The Dark and Hollow Places - Carrie Ryan [24]
“I have to find her,” I whisper. “They said she might be at the Sanctuary. I have to find a way to get there.”
Catcher shifts next to me, his hand bumping against my knee and then sliding up my arm to tug at me until I let him wrap his fingers around mine. “We have to find her,” he says gently.
I’m startled by the quiet strength of his grip. By the resolve in his voice. It terrifies me because it makes me want to lean on him and let him prop me up. Let someone else be strong and in charge.
For a moment, I indulge in this thought; indulge in the feel of his hand holding mine. Then I jerk away and stand up.
I’ve let myself believe in someone else’s strength before. When Elias left, I promised I’d never put myself in that position again.
“Let’s go, then,” I say, racing up the stairs fast enough that he can only follow one step behind.
It’s daytime aboveground, and when I throw open the doors and we reel out of the darkness, the bright glare of snow sears my eyes. Catcher stumbles after me, both of us holding arms in front of our faces against the blinding light of the morning. A stinging cold wind roars down the alley between two buildings behind us, instantly penetrating my layers of clothes and causing me to shiver violently.
Pulling my coat tight and wrapping my arms over my chest, I let the wind shove me toward the mouth of the alley. The tips of my hair whip around my face and force me to close my eyes as the howling fills my ears, blocking out any other sound: the crunch of ice underfoot, Catcher’s footsteps behind me. Every movement is an effort. The storm rushes at us until we finally stumble around a corner and into a crowded intersection of one of the main Neverlands roads.
Someone in the crowd blunders against my shoulder, knocking me off balance, and I stumble sideways. Hands grab at me, and at first I think it’s Catcher trying to help me regain my footing, but the tugging becomes insistent like an aggressive beggar, causing my feet to slide over a patch of ice coating the ground.
I jerk my arm free, my elbow connecting with the beggar as I fall. The impact with the ground makes me bite my cheek, filling my mouth with the taste of hot metal. “Get off me!” I shout with a gurgle just as the beggar lands on me, pushing me back until my head smacks the ground.
There’s a sharp pinch along my arm and I struggle to draw a breath, fighting the lump of sour-smelling clothes twisting on top of me.
“Stop!” I shout, feeling blood from my shredded cheek leak from my lips and down along my jaw. The person on top of me becomes frantic, elbows punching my chest as he lifts his head from my arm and lunges toward my face, desperate for something he must think I have.
My mind’s a moment behind. As his teeth veer toward my cheek I’m belatedly aware of two things. First, the man is Unconsecrated, and second, he just bit me. That’s what the pinch on my arm was.
Horror floods me. It incites a panic I’ve never felt before. I lash out, retribution in the face of death, punching at his face and kicking at his torso.
Even so, he’s heavier than I am, and gravity pulls him closer. I twist my head away, trying to scramble from underneath him. “Catcher!” I scream, desperate for help. The frozen ground numbs the back of my arms. It’s impossible to find traction. I can’t dig my feet in, I can’t buck the plague rat off.
I push my fingers into his eyes, trying to keep his lips from my flesh, but nothing stops him.
My arm throbs where he’s already attacked me and useless grunts slip from my mouth. I’m choking. This isn’t the way I’m supposed to die. I’ve fought too hard. I’ve resisted the Unconsecrated for too long for this to happen now.
I growl and sob as his mouth brushes my ear, tongue trying to fold me between his teeth. To bite. To infect. That is all that matters to this monster. I’m nothing to him but the absence of infection—something clean that must be sullied.
His teeth scrape my skin, once more and then again.
I twine my fingers through the Unconsecrated man’s hair, trying to pull