Through the Mirrah Page 2

  The Dark Man grabbed Rag Man by the throat and threw him against the wall. Rag Man lay in a heap, motionless. Aideen backed away.

  “He’s right. I haven’t done anything. I’m more than happy to turn around and go home, but this seems to be a one-way street. Help me and I’ll never bother you again.”

  The Dark Man strode toward her, undeterred. “You will come with me if you know what’s right.”

  “My judgment’s a little impaired at the moment. I don’t think I will.”

  Aideen turned, but before she could run, the Dark Man’s hand clamped on her shoulder. She bit down on his first two fingers.

  Blecch. Dirty leather.

  The Dark Man loosened his grip enough for Aideen to slip away. Rag Man was right about the Go-Juice; her head was clearer and she was bursting with energy.

  As she ran, she barely registered the caramel-trunked trees lining both sides of the road. The thick canopy overhead added a shamrock-green tinge to the sunlight.

  She thought—hoped, at least—she was getting away, so she stole a glance over her shoulder. So much for that idea. Cursing her sloth and gluttony, the Dark Man’s hand clenched around her neck, choking off her air and graying her vision.

  STEADY ROCKING EASED AIDEEN back to consciousness. Faint clacking, which evoked thoughts of a train, danced around the edge of her awareness. A steam engine whistle snapped her to the present. Opening her eyes, she sat up on a wooden bench which ran the length of the room.

  No, this is a cell.

  She stood and walked two paces, wrapping her hands around two of the hard, smooth bars which separated her from the rest of the train car. As far as she could see, there were only an aisle and the far wall.

  “Where the hell am I? Let me out!”

  “Quiet!” Rag Man hissed from somewhere to Aideen’s right.

  Is he in train jail too?

  “You’ll attract the Turkeys,” he continued. “Besides, no one else is in earshot. We’re stuck here until Jay Ridge.”

  Nausea washed over her. She must be dreaming; what else but her subconscious would name something in this world after her high school?

  Otherwise, it’s too much of a coincidence.

  A monster with leathery wings—which would likely span half a train car, front to back—and a face covered with wrinkled hide passed in front of her cell. Its sharp, gaping beak snapped at her.

  “Holy crap. What is that?”

  “Those nightmares are Turkeys,” Rag Man said.

  Nightmare is right. Time to wake up.

  Aideen grabbed a handful of the mottled, brown feathers covering its body. It responded by biting her wrist, leaving bloody tracks and a sharp pain.

  “Ow!”

  The dream world didn’t disappear.

  I guess it’ll take more than a peck on the hand to wake me up. “What were you saying about Jay Ridge?”

  “It’s the prison. That’s where you’ll end up if you can’t get off the train before then.”

  Aideen snorted. The Jay Ridge she knew was a prison too. To her, anyway. But she did her time.

  “How do we get out of here?” Aideen leaned against the wall, face pressed against a bar.

  “We don’t.” There was shuffling. Rag Man’s voice was closer when he continued. “If you even manage to get out of your cell, there are two Turkeys here in the Hutch. If you can make it past them, you still have to make it out of the train unnoticed. I can’t tell where we are without looking out a window, but odds are we’re not close to help. You’d be lost on your own.”

  “What about you?” Aideen stood straight, grasping the bar she had been resting her head on. “Are you going to sit here and let them take you to prison? What did you do, anyway?”

  “I got caught helping you.”

  “Who was that guy? And why is he after me?”

  “That man is a Trapper. Trappers are people who hunt down Refuse—Alks, Narks, and the like—and imprison them. Once they’ve decided you’re Refuse, you either fight, run, or die.”

  “Running sounds good.” Aideen paced beside the bars holding her in her cell. “I just need to figure out how . . .”

  There’s no way the Turkeys had a key. Aideen wondered how to pick a lock.

  She stomped back to the bench and plopped onto the seat with a huff. She leaned forward, resting her hands on the bench to either side of her and felt the heel of her right hand scrape against something. One of the screws attaching the leg of the bench was sticking out.

  Someone tried to take the bench apart.

  Aideen tried to remove the screw by hand. Her fingers ached from the effort, but it held fast. She wished for her tools. There was a toolbox in her Camaro, in case anything ever went wrong. (It was a thirteen-year-old car, after all.) And she was a decent mechanic. But without the right tools, she could only do so much.

  If Coby were still speaking to her, she’d call him.

  And what, ask him to bring my tools? What kind of directions should I give him? ‘Just climb through the hole in my living room wall, follow the—’

  Call him. Anyone, really. She pulled her cell phone from her pocket and checked for a signal. Not even the tiniest bar.

  Guess I’m out of the service area.

  The phone wasn’t completely useless, though. She removed the battery cover and lined the edge of it up with the groove on the screw. It fit snugly, and the plastic bent as Aideen twisted it. With a firm grip on both ends, Aideen tried again and managed to loosen the screw.

  “Yes!”

  “Is everything okay over there?”

  “I may have a plan.”

  Aideen labored and worked the screw free with her fingers. She held it up and beamed at it. At that moment, she could think of no greater accomplishment. Except perhaps removing the other screw that held the leg in place. The two-by-six holding the bench wasn’t an ideal weapon, but the screw wouldn’t help her against the Turkeys’ pointy beaks and claws. Assuming she got out of the cell.

  Bench leg liberated, she put one of the screws and her phone into her pocket. She grabbed the leg of the bench and turned to the cell door.

  She couldn’t tell what kind of key the lock took, but she couldn’t do much besides mentally cross her fingers and hope this worked.

  “You don’t know how to pick a lock, do you?” she called to her prison-mate as she slipped her hand through the bars. With the tip of the screw, she searched for the keyhole.

  “Sorry. I have been meaning to learn.”

  Locating the keyhole, she fit the screw inside. She wiggled it around, sometimes wiggling the door itself to see if she had unlocked it.

  “Why won’t you work?” Aideen kicked the door, causing pain to radiate through her foot and up her leg.

  “Dammit.” She threw the bench leg against the wall and crouched with her head in her hands.

  “What happened?” Rag Man asked.

  She willed herself not to cry and took a deep breath. “I can’t unlock my cell door.” What did she expect, a miracle? She was using a screw.

  “You need to keep calm. Nothing good happens when you panic.”

  “My dad used to say that to me.” Aideen smiled. “I remember one time, I saw a snake while my dad and I were playing catch in the backyard. I got scared, but Daddy told me not to panic, or the snake may get scared and attack.”

  Rag Man chuckled.

  “I heard it from my father too. Only he was giving me advice before I went to war. I was petrified of being in a firefight. He said the soldiers who come home are the ones who can think clearly even with arrows whizzing by their heads.”

  Who fights a war with arrows? She retrieved the bench leg and returned to the door for another attempt. Taking her time with the lock, at last, the internal mechanism clicked. The door popped open, swinging wide and clanking against the wall. The Turkeys reacted. She wouldn’t have much time.

  “I did it!”

  She exited her cell with the bench leg in one hand and the scr
ew in the other. She turned toward Rag Man’s cell, but a Turkey blocked her path, snapping at her.

  “Leave,” her Hutch-mate called. “You can’t fight them on your own.”

  “What about you?”

  “I’ve got my ways of getting out of trouble. Now, go.”

  She spun to retreat, but another Turkey blocked this direction. Awesome. Surrounded by avian Jabberwocks, and all she had was a wooden bench leg.

  Not exactly the vorpal sword.

  The Turkey in front of Aideen took a swipe at her. As she batted away its claw with the bench leg, the screw fell from her hand and bounced across the train car. A beak snapped behind her.

  Rag Man cried out, and the bars of his cell rattled. Aideen glanced over her shoulder to see he had distracted the Turkey. She turned to deal with the first one.

  The Turkeys may have been huge and equipped with pointy claws and beaks, but Aideen was more agile. When the monster struck, she smashed the bench leg in its face. While it was stunned, she ran past it.

  She paused at the exit, one hand on the door frame, and glanced over her shoulder. Rag Man continued making noise, but the turkey turned away, shaking its head as if trying to cast out an annoying tune. It locked eyes with Aideen and started toward her.

  Aideen rushed into the vestibule, yanking the door closed behind her. The exterior door was secured. The bench leg no longer served her, so she dropped it. Maybe there was something in the next car with which she could pry open the door. Who knew when the next stop would be, and she didn’t intend on hanging around.

  A clattering behind her startled her and she turned. The Turkeys in the Hutch threw themselves against the door. She hoped it would hold them long enough for her to escape.

  Pulling open the door to the next car, she scanned the passengers and their belongings. She spotted a woman with an umbrella—the kind with the pointy tip—toward the back of the car. Aideen ran up and grabbed it from her.

  “I need to borrow this. Thanks.”

  The woman’s protests followed her back through the car and into the vestibule.

  Aideen again turned to the exterior door. Breaking out of a train would be a first for her, but she didn’t have any more appealing options. She wedged the umbrella between the door panels and pushed, pulled, wiggled, and shook her makeshift lever.

  Why couldn’t one of the passengers have a crowbar?

  Raised voices in the passenger car, followed by muffled cries and sounds of a scuffle attracted her attention. Aideen peered into the car. The Dark Man and a third Turkey were approaching too quickly for Aideen’s comfort. Someone must have tipped him off about his escaped prisoner.

  A glance at the Turkeys ramming the Hutch door quickened her heartbeat and she turned back to her work with a renewed vigor, prying the door partway open.

  She wedged herself between the broken doors, watching the ground rush past. Jumping may end up killing her, but she didn’t know what would happen if the Turkeys caught her, and that was worse.

  The train slowed. Aideen couldn’t wait any longer.

  “Here goes nothing.”

  She took a deep breath and jumped.

  Chapter Three

  Aideen tucked and landed on her shoulder, rolling most of the way down a slope. Shoulder throbbing and heart pounding, but otherwise in decent shape, she leaped up and ran to the foot of the hill. Jumping from a train should have been a perfect trigger to wake her up from this nightmare, yet here she was.

  Guess we’re not in Wonderland anymore, Dinah.

  The Turkeys’ screeching followed her off the train as she hunted for a place to hide.

  The lush grass blanketing the hill and spreading across the dell didn’t even reach past her ankles, so crouching in place like a scared bunny was out. A sparse grove stood a short distance away. That might at least camouflage her.

  She ran towards the trees, but something in the grass caught her eye: an orb of white amid the field of green. Despite invisible hands tightening on her heart and pushing at her back, curiosity bound her legs. She reached out to pluck the pale object from its resting place.

  Turning it over, her heart skipped to find Roger Clemens’ autograph on the ball. He was her dad’s favorite player. Her dad even had a ball just like this one. How on Earth—or wherever she was—did it wind up here?

  She studied her surroundings, finding no signs of players or a diamond. Not even base paths cut through a cornfield.

  A noise behind her startled her from her thoughts—the Turkeys had closed in. Fingers gripped tight around the ball, she clutched the familiar item close and ran for the trees. Ducking under a low-hanging branch, tromping through the grove, she looked for suitable cover.

  She passed through the trees before she spotted a massive culvert poking out of the base of a hill, and she ducked inside. Hurrying deeper, she stepped as lightly as she could without slowing, aware that the echo of her footsteps would betray her location to the Turkeys. She turned around a bend in the pipe and stopped.

  Her lungs screamed at her but she strained to control her breathing. She didn’t want the Turkeys to hear her. Plus, she wanted to hear them if they decided to pursue her into the culvert.

  The beasts squawked and flapped closer. She squeezed her eyes shut and silently begged them to pass by. They didn’t listen.

  The clamor echoed through the pipes as she turned deeper into the tunnels. No longer concerned with how much noise she made, she crashed through the pipes at top speed. Aideen’s lungs were less than thrilled to be pushed to their limits again so soon and protested as she wheezed.

  From the sound of things, the Turkeys were keeping pace behind her. Aideen didn’t know where the tunnel would lead, or if she had any hope of outrunning the monsters. She didn’t even allow herself to entertain the possibility the culvert might dead-end, for fear the thought would manifest.

  Speeding through the dark pipes, Aideen ran face first into something hard. It knocked her off her feet as the baseball flew out of her hand. Blood dripped from her nose. She wiped the back of her hand across her upper lip and started to curse, but the Turkeys sounded too close.

  She groped ahead of her, certain she had jinxed herself and the tunnel had ended, leaving her with no way to escape. Relief washed over her when she found an opening which led to a smaller pipe. Searching blindly for the baseball, she felt around her. Wherever the ball came from, she couldn’t leave it.

  The displaced air from the Turkeys’ flapping wings brushed along her arms. She found the ball and clutched it to her chest with one hand. Something—a claw?—grasped her sneaker as she crawled into the smaller pipe. She cried out as she kicked to get away. Her feet flailed in the darkness, sweat dripped into her eyes, and her chest pounded.

  After freeing her foot, she scrambled further along the pipe. She stopped once she realized the Turkeys weren’t following her. She listened to them clambering at the entrance to the small pipe.

  They’re too big!

  Aideen sat with her back against the side of the tunnel and let her breath and heartbeat steady.

  She listened as the Turkeys gave up and left. Sitting in the quiet darkness a moment longer, she cursed her curiosity for convincing her to inspect the hole in her living room wall. She considered going back to the atrium. It would be her luck to be running away from the one place from which she could return home.

  But those monsters . . . She shuddered at the thought of their bugged-out eyes, as expressionless as an old TV with a busted cathode ray tube. Their scaly necks that undulated like sidewinders. The long, steely spikes covering their tails like a morning star.

  Her imagination insisted a giant huntsman spider-like claw, tufted with bristly hair, closed around her ankle again. She scrambled further down the pipe, needing to get as far away from them as possible. She continued along the small pipe and into a larger one.

  Traveling through more pipes, her hands felt for a path through the darkness. After some twists and turns, a dim light
filtered into the tunnel ahead, serving as a beacon. She turned at the next juncture and the daylight illuminating the final stretch of pipe dazed her.

  Aideen heard voices in the distance as she stepped out into the sunshine.

  “Let her go. What harm could one Refuse do?”

  “She could be the Prophesied One. It could be the end of D’Nal Harrim as we know it.”

  The voices came from deeper inside the forest that stood in front of her. A path wove its way through the thick trees. The underbrush to either side rendered off-roading useless to anyone not armed with a machete.

  Turning, Aideen saw she had come through the side of a sheer cliff. With neither the proper rock-climbing gear nor any idea how to use it, the only way back was through the culvert.

  Yeah, right. She turned to the path and hoped tick season was over.

  Aideen’s head swam as she wove through the trees. Not long ago, she perched on her favorite stool at Jimmy’s bar, minding her own business. After a whirlwind of alarming events, Aideen found herself walking through a serene forest. Looking back with a sense of detachment, the surrealism overwhelmed her. She must have been half-past hammered last night, to dream all this up.

  Why won’t I wake up, though?

  As she rounded a thick, gnarled tree, she spied a sizable clearing. The sparse grass suggested dry earth that didn’t encourage growth. Across the clearing, over half a football field ahead, the path resumed its way through the woods.

  A small cabin sat at the edge of the clearing to Aideen’s right, with a dooryard defined by a stone perimeter. The crude border comprised small, dull stones, likely collected from the forest. In the center of the yard, two women argued. Aideen approached them with caution.

  “Excuse me, I’m—” Aideen broke off as both the women jumped and turned to their unannounced guest.

  “It’s you.” The woman with the black hair clenched her fists and stepped toward Aideen.

  “That’s her?” The woman with the luminous white hair seemed curious but disappointed. “She doesn’t look like anything special.”

  “Gee, thanks. You’re not so hot yourself.”