Everwild (11 page)

—Rolling rolling—how long them dogs been rolling—long enough to give me gas—or worse—I shouldn't go near those things, no sir—

She experienced the usual moment of disorientation, filled with the static of Wanda's thoughts, and then Allie flipped that mental switch that sent Wanda off to dreamland. Instantly Allie knew why Wanda was here. She was hungry—famished—it seemed fleshies were always hungry, and Allie liked it that way!

Now in complete control of the woman, Allie looked toward the hot dogs rolling on the stainless steel poles of the industrial cooker. She had already been thinking about them, hadn't she?

“I'll have a cheese dog, please,” Allie said.

The old woman was happy to oblige. “How's Sam these days?”

“Fine, fine,” said Allie—and getting bold, she added, “You know Sam—I can't pry him away from the TV.”

The old woman laughed. “So he watches television now?”

“Uh … yeah. Well, weekends mostly. You know—the games.”

The old woman laughed. “Don't that beat all, a dog that watches sports!”

Allie felt her borrowed face flush, and she decided that less is more when it came to living-world conversation. She thanked the woman for the hot dog, paid with some cash from her purse, and downed the hot dog in three bites. Then she headed outside to the main event.

The rain!

It drummed against her poncho, teasing her, daring her to pull back her hood, and she did, closing her eyes and turning up her face to receive it. In an instant her hair was drenched, and rivers of rain ran down her cheeks. It was all she remembered it was! She opened her mouth and felt the drops on her tongue, but it still wasn't enough, so she grabbed the poncho, and pulled it off, exposing her flower-print blouse to the rain. She was drenched, she was chilled, and it was wonderful!

All caution had been lost in this glorious moment—she didn't care who saw her, or how wet she got. Wanda would not catch her death of cold. She'd be soaked and confused, but in the end, Wanda would have the benefit of that warm fire to dry her off, as she sat beside Sam, the TV-watching dog.

Allie twirled in the rain, laughing, and dizzy… . But then, as the rain began to let up, the guilt began to set in. She had used Wanda to satisfy her own selfish desire. How could she have done that? She had to end this now, and get back to Mikey. Somewhere in her rain dance, she had dropped the poncho, and it had blown to the feet of the gas station attendant, a dozen yards away, who picked it up, and came toward her.

“Looks like you dropped this,” he said.

“I'm sorry,” Allie said. “I got a little carried away.”

“Nothing wrong with that. Not at all, not at all.” He handed her back the poncho, smiling a lopsided smile that Allie could swear she'd seen before. “Not from around here, are you?” he asked.

Only now did Allie notice that he was just as wet as she, and didn't seem to care. “Yes, I am,” Allie said, figuring that Wanda must live nearby.

His smile got wider. More crooked. “Right, right, but I'm not talking about the fleshie,” he said. “I'm talking about
you
.”

Then his hand thrust out and grabbed Allie's wrist— grabbed it hard. It hurt—maybe more than it should have because it was the first time in a very long time Allie had felt pain.
Fleshie? Did he say fleshie? Then that must mean …

She ripped herself from his grasp, and turned to run, but then found herself running right into a drenched man in a business suit—a man with beady eyes colder than the rain. “First a candy bar, then a hot dog,” he said. “Always hungry, aren't you!”

All at once Allie knew where she had seen these two before. It wasn't their faces she recognized—because the faces were different—but their
presence
was the same. This was the old man and the little boy she had run into in the last town. But they had never been a little boy or an old man, any more than she had been the chubby girl eating a snickers bar. They were skinjackers!

The “businessman” pushed her painfully back against the gas pump, jarring loose the nozzle, which clattered to the ground. “Looks like we've finally caught up with Jackin' Jill!”

“I don't know what you're talking about!”

“Don't lie to us!” And his grip on her shoulders got tighter.

Well, they weren't the only ones who could use flesh to their advantage. Pain was a two-way street. She lifted her knee sharply, nailing the “businessman” where it counts. His cold eyes went wide, and he doubled over in pain, yowling. Then, as the “gas station attendant” reached for her, she grabbed the gas hose, and swung the nozzle at his head. It connected with his jaw, spinning him around.

Wasting no time, she peeled herself out of Wanda, returning to Everlost. The two men were on the ground now, and Allie could see the skinjackers inside them beginning to squirm their way out. They must have been spying on her
the other day when she jumped into the Snickers girl. If they had been there to watch her skinjack, and saw her peel out, too, it would be easy to follow Allie all the way here, jacking these two men as soon as she took over Wanda.

Well, Wanda and those poor men would have to sort this out for themselves, because Allie wasn't about to stand there and wait to be attacked again. She turned and ran to the dock, where Mikey was waiting.

Mikey, however, was having his own problems. He had hopped off the horse right after Allie had left, and as soon as she was out of view, he began to practice changing again.

It took a minute or two to gain enough focus to do it— especially with the rain, which was an unpleasant distraction. Just as before, he trained all of his attention on his right hand—this time trying to force the growth of a sixth finger. It worked! The finger sprouted right between his thumb and index finger, growing to be just as long as his pinky— but then kept on growing. Soon it was as long as his index finger—and still it didn't stop.
No big deal,
he thought. He just needed to regain his focus. He started this, so he could stop it. But then a seventh finger began to grow next to his pinky—and an eighth sprouted from his palm.

Changing himself, it seemed, was becoming easier and easier. The problem was stopping the process of mutation, and reversing it.

Now the knuckles of his fingers were growing fingers of their own, like branches of a tree. There were too many to count. Beginning to panic, he put all of his focus into reining it in. He looked at his hand, imagining his will to be a
relentless wave washing across his many misbegotten fingers. The growth finally slowed and stopped. He sent forth his will in a second wave, hoping—praying—that the extra fingers would shrivel and disappear, for how could he face Allie like this? Slowly the many fingers began to shrink.

So focused was Mikey on his current plight that he never noticed the sudden absence of the horse.

Shiloh the Famous Diving Horse was a loyal, if not entirely intelligent, animal. Only one thing was stronger than its loyalty: its desire to perform the death-defying, crowd-pleasing high dive. This was the creature's grand purpose. It had performed this feat before cheering crowds for most of its life on Atlantic City's Steel Pier, and had continued to do so in Everlost, until the day Mikey McGill climbed on its back to escape a marauding mob.

The steel pier was far away now … however, the dock that extended into the lake
looked
very much like a pier. The sight of it filled the horse's spirit. True, there was no highdive platform. True, there was no tank to land in—but there certainly was water! Although Shiloh's time with Allie and Mikey had been somewhat entertaining, when the chance to perform one final leap presented itself, how could any self-respecting high-diving horse resist?

And so, by the time Mikey had gotten his hand back down to the usual number of fingers, the horse was already barreling at full gallop down the dock.

Mikey ran after it the moment he saw it, but it was no use. By the time he reached the dock, the horse was already nearing the end, and showed no signs of slowing down. Still,
Mikey raced after it, hoping that the creature would come to its senses before hurling itself into oblivion.

The horse, however, was of a single mind. It reached the end of the dock, released a whinny of pure joy, and launched itself gleefully off the end. It hit the water, passed into the lake, and kept plummeting downward. In a moment it hit lake bottom, and passed into the earth, where it began its long journey toward the center of the Earth.

Deep down in its equine mind, the horse knew that there was no return, but that was all right, for it also knew that this was the greatest high dive of all!

Far above, Mikey McGill finally reached the end of the dock, stomping and cursing like a child having a tantrum, nearly sinking through the wood of the pier. The horse was gone without leaving as much as a ripple in the living-world water to mark its passage.

“Mikey!”

And of course this would be the moment Allie would choose to return! Mikey knew she had seen the whole thing—it was there in the panicked look on her face.

“I'll go after it!” Mikey told her. “I'll dive down after it and bring it back!” But even as he said it, he knew it wouldn't work. Yes, he had ridden the horse out of the earth once before, but such a feat required a certain passion he no longer had. The monster within him had been tamed, but domestication came with a cost. Surely he still had the power to pull himself out of the depths, but he doubted he could do it on horseback.

Mikey had no way of knowing that Allie's troubled look had little to do with the horse. She had run from the gas
station so quickly, she actually felt out of breath—a sensation that was technically impossible for an Afterlight, and yet still she felt it. When she saw the horse go off the dock, her heart sank. First for the loss of Shiloh, and second, because with him went their only chance for a quick escape.

She tried to get Mikey's attention, but he still blustered like the storm clouds above. “Stupid horse!”

“Forget about that! We've got a bigger problem.” She grabbed him and forced him to look at her. “Skinjackers.”

“Huh?”

“Two of them! They've been following us—we've got to get out of here!” But as she turned, she realized it was too late. The two skinjackers were at the foot of the dock, stalking toward them. Allie had not seen them in their true form—she had only seen the hosts they had inhabited. In a way it was easier to face them in the living world, where everything was limited by the simple rules of flesh and bone.

Even though she had never actually seen their faces, she knew which was which. The skinjacker to the right was tall and thin, with a puffy, rodentlike face. He had knobby knees and elbows—too knobby, actually—exaggerated like his skewed grin, which practically stretched all the way to his right ear.

“Well, well,” he said. “Jackin' Jill has a friend!”

The other skinjacker was in a blue and white football uniform, and his face was little more than a pair of unpleasant eyes in a football helmet. He was big—the kind of kid who was destined to be a linebacker whether he was good at the sport or not. Now, after what must have been a very
bad game for him, he was stuck as a permanent linebacker in Everlost. When he spoke, his words came out slurred and slobbery, due to the fact that he also had a mouth guard stuck perpetually between his teeth.

“Wait a shecond,” he said. “That'sh not Jackin' Jill!”

“It is! It is!” said the skinny one. “She just made herself look different, that's all!”

“She can't do shumthing like that, can she?”

Allie leaned over to Mikey and whispered in his ear. “We'll run on the count of three.”

To which Mikey responded, “I don't run. And neither do you.”

He was right about that. But seeing other skinjackers— it had shaken her even more than she realized. “Okay,” she said. “We'll fight them.” Then she thought about how she had been pushed against the gas pump. “But the football player's mine.”

Both Allie and Mikey prepared themselves for the battle, but before it could begin, someone else showed up on the scene. A fleshie came running onto the dock. A teenaged, leather-clad punk with spiky hair that defied the rain. But in an instant the wet spikes resolved into dry curls, and the face became a little less angular. It took a moment for Allie to realize what was happening. A third skinjacker had arrived, and he had just peeled out of his host. He wore a striped T-shirt that was a little too tight for his muscular frame, and he was old by Everlost standards. Seventeen maybe. While the punk-fleshie toddled off in confusion, the third skinjacker grabbed the gangly kid and the football player.

“What do you think you are doing!” he demanded. He
had an accent that Allie couldn't quite place at first.

“It's Jackin' Jill!” said the gangly one, weakly.

“Does she look like Jackin' Jill to you?” the third skinjacker said. The accent was definitely Eastern European. If Allie had to guess, she would say it was Russian.

The football player wasn't sure whether to shake his head or to nod, so he did a little bit of both. It made him look like a bobblehead doll. “When we shaw her jack the fat girl back in Virginia, we weren't closhe enough to shee her faish.”

“Yeah, Yeah,” said the other one, “and when she peeled out we had to hang way back, so we still didn't see her face then, either.”

The Russian kid heaved a heavy, resigned sigh, then he turned to Allie and Mikey, apologetically. “This is my fault,” he said. “When they told me they found a skinjacker, I told them to keep their eyes on you. Now I realize I should have done it myself.” He let go of the other two, and took a step forward. “I am Milos—and you have already met Moose and Squirrel.”

He threw an angry look at his cohorts, and Moose pushed Squirrel, nearly launching him off the side of the dock. “It was hish fault!” Squirrel pushed him back, but it wasn't nearly as effective.