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CHAPTER 26 FLUTTERING

Seconds. It took precious seconds to untie one of the rowboats from the dock.

Then more precious seconds to leap inside the bobbing boat, to grab up the oars.

Tick tick tick. The seconds were passing.

He could hear Jessica now, close behind, calling to him, begging him to come back. He turned for a second and saw her running toward the dock, seeming to glide over the sand. But in the next second, he was hunkered low, pulling the oars, pulling away from the shore, Jessica’s calls fading behind the wind.

The incoming current was stronger than Matt had imagined. Each time he rowed, leaning forward and pulling his arms back with all his strength, the boat seemed to lurch forward a foot, and slide back two.

Puddled water on the floor of the small rowboat rolled over his sneakers, soaking his socks. Salty spray off the waves forced him to close his eyes.

I’m too late, he thought. Too late. Too late.

But he knew he couldn’t give up.

Where was April’s boat?

Probably already at the island.

Matt squinted toward the black island silhouette ahead of him, low in the water like an enormous sea creature waiting to swallow him up. He couldn’t see April’s boat.

Turning his eyes to the sky, he saw the flickering forms of bats hovering over the island. And as he drew closer, the fluttering of their wings drowned out the rush of the water, the wind, drowned out all other sounds, even the sounds of his own breathing.

There were hundreds and hundreds of bats, he saw, fluttering noisily, swooping and darting over the trees, filling the sky, buzzing and cluttering, nearly as thick as a swarm of bees.

Drawing near to the island, Matt spotted a small dock tucked into the tree-laden shore. A rowboat—April’s rowboat—bobbed at one side.

Empty.

He pulled his boat to the dock, leapt out without bothering to tie the boat up, and looked around. A narrow dirt path curved through the trees.

Matt had started down the path when he realized he was carrying one of the oars. My only weapon, he thought as a chill of renewed dread pulsed down his spine. He crouched down as he hurried through the trees, bending away from the relentless fluttering above his head, the flapping wings, the shrill whistles that echoed through the woods.

The low, shingled beach house at the end of the path was completely dark. As Matt drew near, he saw that the windows had no glass.

Bats swooped over the low, angled roof. A bat hovered by one window, just inches from Matt’s face, then fluttered away with a shrill cry.

Leaning against the oar, holding it firmly with both hands, Matt peered into the window. It was pitch-black inside, blacker than the night. He couldn’t see a thing.

Having no choice, he transferred the oar to one hand, lifted a leg over the windowsill, and lowered himself into the house.

It smelled so musty in there, even with all the windows open.

Musty and . . . dead.

He gasped from the foul smell, then forced himself to breathe normally.

Waiting for his eyes to adjust to the darkness, he stood still, the fluttering of bat wings from outside following him into the house.



The room came into focus. A long, narrow room. A bedroom without a bed.

And then he saw April.

Against one wall. Slumped in an oversize armchair. Her head down on the large padded arm of the chair.

She’s dead, he thought, hurrying to her, bending over the chair.

He’s killed her.

But, no. He heard her soft breath, wheezing slightly, her lips parted.

Still alive.

Still alive—but what has Gabri done to her?

Outside, the fluttering suddenly grew louder, nearer. The room darkened as if bats were covering the window, shutting out all light.

What was that against the opposite wall, away from the window?

Was it a bed?

Matt turned away from April, squinting against the darkness, leaning against the oar, trying to think over the relentless flapping, the maddening fluttering, the flickering of the dim light—and realized that he was staring at a coffin.

Its lid closed tightly, the smooth-wooded coffin was set against the wall.

“Oh!”

Matt realized his entire body was trembling. He grasped the oar tighter, steadying himself against it.

The fluttering seemed to fade, then grow louder. He pictured the bats sweeping the sky over the house, preparing to attack through the paneless windows.

“April, we’ve got to get out of here,” he said in a quavering voice that barely escaped his throat.

He hurried back across the room to April and grabbed her by both shoulders. “April? April?”

She shuddered but didn’t open her eyes.

“April?” He shook her a little harder.

Again she shuddered, but her head slumped back onto the arm of the chair.

He picked up her head, tried to pry open her eyes, shook her by the shoulders again.

“April—wake up! Wake up!” His cries were choked by his fear. “April—please! We have to get out of here!”

April stirred.

Her eyes opened slowly. She stared at him groggily. “Huh? Matt?” She tried to focus, but quickly gave up and closed her eyes again.

“April—”

Matt felt a presence behind him. A heavy presence.

He turned—and cried out as Gabri advanced.

Fangs sliding down his chin, his mouth wide in open glee, his eyes glowing red with fury, Gabri lunged forward to attack.

 

 



Date: 2015-04-20; view: 552


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