In the very center was the tree—that twisted thing that defied its banishment of the woods around it. Standing under its gnarled branches was the dim form of Rachel. In the dark of the oncoming clouds, she was little more than a ghostly shape against the surrounding trees. In front of her, hunched and growling, was Dean.
Ramildienne was talking, her voice now quiet in the absence of the crows.
“Why do you struggle so?” she was asking. “Why can you not just give in as fate has willed you?” Her words were shaky. Patrick couldn’t see her face, but it looked as though she might be crying.
Dean leapt at her, and in a flurry of leaves she appeared off to his left. He jumped again and she was standing back at the base of the tree.
“STOP RUNNING!” he heard Dean shout from behind a snarl.
“As I told you, I will not run,” Rachel’s voice came through the darkness. “And neither will you.”
She raised her hand to the sky and there was a blinding flash of light followed by an explosion in Patrick’s ears. He yelped in pain and shock as several bolts of lightning crashed into the woods around them. In an instant flames erupted on every tree and yellow light spilled into the world, the shadows of the woods behind growing even blacker in the glare. The thunder resounded, leaves crackled, and bows began to split. Flaming branches were falling to the ground only a few moments after the fire began to spread.
Patrick had involuntarily cowered the moment the bolts hit, and as he stood up he could see Dean leaping at Rachel’s body again and again, the witch disappearing in a gust each time. Through the black splits in the trees and the fire crows began to leak into the clearing, filling the air once more with their hateful calls. They swirled around Ramildienne and began to shield her from Dean’s attacks. Instead of leaves, soon each jump was thwarted by a rising wall of cackling birds. The witch began to lift from the ground once more in a growing cyclone, and every time the wolf launched an attack the storm broke and reformed several yards away, the pale figure reappearing on top each time. Crows began to fly at Dean and land on him, pecking at his back and face, but he yanked them off one by one and even bit them out of the air, spitting them onto the ground in a rain of blood and feathers.
Crows flew at Patrick as well, and he shook them off as best he could, but every time he downed one, two more took its place. The flames roared and the scent of burning wood and feather dust and decay filled the air, creating a tumultuous mash of sensation that threatened to bowl Patrick over.
Red, murderous thoughts came from Dean, and with each jump Patrick thought that surely he would strike and Rachel would be savagely killed. Patrick ran to the center of the clearing, fighting off oncoming crows, his mind reeling and his senses confused. He snapped at the foul birds and watched the fight with exponentially growing panic, the sheer helplessness nearly making him wish that he were dead. Rachel’s face came inches away from being torn by those enormous jaws again and again, and each failure sent Dean further into his blind fury. Patrick wanted to call out for Dean to stop, for it all to stop, but couldn’t seem to move or think. He felt stabbing pains in his back, but now he only shook them off absentmindedly, sparing them the snapping of his teeth. He stared up into the storm, feathered demons circling around him, the huge wolf leaping into the roiling cloud that stood jet black against the towering flames.
Then, Patrick did something he couldn’t explain.
He changed back.
Patrick stood up and gazed at the scene unfolding before him, crows pecking at his arms and torso. He beat at them with bare, clawless hands, blood dripping from his unprotected skin. He shouted into the storm.
“Rachel! Rachel, if you can hear me, come back!” Crows gathered on his shoulders, pecking furiously, and he wriggled them off. “Rachel, you have to come back!”
Ramildienne looked down at him, and with that impossible clarity shouted, “She can’t hear you, boy! This body is mine now!” Her voice was still shaky, her face filled with sadness. Dean leapt, and the storm swirled around her and a moment later she was standing in the air ten feet away, still looking at Patrick with eyes that glowed red.
“Rachel, I know you can hear me! It’s your body, and you can fight her! I know you’re in there, Rachel, fight!”
The flames cast an eerie orange glow onto the girl’s pale skin and shone in her blonde hair, which whipped in her face amidst the whirling cyclone. Through the little golden strands Patrick could see crystal tears glistening on her cheeks.
“Do you think I find pleasure in doing this?” she called through the roar of wings and fire. “Every child of the Earth is precious. I will weep at your passing, my dear boy!” Dean leapt and she swirled out of the way once more. A fiery branch cracked and fell to the ground beside her, throwing up a fluttering cloud of cinders and flaming leaves.
There were now crows on every arm and leg, and Patrick’s attempts at shaking them off were becoming progressively more futile. They dug into his flesh and he swatted at them, but they wouldn’t relent. Soon the sheer weight of the vile birds drove him downward, and he fell to the ground, onto his stomach.
“Please, Rachel!” he called, his voice quiet in the din and growing weaker. “Remember the walks home! Remember the dinners! Remember the swings! I know you’re still there, please, just fight her!” The malicious strength of the talons gripping his skin was almost too much to bear.
Dean stood panting, staring at the witch with blood covering his face and chest, crimson and black feathers sticking to his fir. Crows were swarming onto his back and be bit at them wearily.
“Why do you do this?” Ramildienne was sobbing openly now. “Please… stop…”
“Rachel…” Patrick whispered, his plea lost under the scraping feathers and sinister caws. He felt the last of his strength slipping away from him, draining from his body like water from a cracked jug, and with the final bit of mobility he could manage he groped around to his back pocket and felt for the little lump there. He reached his fingers in, latched onto a handful of thread and pulled.
Patrick held the strip of green fabric above the swarm of pecking, cackling crows. Through the chaos he could just barely see the glowing figure floating in the air above him.
When Ramildienne’s gaze met the scarf, a look of pure horror washed over her face and her eyes widened with fear. She gaped at it, and in that moment of dawning comprehension she didn’t see the shadow growing behind her.
The grey wolf struck her in the back and she fell forward, the crows underneath her and the ones covering Patrick and Dean all scattering. She hit the ground and turned instantly onto her back, looking the snarling wolf standing over her eye to eye. Mr. Vincent opened his mouth to bite and she plunged her hands onto his chest. He cried out in pain as smoke sizzled from between her fingers and she shoved him off of her with a heave. She made to stand up, but before she could even regain her balance, Dean was moving in.
Patrick pulled himself off the ground and tried to run to her, but when an enormous branch crashed to the ground between him and the three others, shooting sparks twenty feet up into the sky, his bleeding body stumbled and he fell back onto his hands and knees. Through the screen of fire the scene painted itself in sheer black shadow and dazzling orange flame. Patrick’s heart stopped and everything slowed to a crawl.
The huge wolf, a blurry, hulking mass undulating in the shimmer of the heat, came to a skidding halt in front of Rachel. She stood slowly up, and just as she regained her feet, the wolf jumped onto his hind legs. Grotesque, monster-like jaws clasped at her neck, his massive bulk pouring shadow over her body as he braced his front paws on her shoulders, and he wrenched his head back, tearing savagely away. Black chords ripped from her neck, blood of fire and darkness spilling out of her. The great wolf pulled back and Rachel’s small, limp body fell slowly, slowly to the ground.
Patrick cried out her name, though he could scarcely hear his own voice. All at onc
e his pain was forgotten and he tore around the edge of the branch, his heart now feeling like it had eternally ceased beating. He ran to the little pile of blue fabric and blonde hair, dropping immediately to his knees at her side and pushing her onto her back.
There was no blood.
Rachel’s skin was unbroken, her blouse spotless. Patrick looked to Dean, and from the wolf’s bloody mouth hung a metal chain with a red stone on the end. The pendant glowed brilliantly in the flame.
He turned back to Rachel, who was stirring, and he put his hand under her head and brought his face close to hers. She coughed and fresh tears spilled from her eyes. They opened and shot around blindly for a moment, then focused on him, sobs emerging from her open mouth.
“P—…Patrick,” she whispered. The smallest, most delicate smile emerged on her lips.
Patrick was about to say something, but Dean spoke.
“We need to leave,” his deep voice urged. Patrick turned and saw that he had changed back into a human and was holding the pendant in his hand. Dean reached down and scooped up Rachel in his arms.
Patrick looked behind him and saw a long, ragged figure splayed out on the ground beside the tree, dark red pooling around it. He ran to Mr. Vincent, who was on his back, two black holes burned into his chest. He knelt beside him.
“Mr. Vincent! We have to go!” Even as he spoke, trees were cracking and casting flaming branches to the ground. The increasingly hot air was still filled with confused crows, whipping around aimlessly.
“No…” the man’s low, gravelly voice returned. “I’ve had enough. Leave me.”
“I’m not leaving you, get up now!” Patrick ordered.
“We have to go!” Dean’s voice boomed from behind.
“This is the end for me,” Mr. Vincent said. Blood dripped into his eye and he wiped it away with a shaky hand. “I’ve done enough damage to this world. Now I can leave it in peace.”
Patrick could hear the woods crashing down around them, and looking up he saw the great twisted tree catching aflame. The smell that erupted from the burning wood was sickening. He looked back down at the bleeding man.
“Mr. Vincent, you have to get up!” he shouted over the roar of the flame. “If you don’t, I’ll send them on without me, and I’ll die here with you! Do you want to leave this world with even more blood on your hands? Now for the last time, get up!”
Mr. Vincent turned his head and their eyes met. His face was covered with blood, the burns on his chest still smoked, the wounds from earlier in the day had all reopened in the stress of the fight, and he had never appeared older or wearier in the weeks that Patrick had known him. He looked like a wraith, lying in a pool of his own blood with impossibly sunken eyes and lines in his face that made him seem ancient beyond his years. He looked at Patrick with those tired eyes for a long moment.
“LET’S GO!” Dean shouted again, but Patrick only returned the man’s stare, not daring to look away or even blink.
Mr. Vincent held his gaze for a moment longer, then extended his hand. Patrick took it and heaved the man onto his feet, Mr. Vincent grunting sharply in pain. Patrick slung a bleeding arm over his own shoulder and the they both hobbled over to Dean. The four of them made for the only discernable opening in the flames, the trail that cut a treeless path through the heart of the woods. Dean jumped through the crack, Rachel trying her best to cover her face from the burning tendrils that grabbed at them as they passed. Patrick helped Mr. Vincent slowly toward the path, but just before they reached the wall of flames something stopped him and he turned around on instinct.
Hundreds of crows were still swirling about the clearing, confused and cawing madly through the din. A moment after he turned however, they all took to the sky as though whatever had impeded them had finally been broken. They rose in one great flock, up through the conduit of fire and into the cloudy sky, lightning striking around them.
When the flock lifted, one crow was left standing amidst the scattered, broken corpses. It stared at Patrick, unmoving, its beady eyes regarding him with an unreadable expression. As the woods fell around it, burning foliage rising in showers of sparks and great plumes of smoke billowing up into the starless sky, the crow only stood its ground. Even as the last of its brethren disappeared into the darkness above, it didn’t take flight. The world around it soon swelled with flame, and it was lost.
Patrick and Mr. Vincent turned around and hurried out of the burning woods.
Chapter 26
“Hillward was struck by an unexpected thunderstorm on Friday—the general consensus being that no such storm has blown over it in many decades.
“The small town has recently been the source of media attention due to an irregular series of wolf attacks, along with the presumably related disappearance of a local teenager. Animal control personnel were dispatched to the area, but haven’t been able to capture what was recently discovered to be two wolves. Due to various deductions, officials have concluded that the animals are not infected with rabies as originally thought, though they stand firm that it must be some sort of neurological disease and urge residents to take their dogs inside the house at night.
“While the number of concurrent lighting strikes was record-setting, the real oddity was their location. It has been confirmed that the majority of these strikes were centered on a small patch of woods near the center of town, sparking a fire that completely wiped out every tree in the area. Officials have searched the smoldering remains though as of yet have not found any sort of massively conductive material. The reason behind the focused strikes remains a mystery, and to add to the confusion, every tree in the area burned to the ground without the fire spreading to any other locations. All surrounding power lines, streetlamps and houses were untouched by the flames, though “unquenchable” as they apparently were, says Fire Marshal Rick Purcelli. ‘I’ve witnessed a few fires that seemed unstoppable, no matter how much water you put on them,’ he said during a recent interview, ‘but I’ve never seen any fire that stayed in one place and didn’t spread at all. It was small, but we couldn’t do anything to put it out. [It was] almost like those woods wanted to burn.’
“It has been reported that Owen Wheeler, a student at Hillward High witnessed one of the wolves entering the woods immediately before the storm struck. Due to the ferocity of the fire, some officials are speculating that the animal became trapped there and died during the night. And due to the lack of any attacks for over a week and the last sighting being the previous Wednesday, animal control is remaining hopeful that the other wolf was either in the fire as well or has finally succumbed to its sickness and wandered to a remote area to die, though they still remain watchful for the time being.
“To top off the odd series of events, the night of the storm also saw the return of Rachel Alexander, Wheeler’s classmate, who had gone missing the week before. Her previous whereabouts have not been disclosed and the family has denied comment, but after being released from the hospital on Sunday morning it has been reported that she is in fine health.”
Rachel folded the newspaper and put it down on the plastic tray, smiling.
“Well?” she said. “What do you think?”
“Pretty interesting stuff, I’d say,” Mr. Vincent said, nodding his head approvingly. The head of the bed had been raised to a forty-five degree angle and he rested against it, doing his very best not to move anything but his head. He was covered from head to toe in clean, white bandages, and if his gown and blankets had been white instead of powder blue, he would have looked a little like a mummy. “I don’t know about front page stuff… but interesting.”
Patrick and Rachel both chuckled. Patrick was covered with squares of gauze himself and it pained him to move much, but after seeing the man in the bed in front of him, he couldn’t complain.
“So when do you think you’ll be able to come back to school, Mr. Vincent?” he asked. He thought he probably knew the answer, but he
decided to ask anyway.
“I don’t think I’ll be coming back to school any time soon,” he said, his gravelly voice just a little solemn. “I need to get away from this town. I think it will do me some good. I’ve got someone I’d like to visit. Plus, I don’t think the board would like me back after my very unexpected, ah… personal leave.”
“We’re going to miss you,” Rachel said softly. “I never told you, but you’ve always been my favorite teacher.”
There was a touch of surprise on Mr. Vincent’s face.
“Why thank you, Rachel,” he said with quiet sincerity.
“I haven’t had as many years with you as Rachel,” Patrick said, “but I’ve got to say, I think I’ll miss you too.” Patrick smiled from the corner of his mouth.
“We’ll certainly have to keep in touch,” the man said, wincing as he scratched at a bandage on his forehead.
Patrick looked over to the nightstand beside the bed. Next to the small stack of Time magazines was a bundle of flowers sitting in a large plastic cup full of water.
“Who are those from?” he asked, gesturing to them.
Mr. Vincent looked to the flowers and smiled.
“Mr. Wheeler brought me those. A few hours ago.”
By the time Monday rolled around Owen had become quite the hero. The story of how he fought off the wolf and watched it run into the woods to its death was told many times throughout the day.
“Well he comes up and bites me in the leg, see…” At this point he would lift his right pant leg and peel the bandage from his ankle, revealing bruised and scabbing teeth marks to the “ooh”s and “ahh”s of his fellow classmates. “And so I kick him right in the face and he backs off. Then I start shouting at him and throwing rocks, and he runs away with his tail between his legs. I totally pelted him right in the butt, too.”
Patrick smiled at the memory, and thought he could still feel the bruise amidst the gashes on his thigh.
“Have you seen Dean recently?” Mr. Vincent asked.