even see the moon through the trees. There could be thousands of snakes slithering only inches from his body. He had a flashlight, which he’d use when he got far enough from their camp, but maybe this was better as an “early in the morning, before they wake up” plan than a “late at night, right after they go to sleep” one.
And he was exhausted. Not a good idea to walk through the pitch-black forest when you were exhausted.
He’d sleep for a couple of hours and decide the best course of action from there.
He woke to Owen prodding him.
No, wait, was it Owen…?
A clawed hand grabbed his ankle, squeezing tight.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Toby screamed as he was dragged out of the shelter. It fell apart around him, branches scraping his face as the monster pulled his leg. He heard a hungry growl—it had to be Brutus.
He grabbed a branch—hoping it was a long one—and jabbed it forward. Felt like a direct hit. But the roar sounded like fury, not pain.
He jabbed a second time. Missed. His other arm brushed against his backpack, so he grabbed that by the strap and swung it as hard as he could. There was a satisfying smack as it struck its target. The claw released his ankle.
Brutus’s roar was still all fury.
He swung the backpack again, bashing Brutus in what he hoped was the face. Some warm, wet drops hit his stomach. And then Brutus’s talons raked down his leg, not scraping deep, but enough to rip through his jeans and almost certainly draw blood.
“Owen!”
He kicked. Something gave way beneath his shoe, and Brutus let out a sharp whine like a hurt dog. Toby scooted backward, wincing as his hands came down on rough branches. He thought he might have knocked out some of Brutus’s teeth, but he couldn’t be sure.
The talons wrapped around his ankle again.
He bashed his free foot against them. This time he knew without seeing that he’d broken off at least a couple of the talons. Brutus howled.
Toby scrambled back until he collided with a tree. He immediately turned around, grabbed a branch to help pull himself to his feet, and began to climb, the backpack dangling from his shoulder. He’d never seen Owen climb anything, so maybe—
Brutus yanked him off the tree.
Then something yanked Brutus off him.
There was hissing and tearing and chaos but Toby tried to focus entirely on climbing