The dog lifted an eyebrow.
“I mean it. I am just fine taking care of myself, but you … You’re hurt and it’s going to be dark soon.” Annie’s voice grew concerned. “It will be colder even than right now. We have to find somewhere for shelter.”
If she couldn’t find shelter, she and the dog would die from the cold. One of her foster dads, Mr. Sundberg, had been heavy into television survival shows like Naked and Alone, Terrified on an Iceberg, and How to Survive Everything When You Have Just a Toothpick. In the survival shows, when they were in winter-frozen places, they would make a shelter out of tree limbs and snow. First, she had to find a flat spot, which wasn’t easy since Maine is a hilly state and there are a lot of little mountains in Mount Desert. Finally, she found a spot that seemed okay. She lifted her head to the sky, to determine where downwind was, since she didn’t want the snow to fill up the hole. Then she plopped onto her knees and started digging a cave tunnel. The coldness of the snow seeped through her knees and her hands.
“We need it to be about a foot longer than me, maybe, and about three feet wide.”
The dog helped, but it was cold, hard work, and she was shivering fiercely, trying to find some sort of body heat.
“It’s so cold,” she said, and tried to make her voice light and cheery. “But we’ll survive. We’ll totally be okay.”
Annie crawled into the whiteness of the snow cave and hoped she wasn’t lying. The dog scooted in beside her and pressed his doggy bulk into Annie’s side for warmth, nudging his long muzzle beneath Annie’s head so she could use it as a pillow.
Wrapping her arms around his fur, Annie said, “Thank you. You are the best dog ever.”
She breathed in the smell of wet dog and snow, and actually, despite everything, happiness dripped into the corners of her unloved heart. She’d escaped the Wiegles and whatever had been in the woods. A dog nestled into her side. She was sort of, kind of, warm, and she felt sort of, kind of, safe, and then even though it was still quite early in the evening, she fell sound asleep.
6
Running Away
Jamie eyed his house warily as he walked away from the library. He had spent all day in the cozy place, reading all the books about trolls that he could, and it was dark already—long past when he was supposed to have been home. The windows of his house, and of the other dwellings on the street, glowed with yellow lamplight. A terrible quiet encased the world.
Shivering, Jamie contemplated what to do next. Mr. Nate had said it was dangerous for him at home, and deep down he absolutely knew that was true. He and Mr. Nate had agreed to meet again at the library tomorrow. But after that, what then? Where could he go? How far would he have to run to escape his family? There were a lot of factors to think about.
a. It was the middle of the winter.
b. He was pretty sure it was some kind of illegal to run away when you were two days away from being thirteen.
c. Running away right this second didn’t seem an intelligent thing to do in the dark. Things are always worse in the dark. Those trolls came last night in the dark.
d. Staying in a house of trolls wasn’t a good idea either.
He hauled in a deep breath. The cold stung his lungs. There was no way around it. He’d have to spend at least one more night with his family. He was almost thirteen. That meant he’d already spent over 4,105 nights in the house with them anyway, and he’d survived, right? He was all in one piece, right?
Right, he told himself. Right.
Still, his hand shook as he turned the doorknob and creaked open the front door. His heart beat a hopelessly scared rhythm against his ribs as he stepped into the front hall. And his lips pressed together in a hard, frightened line as he shut the door behind him, stomped the snow off his shoes, and gazed at the little-man figurine.
“Everything going okay here?” he whispered to it.
It didn’t answer.
He was pulling off his shoes when a loud voice boomed just above his ear. One shoe dangled from his hands as he turned to see the large, jowled face of his father.
“You took forever, boy! Out gallivanting, huh? Well, we’re hungry. Get out of sight while we eat dinner!” Mr. Alexander smiled as he spoke, but it was not a nice smile. It was a predator’s grin. Jamie couldn’t believe he’d never noticed that before. His father’s leer broadened, showing thick, solid teeth. “Better hurry, before we give up and just eat your skinny butt.”
Jamie’s face must have fallen, because his dad reached out and punched him heartily in the shoulder. “Just kidding, boy! Just kidding.”
But as his father turned away, Jamie doubted it. The Alexanders really didn’t have good senses of humor.
It wasn’t until bedtime that Jamie got another chance to think. He’d been too busy avoiding the jabs and stings of his father’s and grandmother’s words. He could only stand being called a “tablecloth of a boy” so many times. He didn’t even know what that was supposed to mean. A tablecloth?
From his bed, Jamie listened to the sounds in the house. His father belched in the living room. His grandmother stomped around in the kitchen. Jamie slipped out of the bed as noiselessly as possible and began to pack his things into some plastic bags from the grocery store. He had stuffed the bags into his pants and smuggled them up from the kitchen right before bed.
Jamie crammed all his socks, underwear, shirts, and pants into the bags. It wasn’t much, really. He tied the plastic bags to his backpack full of school supplies and books, tugging to make sure they were secure. He wished he had money. He would have to find a job or something. Maybe Mr. Nate would help with that.
Creeping to the window, he lifted it open. Paint chipped off the sill. He dropped the backpack and bags over the side. They fell softly into the snow. He crossed his fingers that nobody would see them and scurried back into bed.
Down below him, in the living room, his grandmother yelled, “I’m hungry.”
“Me, too … me, too … ,” his father answered.
“Soon, right?”
“Soon,” his father agreed. “We feed well soon.”
Lifting the covers to his nose, Jamie tried very hard to sleep.
Jamie’s last night with the Alexanders wasn’t easy. He kept waking up with the feeling that someone was standing just outside his door, listening. And then there was the slightest sound of sniffling coming from downstairs—a sound like muffled crying.
Jamie stayed in his bed and kept as still as possible. He slept fitfully, dreaming of tablecloths and crows, hidden back rooms in libraries, and gnomes, snowstorms, and trolls. When it was finally time for school, he was grateful to be up and ready to go, even if he did have to watch everyone else eat breakfast. Honestly, he had to admit that he was ridiculously happy that he wasn’t breakfast.
Managing to grab his backpack with the grocery bags tied on, Jamie slipped out of the house and headed off to school. He stashed the bags behind one of the library hedges, and then walked the rest of the way with just his backpack. Throughout his morning classes, he held his secrets inside his brain, but they scrambled around and around in there. When the dismissal bell finally rang, Jamie grabbed his pack, scooted down the sidewalk and across the icy street, and ducked behind the hedges of the library to grab his bags.
For a second, doubt overtook him. He still didn’t have a place to go. And it was cold. The wind seemed to be gusting especially hard.
He bit his lip and stood, leaving his bags where they were hidden in the hedge. He’d be back for them. First, though, he was going to meet up with Mr. Nate, ask him where he should hide, and find out what sort of danger he was really in. He knew his family members were monsters, but they hadn’t eaten him yet, right? So maybe he could take a little extra time, maybe think a bit more about exactly how to run away. It was a monumental, life-changing, scary task, and he didn’t want to mess it up.
He clomped the snow off his boots at the front door of the library and then stepped inside the building. Warm air
blanketed him as he strode over to the front desk. The librarian on duty was dark skinned like him, and had hair that sprang out in all directions like a halo of black coils.
She squinted at him, but kindly. “Can I help you?”
Jamie had to stand on tiptoes to see over the circulation desk. “Is Mr. Nate here?”
For a moment the librarian studied him. Her eyes softened a bit and she whispered, leaning forward, “Are you Jamie Alexander?”
Jamie nodded.
She slipped a white envelope across the counter. Jamie’s name was written across it. “You can go read it over there.”
She moved her head to indicate a place behind the stacks. Jamie thanked her and trotted over. There was a big red chair, overstuffed and ready to burst. He sat down without even taking off his backpack. His heart raced as he ripped open the envelope. A piece of thick yellow paper floated to the floor. Jamie snatched it up, just as a strange bird-looking woman walked by. She paused at the poetry books in front of him. Jamie didn’t know why, but she freaked him out. He slipped the piece of paper beneath his leg and waited. After a minute she grabbed a book and moved on, humming under her breath. As soon as she was out of sight, Jamie opened the paper.
Jamie,
If you are reading this, then the danger is greater than I had initially thought. You must go now. Anywhere. Do not return to your house. Or your best friend’s. They will find you there. That is too obvious a place.
Do not search for me. I will find you. Please, I cannot impress upon you enough that you must leave now. You must not be at your house on your thirteenth birthday or past it. It is of the upmost importance. Trust no creature unless it knows the password, which is CANIN’S BREATH.
Godspeed,
Mr. Nate
Jamie carefully put the paper back in the envelope and placed it in the front zipper part of his backpack. Why my thirteenth birthday? That was tomorrow. He hadn’t thought about it much because his family never celebrated it. He’d never had a cake or a balloon or anything like that. But he barely had time to think about it before sirens echoed throughout the building. He jumped up and rushed to the front desk. The nice librarian gave him worried eyes.
“Is that a fire alarm?” he asked.
She shook her head. “Not here. Down on Main Street.”
“That’s where I live!” Jamie rushed out the door without saying good-bye.
The sirens were even louder on the street. His ears throbbed from the noise of it as he rushed down the hill toward his road. Kids were running toward the fire, too. Great black smoke clouds rose above the snow-covered roofs. It wasn’t until he was on his block that he could see that the fire wasn’t coming from his house, but from Mr. Nate’s little white home. Orange flames burst through holes that were once windows as firefighters frantically worked the hoses, trying to stop the fire’s path, but it was obviously too late. Flames poked up beneath the roof.
Mr. Nate!
Jamie’s mouth dropped open in shock. His brain barely processed everyone’s talking around him.
“Is he in there?”
“If he is, he’s a goner.”
“Stand back. People! Stand back.”
The voices seemed to come from everywhere. Neighbors rushed out of their homes to watch. Volunteer firefighters and police officers tried to control the crowd. Jamie walked backward, mouth still open. He grabbed the elbow of the woman closest to him.
“Was Mr. Nate still in there?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” she answered.
He ran to a firefighter, Bruce Walton, who was talking into his radio with a determined tone.
“Was Mr. Nate still in there?” Jamie shouted over the sirens.
Bruce Walton raised his shoulders, and shooed him away. “I don’t know, Jamie. Back up. We have to take care of this.”
Another ladder truck, this one from the town of Bar Harbor, came screaming up to the scene. People staggered out of the way. The house cracked and popped.
“It’s a total loss,” one firefighter yelled. “Just try to keep it from spreading.”
Something horrible and hard welled up in Jamie’s throat. He couldn’t even begin to swallow. There was no way Mr. Nate could have survived that if he was in there. No way he could have—
A large, strong hand yanked Jamie backward by his arm. He stumbled, but managed not to lose his footing. His grandmother towered over him.
“What are you doing here?” she hissed. Spittle came out of her mouth as she talked; she was that angry. “You’re to come straight home after school. You know that.”
She yanked him away from the crowd and up the street, yelling at him the entire time. He could only make out a few phrases here and there. Stupid boy … Can’t trust you further than I can spit. Thirteen years of you is hardly worth the reckoning … Stupid … Stupid …
She kept at it as she hauled him up their walk, into their house, and up the stairs. She flung him into his bedroom and locked the door. He landed hard on the floor, listening as she bellowed out, “Can’t imagine you leaving the day right before it has all paid off. The nerve of you! You’re staying in there till tomorrow. Got it?”
She didn’t wait for a response. She never did.
“All I have to say is you better be tasty if you don’t turn!” she said, and her feet thundered down the stairs.
Tasty?
Turn?
For a moment, Jamie couldn’t move at all. He simply could not will his body to do anything. The sounds of his grandmother breaking dishes and yelling in gibberish that he couldn’t understand echoed up the stairs. Jamie zoned her out and scrambled over to the window. He got there just in time to see Mr. Nate’s house fall into itself. It seemed like a card house, no longer solid or real.
Jamie’s stomach seemed to fall into itself, too, just drop a few inches from where it should be. He leaned his forehead against the cold pane and closed his eyes. He was trapped in here, and tomorrow was his birthday. Mr. Nate had written that he couldn’t be here on his birthday. He swallowed hard, wondering why.
After a minute he glanced outside again and saw that there were footprints glistening on his lawn. The moving pattern of letters magically formed words that could only be read from above. Jamie caught his breath as he read the message trampled in the snow:
THEY WILL
EAT YOU.
GET OUT NOW.
7
Snowmobiles That Hover
For hours, Annie and the dog wandered through the thick woods, searching for a road or a house or a way out, circling back on their own tracks again and again. After they had woken up, Annie had felt hopeful. The storm had stopped. The sun shone. They survived the night, but then they just couldn’t find the way out. Shadows crawled up trees. Cold resettled in their bones. Clumps of snow clung to their legs. As they wandered through the snow-covered forest, something crashed.
Annie paused.
The dog sniffed the air.
Something through the trees, just a little bit in the distance, thudded.
The dog bared his teeth.
Something shuffled and belched. A foul stink of egg and raw chicken filled the air.
Annie grabbed the dog around the neck and whispered, “We have to hide.”
There was another sound. It wasn’t a rumble exactly, more like a deep voice full of scratches and dents. It was not the sound of something normal, not an animal, not the wind. Annie thrust the dog toward a gully behind the tree. But their footprints … She wished as hard as she could that their tracks would vanish somehow, so they wouldn’t be found. She wished so hard her body trembled from it. Her hand swiped across the snow as if she were drawing the tracks away.
“Stay low,” she whispered to the dog as she flattened herself out onto the ground. The cold of the snow sank through her clothes, and her trembles became full-fledged shudders.
She stared into the whiteness of the snowbank, arm draped around the dog’s back. His muscles tensed like he was getting ready t
o spring. She cooed at him, moving her fingers across his fur. Heavy feet moved closer, out of the trees, and almost right in front of them. A tree cracked and fell. Annie imagined that it was rammed by a mighty hand.
“Trail stops,” something grumbled.
Who is it? What is he talking about?
“They can’t vanish,” another voice answered. “Food can’t vanish!”
“Trail stops!”
“How will we get her if we can’t find them?” the first voice said. “We have to find them. We’re so close I can taste it. Dog. Human.”
“No tasting. You know we have to find the magic place.”
“I know. I know. We’re not allowed to eat her. We never get to eat the good ones.”
Annie swallowed hard. Eat? Magic place? Their trail was so obvious in the snow. How could they not see it?
“And it takes thirteen years for them to even be worth it. Such a waste. Stinking curse. We can eat dogs, though.”
Terror froze her fingers. She would not let them eat her dog. Not ever. The dog growled, a low warning tone.
“Do you hear that?” one of them yelled. “I heard dog. We could eat dogs.”
“I still have feathers in my teeth from the chickens.”
The creatures tromping through the woods sounded large. Too large to be people. Annie bet if they got close enough they could simply glance down and spot her and the dog. There was no getting around it. They would have to run.
“On the count of three,” Annie told the dog, tensing and getting ready. “One … two … three!”
She sprang up and ran. The dog followed.
“Come!” she willed him. “Come!”
Darting behind trees and zigzagging across the forested landscape, Annie ran as quickly as she could in the deep snow. It was hard to get traction since her legs were so short, but she’d been running all her life and it helped now. The dog caught up to her again and urged her onward with his nose. Finally feeling brave enough, she turned to peek behind her. She wished she hadn’t. Two large beasts, easily eight feet tall with bulbous noses and hands that seemed encased in boxing gloves, stood amid a circle of smashed-over trees, obviously searching for her.