Clarissa

The way down the steep hill was even worse than climbing up. A night breeze cut right through my thin shirt. Ben held onto my arm, dragging on me like an anchor. He was scared, and I didn’t blame him. I didn’t have the heart to tell him to let go, even when he slipped on a patch of wet pine needles and nearly brought us both down.

The bite behind my shoulder throbbed constantly, no matter how I shifted or moved. Rolling my shoulder, I resisted the urge to rub at it. I should have had Terry have a look back in the culvert. What if griffin bites were poisonous? Venomous? I didn't know the difference.

Terry strode confidently ahead like the cold didn’t touch him.

He doesn’t know where he’s going, I thought with a sinking feeling. There were no landmarks I could see. Just more trees and bushes. We weren’t even following a trail.

What if he’s getting us lost? We should have gone back to the road when we saw the power was out.

People died out here: Tourists, experienced hikers who should’ve known better, and dumb kids like us. There was a reason this area was literally named the Desolation Wilderness.

The full, weirdly gigantic moon was high in the sky. Even under the trees, there was more than enough light to see by.

I was just about to call for a rest, when my eye caught movement to the right. A dark shape I had thought was a bush or boulder shifted as Terry walked passed it.

I froze midstep, causing Ben to crash into me.

“Terry!” I gasped.

Terry turned, and his mouth dropped open.

For one second I thought—I hoped—the dark shape was a brown bear. They usually weren’t dangerous unless you got between a mother and her cubs. Then the shape made a low hissing sound, like a tire being deflated. It stepped forward, seeming to grow in size as it moved into a dim patch of moonlight. I caught a glimpse of a sharp beak and feathers.

“Run!” Terry yelled, and then turned to sprint through the brush.

I pushed Ben ahead of me as the griffin lunged.

Ben screamed at the top of his lungs, and I heard a thump as the griffin landed where we’d just stood.

The cut behind my shoulder burned like fire. I expected the weight of the griffin to come down on me at any moment. I was dead... I was so dead...

I twisted back to look. The griffin hadn't followed for more than a few steps. Something was wrong with its left paw, which it held up, limping. A wing drooped to the ground. Broken.

Ben slowed down, seeing it too. I shoved him forward again. “No, keep going!”

We scrambled over fallen logs and through prickly bushes. I was too scared to care if I turned an ankle.

I followed Ben through another thicket of bushes and then stumbled, suddenly, onto flat ground. My shoes hit gravel. It was a dirt road.

“Where is it?” Terry demanded. He stood just up the road from us, looking ready to bolt in a moment’s notice.

I wanted to yell at him, but had to bend to rest my hands on my thighs to gulp air. I wasn’t a track star or anything, but I thought I'd been in better shape than this. My little skateboarder brother breathed hard, but he wasn’t destroyed, like me. My shirt clung to my injured shoulder. Was it sweat? Blood?

"... Griffin… stopped back there." I took another deep breath, forced myself straight, and resisted the urge to touch my shoulder. "I think it was hurt."

"Oh." Terry looked sheepish as he walked back towards us. He had the tire iron in his hands, so I snatched it from him.

"Let me have this, since you're going to run off and leave us behind."

He rubbed the back of his neck. "It happened so fast, I didn't think—but look." He pointed up the road. “This is jeep trail near my house. We're almost there."

"Is it far?" Ben asked plaintively.

"A quarter mile or so to the subdivision, then it's a short walk. We should have seen lights from the houses, but I guess the power's out here, too."

Ben looked at me. He wasn't too good with distances yet.

I forced a smile. "Not far." Which was great because my thighs and calves burned almost as badly as my shoulder.

As we walked on, I felt increasingly light headed. Soon, however, we turned to a main asphalt road and passed large, silent houses.

The lights were all out and every house on the winding street was dark. The yards looked pretty big and spread out, though. This was a rich person’s neighborhood.

Eventually, we came to a gated wrought iron fence that stretched across the bottom of a long driveway. Terry punched a code in the combo lock by a side gate. Either it was battery-powered, or mechanical, because it opened.

We walked up the long, incline driveway, and I quietly tried not to die.

Terry's uncle’s house looked like a hotel. The lights were all off, so I couldn't see many details. But I got the impression of manicured lawns, which was kind of a big deal around here thanks to high elevations.

Made log-cabin style, the house was at least three stories tall with a peaked roof and a garage large enough to hold a small airplane. The door itself looked like a gate to a grand entranceway. Super fancy.

A white FedEx package lay tucked half under the welcome mat. Delivered, no doubt, before people turned into monsters. It might have been one of the last normal things that happened today.

After scooping the package up, Terry fished a key from under a fake stone and unlocked the front door.

"Uncle Richard!" he called. "Dylan! Lilly!" There was no answer. Terry shrugged. "I guess they're not here yet." He flicked on the light switch, but nothing happened. "We have a generator for when the electricity goes out during storms,” he said. “I could go down to the basement and start it up."

"Don't bother," I muttered as I walked in. There may have been no electricity, but the air was much warmer inside than outside. Right now, it felt like heaven. I wanted to find somewhere soft and pass out.

Terry dug around in a nearby closet until he came up with some flashlights. Through the beams of light, I caught glimpses of knotty pine walls and high-vaulted ceilings. A fireplace tall enough to stand was the centerpiece in a living room practically the size of my mom's apartment.

"You live here?" Ben asked in awe.

Terry grinned. "If you think this is nice, you should see my dad's house in Big Sur. It's right on the ocean, and I have my own boat."

I shook my head. "Where's your bathroom?"

Terry pointed to the right and I quickly stepped in and shut the door, leaning my forehead against it. The bathroom was all stone tile and just as huge as the rest of the house. A beam of moonlight lit the room through a large frosted window. Parched, I turned on the sink and cupped water from the faucet, drinking greedily.

Then, wincing, I took off my shirt and turned to look at the slash under my shoulder blade. It wasn't as bad as I feared. The gash was maybe four inches long, and only a little blood oozed out. It started from under my left shoulder blade and went diagonally downward. Between the flashlight and the reflection, it was tough to see, but I didn't think it needed stitches.

Wetting a washcloth, I dabbed at the cut. The blood had clotted into a dark line, and it itched and burned as I ran the cloth harder over it.

"Gross," I whispered as a little of the scab came free. There was something strange about it. I held the washcloth to the light.

It wasn't dried blood. There, lit in the trembling beam of the flashlight, was a tiny russet feather.