older guy in a red scarf, who had both been standing by their cars beneath the gas station overhang, looked up and noticed our little drama unfolding in front of them. The Mazikin darted into the intersection as both men started forward.
Jim slowed enough for me to tackle him from behind. It didn’t knock him off his feet, but he finally stopped running when I landed on his back. “You idiot,” I said into his ear. “Come on. We have to—”
“Get off me.” He shoved me away so hard that I nearly fell on my ass. “I almost had her!” He began to run again. Stunned at his complete disregard of my orders, I followed but couldn’t close the distance before he made it across the street.
“Hey!” shouted the bald guy as the Mazikin sprinted toward the older man who protectively opened his arms to receive her. She sobbed loudly while he examined her bloody mouth and wiped at it with his scarf.
“Did you hit her?” he barked at Jim.
“No,” he replied, stopping a few feet away, “but I’m about to.”
“No, you won’t!” I shouted, finally catching up. The bald guy was dialing his cell phone. This was so far out of control that my head was spinning.
“Miss, I’ve got this handled. You should probably stay away from him,” the old man said to me. “I’m going to take this young woman inside and help her get cleaned up.”
“The police are on the way,” called the bald guy, waving his phone at Jim.
Jim paid no attention. He lunged, clearly intending to attack the Mazikin. I threw myself in front of him, planted both hands on his chest, and pushed him backward. He made a move to shove me off again, and I lost it. I looped my hand around the back of his neck and jumped up, kneeing him in the stomach. “Stand down!” I yelled.
He let out a grunt and grabbed his abdomen, but straightened quickly. A siren wailed. Jim startled, looking around, and I slapped him across the face, desperately needing his attention. When his eyes locked on mine, I said in a low voice, “Jim, we have to go, unless you want to spend the night in a tiny holding cell.”
“Where you belong,” snapped the bald guy, still gripping his phone and watching us warily.
The violence in Jim’s eyes evaporated, replaced by fear. “A cell?”
Knowing the cops would arrive in mere seconds, I said clearly and slowly, “That’s what I said. Unless you run as fast as you can back to the car.”
It was the first order of the night that he actually followed.
As the bald guy shouted after us, we sprinted across the road, back through the scraggly trees and leaf-strewn brittle grass, past the pile of cans and packages the Mazikin had been going through. I slowed when I saw a homeless guy motionless on the ground. His hands and neck had been severely bitten, probably as he tried to keep the Mazikin from stealing all his worldly possessions and dragging him back to the nest. His cheeks were striped with claw marks, and his eyes were wide and fixed. He was dead.
I took off running again, catching up to Jim, and we fled through the side streets, block after block, until we made it back to the car. I pulled Jim down as a cop car streaked by, headed north, lights flashing and sirens blazing. Then I unlocked the doors and dove into the front while Jim climbed into the back. I caught my breath for a second and then fumbled with my phone, texting Malachi a rendezvous point several blocks south of our location. I trusted him to have a map of the area memorized already—at least I could depend on him .
“Wait, are we going back to the Station?” Jim said. “That’s so stupid! I thought we were supposed to be killing all of these Mazikin things. You let that one go!”
“Shut up!” I yelled, banging on the dashboard. “My God, do you not realize you could have gotten both of us arrested? Are you still drunk? Chasing a screaming woman through a populated area? Threatening to hit her in front of a bunch of witnesses? In complete
Jim slowed enough for me to tackle him from behind. It didn’t knock him off his feet, but he finally stopped running when I landed on his back. “You idiot,” I said into his ear. “Come on. We have to—”
“Get off me.” He shoved me away so hard that I nearly fell on my ass. “I almost had her!” He began to run again. Stunned at his complete disregard of my orders, I followed but couldn’t close the distance before he made it across the street.
“Hey!” shouted the bald guy as the Mazikin sprinted toward the older man who protectively opened his arms to receive her. She sobbed loudly while he examined her bloody mouth and wiped at it with his scarf.
“Did you hit her?” he barked at Jim.
“No,” he replied, stopping a few feet away, “but I’m about to.”
“No, you won’t!” I shouted, finally catching up. The bald guy was dialing his cell phone. This was so far out of control that my head was spinning.
“Miss, I’ve got this handled. You should probably stay away from him,” the old man said to me. “I’m going to take this young woman inside and help her get cleaned up.”
“The police are on the way,” called the bald guy, waving his phone at Jim.
Jim paid no attention. He lunged, clearly intending to attack the Mazikin. I threw myself in front of him, planted both hands on his chest, and pushed him backward. He made a move to shove me off again, and I lost it. I looped my hand around the back of his neck and jumped up, kneeing him in the stomach. “Stand down!” I yelled.
He let out a grunt and grabbed his abdomen, but straightened quickly. A siren wailed. Jim startled, looking around, and I slapped him across the face, desperately needing his attention. When his eyes locked on mine, I said in a low voice, “Jim, we have to go, unless you want to spend the night in a tiny holding cell.”
“Where you belong,” snapped the bald guy, still gripping his phone and watching us warily.
The violence in Jim’s eyes evaporated, replaced by fear. “A cell?”
Knowing the cops would arrive in mere seconds, I said clearly and slowly, “That’s what I said. Unless you run as fast as you can back to the car.”
It was the first order of the night that he actually followed.
As the bald guy shouted after us, we sprinted across the road, back through the scraggly trees and leaf-strewn brittle grass, past the pile of cans and packages the Mazikin had been going through. I slowed when I saw a homeless guy motionless on the ground. His hands and neck had been severely bitten, probably as he tried to keep the Mazikin from stealing all his worldly possessions and dragging him back to the nest. His cheeks were striped with claw marks, and his eyes were wide and fixed. He was dead.
I took off running again, catching up to Jim, and we fled through the side streets, block after block, until we made it back to the car. I pulled Jim down as a cop car streaked by, headed north, lights flashing and sirens blazing. Then I unlocked the doors and dove into the front while Jim climbed into the back. I caught my breath for a second and then fumbled with my phone, texting Malachi a rendezvous point several blocks south of our location. I trusted him to have a map of the area memorized already—at least I could depend on him .
“Wait, are we going back to the Station?” Jim said. “That’s so stupid! I thought we were supposed to be killing all of these Mazikin things. You let that one go!”
“Shut up!” I yelled, banging on the dashboard. “My God, do you not realize you could have gotten both of us arrested? Are you still drunk? Chasing a screaming woman through a populated area? Threatening to hit her in front of a bunch of witnesses? In complete
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