kick, slamming the monster face first to the ground. Lifting his leg as high as it would go, Piotr kicked again, aiming for the head, trying to ignore the wet rip of his heel breaking the thin layer of skin covering the Walker’s skull. “Stay down!”
“Piotr!” Dora shouted from her window. “Here!” Balancing her hips on the windowsill, Dora leaned forward and flung her arm out in a wide arc. There was a whistling noise and a brief flash of moonlight on silver as a butter knife from the pantry clattered to the sidewalk mere feet from Piotr’s outstretched and grasping hand.
“Fight to the death,” Piotr grumbled, darting forward and snagging the blade with the tips of his fingers, “and she tosses me a dull knife. Great.” Still, he knew what he was doing and even a dull knife was better than no knife at all.
The Walker, either sensing danger, or simply tired of the fight, flung a handful of pebbles and dirt into Piotr’s face, blinding him. Cursing, Piotr swiped his free hand across his eyes, scrabbling to see, but the Walker had used his momentary blindness as a chance to flee. The courtyard was empty once again.
Groaning, Piotr struggled to his feet. He sniffed the air but his scuffle with the Walker had left a dense smell of rot clinging to his clothing. There was no way he could track the beast by smell alone.
Trudging back inside, Piotr hid a bitter smile. It looked like the decision whether to stay or go had been stripped away. Thanks to his clumsy fighting, the Walker had gotten away and now it knew where some Lost could be found. It would be back. They had to leave.
Inside, Piotr was met with anxious, pale faces. Tubs, clinging to Piotr’s duster, huddled behind Dora, and Specs peered past splintery boards to the courtyard below. Piotr wanted to soothe them, to swear they were safe, but he didn’t want to lie. Instead he remained silent.
The silence grew too long. Abruptly Specs turned from the window, pushing his round frames up on his nose. His hair, dark with grease, fell over one eye. “That was the third time this week, Piotr. We should pack.”
“It spotted me,” Dora said. “I saw it watchin’ me.”
“Most likely.” Piotr stood, Tubs resting on his hip, and hugged the little boy close. Life seeped into Piotr from Tubs’ skin in blue arcs, dulling his pain. The wounds on his arm began to slowly seal shut, itching like fire. “I am unsure but, yes, most likely.”
“Perhaps we might bunk down with Miss Elle or Miss Lily,” Specs offered, hesitant to bridge the topic of Elle to Piotr. “Or perhaps Mister James.”
The thought of begging his fellow Riders for a place to stay made Piotr laugh roughly. “James? I’d rather leave you on your own.” He set Tubs down and smoothed the wispy blond hair back from his forehead. “You okay now? Yes? Go wash your face.”
When Tubs had toddled off, Piotr reached out and enfolded both Dora and Specs into a hug. Specs clung tighter than Dora, trembling lightly, the remaining unspent years of life flowing into Piotr in small, sharp spikes. The itching on his arm faded, replaced with smooth, blessed coolness.
Piotr squeezed them both and then stepped back, alert and wary, listening for intruders. “
Uncomfortable, Specs shrugged. “It is the least we can do, Piotr. You’re welcome.”
“They, the Walkers, are getting closer.” Piotr crossed his arms over his chest.
“And smarter.” Dora chewed her thumbnail. “Remember, Specs? When we saw one of ’em grab that kid right outta a tree last week? They ain’t ever done that before.”
“Do you think it’s because of the White Lady?” Specs asked, pushing his glasses higher on his nose.
“White Lady or no, so long as you three are safe, I don’t care the reasons why.” Piotr ran his hands through his hair. He was still shaking, his mouth sour with adrenaline. The mill had been in a safe zone for years, but with the coming of the White Lady almost no place was safe anymore. The Walkers were everywhere.
“Honestly, I don’t know what to do. Walker territory is spreading and the mill is stuck between them.” Piotr leaned against a nearby wall, tilted his head back, and closed his eyes. They felt gritty with lack of sleep.
“We ain’t strong enough to fight ’em.” Dora drummed her fingers along the kitchen countertop. “Ain’t stupid enough, neither.”
“Since we are running, we should decide where to go,” Specs said. “Which shall it be? Move closer to the bay or the valley?”
“I thought of that before, but there are too many of the living,” Piotr said, rubbing his hands across his cheeks, feeling the light rasp of hair that would never grow past a certain point, brushed by calluses that would never fade. Piotr pushed away from the wall. “You should weigh in. What do you want to do?”
Hesitantly, after several seconds, Dora hunkered down into a squat and, wrapping her arms around her knees, murmured, “I don’t mean to start no fuss, Piotr, but I wanna stay with Elle for awhile.” Before Piotr could protest, she hurried to say, “I know we’re safe with you, but there’s been a lotta Walkers ’round lately and you can’t be with us 24/7. We gotta be somewhere more, I dunno, more castle-like, you know? With a moat or somethin’. Def… dev… dependable.”
“Defensible?” Much as he hated to admit it, Dora had a point. “Specs?”
“Staying with Miss Elle does indeed appear to be the best course of action.” Specs took off his glasses and cleaned them on his shirt. Like Dora, Specs was too thin and gangly, caught in an early growth spurt by a death that had come too soon. Eternally eleven. “No offense.”
Sighing, Piotr rubbed his hand along the wall, feeling the spots spongy with decay crumble away under his fingertips. Elle was not going to like this.
“Gotcha.” Dora and Specs drifted towards their quarters, leaving Piotr alone by the window. Lost in thought, he stared down at the empty courtyard and watched the swirling fog drift in from the bay. With a Walker down there somewhere, he knew there’d be no more sleep for him tonight. None at all.
Dawn came, lightening the sky to a pale grey, and Piotr carried Tubs piggyback as they made their way through the shriveled remains of the world. Picking a path through crumbling brick streets, they followed the whisper of surf breaking against the piers in the bay, leaving the mill behind. At first the going was slow; Piotr’s turf was around fifteen miles from where Elle and her own Lost squatted dangerously near the tourist zone, amid the life and heat of Pier 39 and North Beach, wading through the press of humanity that eddied like the tides.
A steady pace brought them just inside Elle’s territory by midmorning. The idea of leaving the kids so close to the haunts of the living bothered Piotr deeply, but Elle was particular about her space, and likely wouldn’t stand for another Rider on her turf for long—especially if that Rider were Piotr.
As if sensing his thoughts, an arrow speared the road inches from his toes, shooting shards of brick shrapnel in every direction. Piotr raised his hands high as the arrow quivered in the street, testament to Elle’s skill. Raising his voice, Piotr glanced left and right, trying to determine from which direction the missile had flown. “
“How many times have I told you to stop with that foreign jibber-jabber?” echoed a reply, sounding both close and far all at once. Elle had picked her hiding spot well. “A simple ‘Hi, Elle’ will do me just fine.”
Piotr bowed at the waist, struggling to keep his senses attuned to their surroundings, attempting to assess which direction the arrow had come from. “My apologies! Good morning, Elle. I see that you’ve gotten better at hiding.”
“You haven’t.” There was a light tread behind him and Elle’s hand firmly cupped the back of his neck, the strength in her fingers daring him to try something. Knowing the power of those hands and the muscles behind them, Piotr held still.
“Elle!” cried Dora, dropping her bags and flinging her arms around the slight girl holding him hostage. “I missed you!”
The hand squeezed sharply once, pinching, before dropping away. Elle turned to embrace the child. Freed, Piotr swiveled and dropped his hands cautiously to his pockets, hooking his thumbs just inside.
Dora had always adored Elle and the feeling was mutual. Watching them hug was like watching a rainbow appear from the mist—all the darkness fell away and they were momentarily awash in happiness and light. Where the two of them touched, crackles of blue essence hummed, the years traveling from Dora into Elle and back to Dora in a circuit of joy. Dora was so pleased Piotr could taste her energy on the air itself.
