“Oh…one last thing. Mr. Hastings!” To Chapel’s summons came a burly, thick-shouldered boy of about seventeen, who carried a knife with a long slim blade. “Clear his pockets, please,” Chapel directed. Hastings came up with some coins and the silver watch, which Chapel immediately took charge of. “I’ll give you a little time to ready yourselves,” he told Matthew, as he wound his new possession.
Matthew walked to Berry’s side. She was trembling and tears had rolled down through her bloodmask, yet her eyes were no longer scorched blue blanks. She was hanging on.
“Listen to me,” he said, looking her square in the face. “We have two choices.” One of the hawks loudly skreeled. He felt his own nerve quickly ebbing. “We can fall on the ground and wait for them to kill us, or we can run. The hawks are going to be after us first, then the boys. We can cut across the vineyard and try to reach the woods. That way.” His gaze ticked to the right. “We might get there. If we can find a place to hide-”
“Where?” Berry asked, with welcome fury in her voice. “Hide where?”
“If we can find a place to hide,” he continued, “long enough to get these ropes off.” How that was to be done without a knife he didn’t offer. “We might be able to climb the wall.”
“Ready, Matthew? Miss? Ready, young men?” Chapel called. A few of the boys crouched down, Indian-style, with one knee to the ground.
“Keep going,” Matthew said. “Don’t fall.” He feared he was losing her, as she blinked heavily and wavered on her feet. “Berry, listen!” He heard a raw edge of panic. His arms gave a final convulsive wrench against the cords, which would not be loosened. “Just keep going, do you-”
“Time!” Chapel shouted, and instantly the boys began to shout with voices as sharp as their blades.
Berry set out like a deer, even as Matthew said, “-hear me?” Then he followed right on her heels and immediately tripped over his own feet and fell to his knees to a chorus of frenzied laughter. He hauled himself up, cursing under his breath, and caught up with her. She was running faster and more nimbly than he would have expected, her hair flowing back and her face grim as the grave beneath the blood. He kept pace with her, and though she staggered once and crashed against his side neither of them fell this time but kept going onto the vineyard itself.
As they neared the first vine row, Matthew realized the true vintage on these few acres of Hell was the wine of corruption. The field was overgrown with weeds and the gray clumps of grapes were rotten and shriveled. A sickly-sweet odor akin to graveyard decay wafted in the sun. He felt the urge to look back but dared not. He cried out, “This way!” and ran along the row toward the green line of forest perhaps another hundred yards distant. A gnarled root caught at his right foot and he pitched forward, out of control for a few seconds before he righted himself. Berry was close beside him, her hair whipping into his face.
A shadow passed over them, followed by a second and a third.
The boys were silent, waiting.
Eighty more yards to the woods, Matthew judged it to be. They were still running at full speed. A giddy spark of hope flared in his heart that they would make the forest. He glanced back to see if the boys were coming yet, and the hawk that was swooping down right on top of him spread its wings wide and struck.
Forty-Seven
Matthew threw himself aside as the hawk sailed past his right shoulder, its talons grasping at empty air. A second bird of prey came in from the opposite direction, this one moving in a blur, and almost before he could register that it was right there in his face he felt a searing pain across his left cheek and knew he’d been hit.
The third hawk came down almost lazily and grazed Berry’s forehead. She gave a wounded cry but her stride never slowed. She kept her head down as another hawk sped by with a high shrill shriek and began to turn a slow circle for its next pass.
Sixty yards to the forest. Suddenly Matthew had feathers in his face and talons jabbing for his eyes. He hunched his shoulders up and head down and felt the sharp claws rip furrows across his left shoulder. There was no time to waste; he had to keep moving, just as Berry was not letting the next attack-even so close as it came to taking out her own left eye-make her lose her speed and determination to live.
Two birds passed close over Matthew’s head, one from the right and one from behind. A third darted in, again shrieking, and this time slammed into the left side of Berry’s face. As it flew on she stumbled and fell to one knee. Matthew stood over her shouting, “Get away! Get away!” as another hawk skimmed her head. She got up, breathing raggedly, and then Matthew looked back and saw the boys coming.
Sunlight glinted off their knives. Three of the smaller and faster boys were already halfway to the first vine row. He saw Simon Chapel watching, standing between Lawrence Evans and Count Dahlgren. Four other adults Matthew did not recognize-three men in suits and tricorn hats and a woman under a dark blue parasol-stood with them. The instructors had emerged to watch their pupils in action. The desire to live caught flame within him. If they could get their wrists free…
Berry was up and moving again, still heading toward the forest. Just above her left eye what was lamb’s blood and what her own was difficult to tell. Matthew ran after her. A hawk flashed by his face with a noise like bacon sizzling in a pan. An instant later, a pair of talons were scrabbling at his forehead and the fresh pain told him he was going to be cut to pieces out here in the open. A red haze shimmered before his eyes. If he fell or was overcome, he was most certainly dead. The hawk’s shriek pierced his ears, but he ducked his head down before further damage could be done.
Forty yards to go, and with every stride the forest neared.
Matthew could imagine what the hawks must have done to Billy Hodges. Three on him at once; it had been a cutting party before the boys had even-
The largest hawk was suddenly upon him. From which direction it had come, he had no clue. It was just there, its wings outstretched as if to enfold him. His instinctive turning of his head and squeezing his eyes shut probably saved him from being blinded, as the claws caught at the front of his coat and the hooked beak, intending to pierce his left lamp, tore flesh a half-inch beside it. The bird’s talons ripped shreds of cloth from his suit and through slitted eyes Matthew saw a flurry of beating wings and a blur of red-spark eyes and flashing beak. He was hit again on the cheek just under the right eye, a pain like a burn, and then what felt like a broomstick clobbered him across the back of the head and talons were caught in his hair. He heard himself cry out with pain and abject terror and he did the only thing he could do: he crashed himself headlong into the grapevines with the strength of the damned. As he rolled on the earth, he realized the large hawk was still clutched to his coat and the beak was trying to hook an eye. Matthew desperately twisted his head back and forth, his shoulders hunched and his eyes tightly sealed against the onslaught. Then the bird gave a sudden human-like grunt and near-squeal, and Matthew opened his eyes to see the hawk whirling away on the toe of Berry’s shoe.
“Get up!” she shouted. She thrust her foot under his armpit and he got his legs beneath him and stood up. The world spun and the sun burned down but the air had one less predator, for a hawk lay at the base of the grapevines twitching on a broken wing.
Berry ran and Matthew followed. Twenty yards to go. He glanced back and saw sweat glistening on the three faces of the fastest boys, who were about fifty yards behind. Beyond them came the other sixteen.
The pursued were nearly to the woods, which offered no safety but a modicum of cover from overhead attack, when one of the birds swooped down on Berry again with a fierce show of nature’s will at work. The creature struck at her forehead, which caused Berry to scream and double over to protect her face but she kept staggering forward. Matthew saw the hawk get tangled in Berry’s hair and almost lift her off the ground as it fought itself free. Then it was loose and sailing up into the blue once more, and as Matthew dodged the attentions of the second hawk and it shrieked its indignation the forest took them in.
Yet in the sun-dappled glade there could be no pause, for the shouting of the boys was coming ever nearer. Here the going was rougher, over ancient tree roots and sharp-edged rocks. Matthew thought one of those edges might serve to sever a rope, but there was no time to find out with nineteen killers breathing down their necks.
“This way!” Matthew shouted, and he tore off at an angle to the right between two massive oaks. Berry followed right behind. He had no clear sense of where he was heading, other than to get as much distance between them and the knives as possible. He looked up and saw the two hawks trailing them above the green treetops. All the boys had to do was look to the hawks to mark the progress of their soon-to-be-victims.
