Then she looks at me. It’s amazing how quickly her face can change, depending on who she’s looking at. She looks spitting-mad. As she stalks toward me, mad turns into rage.
It’s impressive how vicious a pretty woman can look when she sets her mind to it. Either she’s one hell of an actress, or Dee-Dum had a double agenda when they set this up. I’ll bet she doesn’t even know about the fight. Why share the profits when you can get revenge instead? I’m sure this wasn’t the first time Anita has snubbed Dee-Dum. Not that I believe for a second that their feelings were hurt.
“You think anything you do would get a guy like him to look at you twice?” Anita flings the wet shirt back at me. “You’d be lucky to get a one-legged grandpa to be interested in you.”
Okay. Turns out I can do this.
I lean a little to make sure the shirt hits me.
Then, we go at it in all our feminine glory. Hair pulling, face slapping, shirt ripping, nail-scratching. We squeal like cheerleaders who fell into a mud pit.
As we stumble around in our drunken dance, we bump into a wash basin. It comes crashing down, spraying the whole area with water.
She trips over it while clinging onto me, and we come tumbling down. Our bodies contort around each other as we roll in the mud around the wash basins.
It’s hard to look dignified when your head is being pulled down to your shoulder by your hair. It’s embarrassing. I do my best to look as though I’m really fighting
The crowd goes wild with their cheering and clapping. I catch a glimpse of Dee-Dum as we roll. They’re practically hopping with glee.
Just how does somebody lose a fight like this? Should I break down crying? Land in the mud face-down and let her scratch me a few times while I curl into a ball? I’m at a complete loss as to how to tap out of this fight.
All thoughts of the fight are shattered by a gunshot.
It comes from somewhere past the crowd, but it’s close enough to make everyone freeze in silence.
Two more shots go off in rapid succession.
Then a scream echoes through the woods. A very human, very terrified scream.
CHAPTER 21
The wind rustles through the treetops. My blood pounds in my ears.
For a few heartbeats, everyone stares into the twilight with eyes wide as if waiting for a nightmare to come to life. Then, as though a command had been given, chaos bursts through the crowd.
Soldiers run to the trees in the direction of the scream, gripping their guns and rifles. Everyone starts talking, some crying. Some rush one way, others rush another. It’s a crush of noise and confusion bordering on panic. Like the dogs, these people aren’t as well trained as Obi would like.
Anita climbs off me, the whites of her eyes showing all around her irises. She takes off, running after the biggest crowd which is stampeding into the mess hall. I get up, torn between wanting to see what’s happening and wanting to hide in the relative safety of numbers.
Raffe is suddenly beside me, whispering. “Where are the wings?”
“What?”
“Where did you hide them?”
“In a tree.”
He sighs, obviously trying to be patient. “Can you tell me?”
I point in the direction of the scream, where the last of the soldiers disappear.
“Can you tell me how to find it, or do you need to show me?”
“I’d have to show you.”
“Then let’s go.”
“Now?”
“Can you think of a better time?”
I glance around. Everyone is still scrambling to grab gear and run into a building. No one gives us a second glance. No one would notice if we disappeared during the chaos.
Of course, there’s whatever it is that’s causing the panic.
My thoughts must show in my face because Raffe says, “Either tell me or show me. It has to be now.”
Twilight is sliding fast into full dark around us. My skin prickles at the thought of wandering through the forest in the dark with whatever it was that caused an armed soldier to scream like that.
But I can’t let Raffe run without me. I nod.
We slip into the darkening shadows for the closest path to the forest. We half-tiptoe, half-run through the woods.
Gunshots fire in rapid, overlapping succession. Several guns fire simultaneously in the woods. Maybe this isn’t the best idea.
As if I’m not freaked out enough, screams echo through the oncoming night.
By the time we run across the camp and reach the hiding tree area, the woods are quiet. Not a single rustle, no birds or squirrels disturb the silence. The light is fading fast, but there’s enough to see the carnage.
About a dozen soldiers had run toward the scream. Now there are only five still standing.
The rest lie scattered on the ground like broken dolls tossed by an angry child. And like broken dolls, there are body parts missing. An arm, a leg, a head. The ripped joints are ragged and gory.
Blood splatters everything—the trees, the dirt, the soldiers. The dimming light has leached the color out of it, making it look like oil dripping off the branches.