Peter & Max - Bill Willingham [40]
And then there was terrible screaming.
But the screaming wasn’t only in Peter’s dream. It was still there when he woke up. In fact it was worse than ever. “The soldiers found us! Run away! They’re here!” This is what Peter heard as he struggled to wake up and make sense of the world. It was still nighttime, but the fire had burned much lower since he fell asleep. He had trouble seeing, so he wiped at his eyes — which caused the blackened one to smart — and then looked again, but it was still too dark to make out much. All the while the sounds of fear and panic went on and even grew. He wasn’t sure who was doing the screaming, but the voice sounded familiar.
Peter sat up and looked around him. Mother was already on her knees, rising to her feet, but also clutching her empty blanket to her breast and looking about, as though she were trying to spot someone in particular. Two of the Peep daughters were trying to pull Mr. Peep to his feet as well. Both daughters were screaming too, or at least crying loudly enough that it added to the indecipherable cacophony. And then Peter saw Max, standing in the firelight. He was wearing his bright performance clothes, which is what he insisted on wearing for the escape when everyone else chose rugged and durable clothes that could withstand a long journey and many hardships. He recalled the terrific fuss Max had made two days ago, until finally Father had relented, so as not to risk attracting the soldiers’ interest.
Max was still in his bright clothes, but now there was something wrong with them. They’d been stained with yet a new overlay of color — ropes and curls and looping tendrils of bright red. Not only that, but the new color was all over Max’s face as well, in garish stripes, and matted into his already tangled hair.
Blood, Peter realized, with a shock that made him dizzy and unable to rise to his feet. He also realized that Max was doing most of the screaming.
“They found us!” Max shouted. “The soldiers! You promised they wouldn’t follow us, but they did! They killed Father and almost got me! And now they’re coming to get the rest of us!” Max had a horrible look in his eyes and he was holding his new sword, stabbing it here and there, in the air, at no one in particular.
“We need to run away!”
This time Peter bolted upright, no longer dizzy and now fully awake.
“Scatter, children!” Mr. Peep called, having finally lumbered to his feet. “Scatter into the forest!”
Peter moved quickly, as the full import of what was happening began to sink into his head. Max seemed able to fend for himself. Father would look after Mother. But wait, hadn’t Max just said something about Father? Never mind. There’d be time to think it through later. For now he had to move. Everyone had to move. He already had his boots on — he’d slept in them — and most of his clothes. He reached down under his coat and picked up Frost in its carrying case, where he’d slept with it wrapped up in his arms. Then he looked to his left and saw that Bo was nearest. She was standing, tears and confusion in her eyes, holding onto her own boots, one in each hand.
Peter grabbed her under one arm and started pulling her away from the firelight, into the shadows of the woods. “Hold onto your shoes for now!” Peter said to her as he dragged her along. “We’ll stop to put them on later!”
At first they simply stumbled along together in the dark, crashing into bushes and trees and falling often. Each time Peter recovered Frost with one hand and helped Bo back to her feet with the other. She was blubbering steadily, but not too loudly and, more important, did what he told her to — almost automatically, as if she weren’t yet ready to face for herself the implications of what they were doing.
Peter’s eyes slowly began to adjust to the darkness and he could start to make out dim shapes — more solid areas of blackness in the greater black all around them. Now at least he could avoid running into