Witch and Wizard_ The Fire - James Patterson [60]
The door to the exit stairwell slams open, and as if in slow motion, I watch Byron running down the hall, his mouth frozen in one long O. Pearce’s hand is still on my head. Byron has seen him liquefy a hundred kids’ faces.
He thinks Pearce is killing me.
I put my hand up to flag him, but it’s too late. Byron crashes into Pearce, and the connection is lost.
I snap out of my trance and rush over to Byron. He’s still shouting furiously, and he doesn’t let Pearce up like I expect him to — instead he punches him in the face over and over. I touch his shoulder, and his fist stops in midair.
“It’s over, B. He’s not getting up for a while.” He looks at me, confused and emotional, like a little kid. He peers at his bloody fingers and doesn’t seem to understand how they got that way.
“Come on,” I say gently. “We have to go.” He nods and we take off again, leaving Pearce bruised but breathing, slumped in a corner.
“I’m sorry, Wist,” Byron says when we’re beyond the compound. “I didn’t understand what you were doing. That you were” — he looks away, swallowing —“going to kill him.” He takes my hand. “I wouldn’t have stopped you if I knew.”
I shake my head. “I don’t know if I could’ve finished it anyway. But we’re in serious trouble now regardless.”
Byron raises an eyebrow, questioning.
“Remember what happened at the music festival when I directed my energy through you?”
He nods. He’ll never forget that.
“Well … I think I just made Pearce a whole lot stronger.”
Chapter 66
Whit
WE RUN THROUGH the bone forest in single file, and even Feffer doesn’t whine or make a sound. Celia swears the river can’t be far, but as the air gets thinner and harder to breathe, I’m not sure we’ll make it. Skeletons creak all around us, and arms seemingly come to life and reach for our bodies, wanting to absorb our life.
Even the trees are instruments of death.
There is sweat on my brow; I think I’m running a fever. My breath comes in short sips, and I can feel the magic seeping right out of me, draining my body.
Suddenly there’s a spark flying off my fingertip, like I’m about to short-circuit or something. It’s almost like my power is reacting to other forces here, all buzzing in this spot somehow, like too many wires plugged into one outlet.
The Shadowland seems to spiral as I hallucinate. I think I see a man’s face in my vibrating vision — a face with sharp, jutting cheekbones and cruel eyes. Almost like The One’s but … older. Warped. But when I blink it’s only a tree skull, laughing at me. I’m losing my mind.
As if sensing my weakness, one of the younger Resistance kids catches up to me at the front, his skin sallow and his eyes ringed with dark circles. He’s around twelve and has two even smaller children in tow.
“We’re dying, aren’t we?” The older kid looks at me with frank accusation, and I must seem bewildered. “The Shadowland is where the dead go, so we’re about to die.”
I close my eyes and try to get my composure together enough to reassure this kid, beaten by the world but surviving, and am unsure of what to say, how to tell him we’ll get out of here, when I don’t know for sure. “What’s your name, kid?”
“Ragan,” he says gruffly, a tuft of sandy-blond hair falling in his eyes. “Bennett Ragan.”
“We’re not dying, Ragan.” Yet, at least. “The air here is just making us weak.”
“Listen, I’ve been taking care of these two for a long time,” he says, scowling. He grips the younger boys’ hands in his. “I just want you guys to be honest with me.”
As we near the edge of the forest, I’m feeling stronger again, less drugged. More optimistic. I put my hand on his shoulder. “I promise, if things get really bad, I’ll give you a heads-up.” Ragan nods, looking skeptical, and shuffles back to the end of the line.
As light finally breaks through the trees of the bone forest, we stumble out onto a barren, rocky landscape with steep cliffs. We come to a clearing, a hilltop on the lip of what looks like a huge basin. What I see inside it sweeps my breath away for a moment.
In