35

 

Elizabeth slammed the door behind her, hopped down the sidewalk and stood still, trying to sense here the parade was.  She couldn't hear it, of course, but she could feel it, as a pulsing on her eardrums and a faint tympani on the soles of her bare feet.  The drums and the tuba sent pressure waves through the air, and the pounding of hundreds of feet shocked the concrete sidewalks for blocks in every direction.

It had taken her longer to find the roll of film than she had expected, and she guessed that by now the parade was close to the commercial docks.  She wanted to get the film to Max before the parade actually arrived at the docks, for the arrival and the Blessing itself were the most photogenic parts of the ceremony.

She took a breath, and held it, and closed her eyes, turning in the direction of the feelings she was receiving.  She was right:  the parade was two thirds of the way down

Beach Street

, only a hundred yards or so from the docks.  She could beat it, though, if she took several shortcuts.

She dropped the film into the pocket of her skirt and started to run.

She knew Max would be there, he wouldn’t have gotten impatient and gone off on his own to look for film; she was sure he trusted her as much as she trusted him, liked her as much as she liked him.  It had never occurred to her to wonder why she liked him more than other boys she knew, for she wasn't an analytical person, she was an accepting person.  She took every day as it came, knowing there'd be something new in it and something old, something good and something bad.

She just liked him, that was all, and when he went away — as he would, for nothing was forever, her fever had taught her that — she would continue to like him.  If he came back, that would be good; if he didn't, that would be too bad.  At least she would have had someone to like a lot for a period of time, and that was better than not having had someone to like a lot.

For the moment, all she wanted to do was get the film to him and see his face light up when she gave it to him, and to watch his amazement at all the carryings-on of the Blessing.

She vaulted a fence, traversed a yard, vaulted the fence on the other side and dashed down a back street.  She turned a corner, squirmed between some garbage cans and crossed an alley.  She was only a block away from

Beach Street

now, and she could feel the thump of the drums in her ears.

The street she was on was narrow.  Cars were parked on both sides, except in front of an open garage.  As she neared the garage, she smelled a strange odor — salty and rotten-sweet — and saw a trickle of green liquid seeping from the garage into the gutter.

She slowed, for the garage belonged to friends of her parents, and if the liquid seeping into the street was something important — fuel oil or sewage, something that might suggest an emergency — she should find the people at the Blessing and tell them.

She bent down and sniffed the fluid.  It was like nothing she had ever smelled.  As she straightened up, she looked into the dark garage and saw a huge pool of it, and as she looked, more drops fell.  No question, something was broken and dripping.

She stepped into the garage.

 

*          *          *          *          *

 

Hanging like a giant bat, it sucked air into its lungs, and felt life return to its tissues.

Suddenly it smelled prey, heard it.  It willed its eyes to roll forward, and looked down.

 

*          *          *          *          *

 

Elizabeth sensed a change in the surrounding air pressure, as if a great animal had taken a giant breath.  Unable to hear, unable to see in the dark recesses of the garage, she felt a spasm of fear.

She turned and ran.

 

*          *          *          *          *

 

The creature's arms twitched, the long webbed fingers of its huge hands flexed; it straightened its legs and somersaulted to the floor.  This prey was small and fragile... an easy catch, an easy kill.

But as it hit the floor, its legs, too weak from bearing too little weight for too long, buckled, and the creature tumbled onto its side.  It pushed with its arms, raising itself into a crouch, and moved awkwardly toward the light.

The prey was gone.

It roared in frustration and fury, a guttural, mucous growl.  Then, abruptly, it sensed danger, recognized the possibility that it might be pursued.  It knew it must flee.  But it did not know where to seek safety.

It had no choice:  it had to return to the world it knew.

It moved out of the shadows and onto the street.

It had no recollection of how it had gotten here or of what route to take for its return.  Surrounded by buildings, it could not see the sea, but it could smell it, and it followed its nose toward the scent of salt.

It had traveled for less than a minute when, from close behind, it heard a sound it recognized as signaling aggression.  It wheeled to face the threat.

A large animal covered with black hair was crouched in a dark space between buildings.  The hair on its neck had risen, its lips were drawn back, exposing long white teeth, and its shoulders hunched over the large muscles of its forelegs.  A rumbling noise came from its throat.

The creature appraised the animal, thinking less about food than about flight.  It sensed that the animal would to permit flight, that it was intent on attacking.

So the creature took a stride toward the animal.

The animal sprang, teeth bared, claws extended.

The creature caught it in midleap and drove its steel teeth deep into the animal's throat.  Immediately the rumbling noise changed to a whine, and then to silence, as the creature held the animal and let it die.

When it was dead, the creature flung it to the pavement, knelt beside it and slit the animal's belly with its claws.  It reached into the warm body and tore away the entrails.

The it continued toward the safety of the sea.