“It’s back there now,” she said. She gave a quick toss of her blond head toward the rearmost bedroom, which was Owl’s. “And it’s moved into the ceiling.”
Before, it had been under the floor of the boys’ bedroom, and before that somewhere outside the walls entirely. Each time, Cheney had leapt up and gone sniffing from corner to corner, hackles raised, a low growl building in his throat. He did the same thing this time, working his way to the back of their quarters, big head swinging from side to side, nose to the floor and then lifting. Owl had no idea what was going on, so she watched Cheney’s progress, searching for clues.
“What do you think it is?” Sparrow asked her.
She shook her head. “It’s making a lot of noise; it must be something bigger than a rat. Maybe a Spider or a Lizard prowling about, one that doesn’t know the rules yet.”
That was what she said, but it wasn’t what she believed. The sounds didn’t remind her of any she’d heard a Spider or Lizard make. They didn’t remind her of anything she had ever heard. She found herself wishing that Hawk would return, even knowing she was perfectly safe within the shelter of their hideout, behind the reinforced ironplated doors and heavy concrete walls and with Cheney to protect them. She knew she was letting her fears get away from her, but she couldn’t seem to quite stop them from doing so.
She listened some more, but the sounds were gone. She exchanged a quick glance with Sparrow, who shrugged and went back to reading to Squirrel.
She liked it that Sparrow had begun taking such an interest in books. Some of it had to do with her willingness to assume the big-sister role with Squirrel, whom she adored. But some of it was due to a real interest in learning how to read and wanting to learn what all those words could teach her about life.
Sparrow had endured a harsh and brutal childhood, one that she had revealed in full only to Owl, and there was every reason to believe that she would never be interested in anything but honing her considerable survival skills. Yet here she was, reading books as if nothing mattered more. Life could still surprise you sometimes.
Owl settled back in her wheelchair and returned to perusing the medical books. She wished she had a better understanding of medical terms. Most of what she knew she had learned through practical experience while still in the compound. She had no formal training. But if someone in your family or a close friend of your family didn’t know medicine, your chances of survival lessened considerably. Owl had always been interested in seeking out ways to protect the lives that others would be quick to write off.
“Can Squirrel have a cola?” Sparrow called out from the other room.
Owl said yes, watching Cheney reemerge from her bedroom and wander back over to his spot on the floor. He had an uneasy look to him, and even as he settled back down, he kept his head lifted, his black eyes alert as they stared off into space. She listened again for the strange noise, but it was gone. She looked back down at her book, reading. Maybe Tessa would know something; she would have Hawk ask her at their next meeting. She wished those meetings didn’t have to take place, that Tessa would just come live with them as Hawk wanted. It was too dangerous to meet in violation of compound law. It would take only one mistake for them to be discovered, and if they were, retribution would be swift.
The sound came again, a scrabbling this time, directly overhead.
Cheney was on his feet at once, thick fur bristling, muzzle drawn back in a snarl. Owl glanced up, tracking the scrabbling as it moved across the ceiling from the front of the room to the back and toward the rear bedrooms. Cheney tracked it, as well, hunching after it in a crouch, dark eyes furious. Owl turned her wheelchair in the direction of the noise and waited. The noise ceased.
Then, all at once, it began anew, a furious digging sound this time, a ripping away at things that suggested a determination or frenzy bordering on madness. Sparrow appeared in the doorway once more, mouth agape as she stared at the back rooms. She was holding Squirrel by one hand. The little boy’s face mirrored his uncertainty.
Owl didn’t know what was happening, but she didn’t think it was good.
“Sparrow,” she said as calmly as she could. “Get several prods from the locker and bring them to me.”
She wheeled herself over to the front of the room, close by the ironplated door, and beckoned Squirrel to come join her. The little boy hurried over and climbed into her lap. “There, there,” she cooed, soothing his fears as he buried his head in her shoulder. “It’s all right.”