~ Ishtal ~

by

David Toft

Stephen sat hunched behind a chair in the corner of the room, holding the gun two-handed and at arm’s-length, its shaking barrel pointing at the end of the corridor. It sounded as if a demented demolition crew had been released into the body of the hotel beyond the corridor. If it carried on much longer, it was likely that the whole building would collapse.

Intermingled with the creaks and crashes, ferocious hissings and a screeching like that of squabbling chimpanzees completed a picture too abstract for him to visualise.

The following silence was more frightening than the noise. If anything was going to happen, it would be now.

A single crash could only be the door of the room slamming against the wall. Rachael stumbled into the room. Stephen squeezed the trigger without realising that he’d done it until it was too late. The gun jerked in his hand, and the bullet lodged into the coving between wall and ceiling.

Rachael turned. Her hair hung loose and almost to her waist. Her blouse was ripped from one shoulder, and blood oozed through a rip in the thigh of her jeans. Her gaze danced around the room then settled on his hiding place. “Come on, and quickly.”

He used the arm of the chair to pull himself upright. His legs, curled beneath him for so long, threatened to collapse under his weight. Rachael crossed the room, grabbed his hand and pulled him toward the door.

“Where’s Cedric?” Stephen gasped as they reached the top of the stairway.

“Hurt—he had to go back.” Rachael pulled him down the stairs. The hotel lobby was destroyed, the hole in the front wall bigger than the double doors next to it. Bits of reception desk littered the floor, and bricks and chunks of plaster buried the chesterfields.

Rachael strode around the debris toward the entrance.

Stephen surveyed the damage from the bottom of the stairs.

More hissing sounds filled his head.

Rachael turned. “Too many of them. Hurry.”

He stumbled toward her over a mound of fallen masonry and broken fittings.

She turned her back to him and bent at the waist. “Jump onto my back.”

“What?”

“Just do it.” She held her arms out from her sides piggy-back style. “Now!”

A low growl behind and above him caused him to turn. At the top of the stairs, one of the dog things hunkered down ready to pounce. White froth dripped from its yellowed fangs onto the carpet.

Stephen ran the few feet toward her and jumped aboard, his arms looping around her neck.

Her arms locked beneath his knees, and she ran for the door.

Stephen clung on.

At the door, she stumbled forward.

He released his grip around her neck to break his fall, then they were over the sparkling fountain. Something forced his legs apart. She’d grown beneath him. She banked to the left, almost dislodging him. He reached out to get a grip and grabbed a handful of coarse feathers. She’d become a giant eagle. She swerved again, and one of the dog-things leapt from the ground, snapping at empty air inches from Stephen’s foot, then fell back to the ground and gave chase far beneath them. They were over the trees then and still climbing. The eagle’s head tilted so that Stephen could see one huge golden eye and a curved beak. “Just hang on.” The voice at least was Rachael’s, but it was inside his head.

The cold came suddenly as they soared into the clouds. Within seconds, Stephen’s fingers were numb and freezing droplets soaked through his clothes and chilled his skin. He clung on with both hands. They had to rise above the clouds soon and into the sunshine beyond them. He couldn’t hang on for much longer, but she levelled off. She didn’t want to lose the clouds. Did she want him to fall off? If she did, why had she bothered to rescue him in the first place? His eyelids became heavy; he daren’t let himself fall asleep, then he just didn’t care any more.