windows as if expecting a hideous beast to leap out in an explosion of glass and wood.
a metallic clicking sound from the branches above grabbed his attention, made him look up; a flash of silver and red light caught his eyes just before disappearing around the trunk to the other side. he scrambled to his feet and walked around the tree, craning his neck for a sign of whatever he’d heard, but he saw only bare branches, gray and brown, forking out like skeleton fingers—and looking just as alive.
“that was one of them beetle blades,” someone said.
thomas turned to his right to see a kid standing nearby, short and pudgy, staring at him. he was young—probably the youngest of any in the group he’d seen so far, maybe twelve or thirteen years old. his brown hair hung down over his ears and neck, scraping the tops of his shoulders. blue eyes shone through an otherwise pitiful face, flabby and flushed.
thomas nodded at him. “a beetle what?”
“beetle blade,” the boy said, pointing to the top of the tree. “won’t hurt ya unless you’re stupid enough to touch one of them.” he paused. “shank.” he didn’t sound fortable saying the last word, as if he hadn’t quite grasped the slang of the glade.
another scream, this one long and nerve-grinding, tore through the air and thomas’s heart lurched. the fear was like icy dew on his skin. “what’s going on over there?” he asked, pointing at the building.
“don’t know,” the chubby boy replied; his voice still carried the high pitch of childhood. “ben’s in there, sicker than a dog. they got him.”
“they?” thomas didn’t like the malicious way the boy had said the word.
“yeah.”
“who are they?”
“better hope you never find out,” the kid answered, looking far too fortable for the situation. he held out his hand. “my name’s chuck. i was the greenbean until you showed up.”
this is my guide for the night? thomas thought. he couldn’t shake his extreme disfort, and now annoyance crept in as well. nothing made sense; his head hurt.
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