Read Online Psychosis (Wildfire Chronicles Vol. 3) by K.R. Griffiths - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: K.R. Griffiths
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lemmings, utterly oblivious to the drop, gradually filling the river. He redoubled his efforts, splashing crazily, fearful that he was only slowing himself down.
A couple of times he risked glancing back, and felt a fragile seed of optimism germinate: they couldn’t swim. Their thrashing and tumbling was even more chaotic a nd directionless than his own. Contrary to all his expectations, he was pulling clear of them. Focusing all his energy on suppressing the panic, Alex tried to slow his wild movement, lending it some sort of rhythm, and soon there was clear daylight between him and his pursuers.
It was just as he began to think that maybe they were going to be alright after all that Alex realised the folly in his plan. In his terror he hadn’t even thought to consider which direction the river was flowing. It hadn’t been important then.
Now, watching in horror as Rothbury loomed closer, it suddenly seemed like the most important thing in the world. At least until the river grew malevolent, and sent him crashing into a low-hanging branch, and Alex was yanked to painful halt as though someone had pulled the handbrake.
His eyes widened in fright.
Over his shoulder, in the blind spot the branch that had snared him would not allow Alex to twist and see, he heard a noise grow distinct from the roar of the water, getting closer. A noise that made him rage hopelessly against his restraints, as he had so often before.
Snarling.
*
The rain began almost apologetically, as though it were somehow embarrassed to be returning to Wales yet again. A few drops at first, like warning shots, and then the heavens opened, the pregnant clouds above finally delivering, and the downpour began in earnest.
It fell on the small group of people making their way carefully along the road between St. Davids and Aberystwyth, plastering their clothes to their skin, washing away the blood and the filth accumulated across several days of sweat and terror. They trudged on, grateful for the noise the weather provided, for the way it masked their passage.
Across the fields and forests, over empty farms and emptied villages, the rain poured, running in rivulets that became streams, as though nature itself was trying to cleanse the earth of the horrors unleashed upon it.
All across the land, the sightless creatures lifted their faces to the heavens, the thrumming of the cold rain on their faces a mystery that they could not solve, and when the sky cracked, and a deafening peal of thunder shook the countryside, the creatures, as one, clapped their blood-stained palms to their ears and shrieked in agony.
*
The rain fell on Jason like a cooling balm, but it did nothing to wash away his confusion. The others couldn’t see his mother, and that only made her presence there more terrifying.
Rachel had never had quite the same connection with their mother, hadn’t needed it he supposed, she was strong enough to walk alone. Always closer to their father. But Jason, big, fragile Jason, he had always needed the security his mother provided.
So it was comforting in some ways to see her walking alongside them, but frightening that she was naked from the waist up, and that her eyes had been gouged out, and of course that she had a piece of roof tile jutting from her forehead like an accusation.
She hadn’t said anything to him, hadn’t done anything other than walk alongside him, but Jason was relieved in some ways that she was there. Glad he hadn’t killed her, though he knew she must be pretty pissed off with him: that tile looked painful.
He avoided looking at her wrinkled sagging body, her blood-stained breasts. They made feelings of shame and embarrassment squirm through him, and an overwhelming sense of sorrow: his mother was a proud woman. The thought that the residents of St. Davids would see her walking around in such a state would leave her mortified.
Jason had motioned to her to cover herself up a couple of times, figuring
A couple of times he risked glancing back, and felt a fragile seed of optimism germinate: they couldn’t swim. Their thrashing and tumbling was even more chaotic a nd directionless than his own. Contrary to all his expectations, he was pulling clear of them. Focusing all his energy on suppressing the panic, Alex tried to slow his wild movement, lending it some sort of rhythm, and soon there was clear daylight between him and his pursuers.
It was just as he began to think that maybe they were going to be alright after all that Alex realised the folly in his plan. In his terror he hadn’t even thought to consider which direction the river was flowing. It hadn’t been important then.
Now, watching in horror as Rothbury loomed closer, it suddenly seemed like the most important thing in the world. At least until the river grew malevolent, and sent him crashing into a low-hanging branch, and Alex was yanked to painful halt as though someone had pulled the handbrake.
His eyes widened in fright.
Over his shoulder, in the blind spot the branch that had snared him would not allow Alex to twist and see, he heard a noise grow distinct from the roar of the water, getting closer. A noise that made him rage hopelessly against his restraints, as he had so often before.
Snarling.
*
The rain began almost apologetically, as though it were somehow embarrassed to be returning to Wales yet again. A few drops at first, like warning shots, and then the heavens opened, the pregnant clouds above finally delivering, and the downpour began in earnest.
It fell on the small group of people making their way carefully along the road between St. Davids and Aberystwyth, plastering their clothes to their skin, washing away the blood and the filth accumulated across several days of sweat and terror. They trudged on, grateful for the noise the weather provided, for the way it masked their passage.
Across the fields and forests, over empty farms and emptied villages, the rain poured, running in rivulets that became streams, as though nature itself was trying to cleanse the earth of the horrors unleashed upon it.
All across the land, the sightless creatures lifted their faces to the heavens, the thrumming of the cold rain on their faces a mystery that they could not solve, and when the sky cracked, and a deafening peal of thunder shook the countryside, the creatures, as one, clapped their blood-stained palms to their ears and shrieked in agony.
*
The rain fell on Jason like a cooling balm, but it did nothing to wash away his confusion. The others couldn’t see his mother, and that only made her presence there more terrifying.
Rachel had never had quite the same connection with their mother, hadn’t needed it he supposed, she was strong enough to walk alone. Always closer to their father. But Jason, big, fragile Jason, he had always needed the security his mother provided.
So it was comforting in some ways to see her walking alongside them, but frightening that she was naked from the waist up, and that her eyes had been gouged out, and of course that she had a piece of roof tile jutting from her forehead like an accusation.
She hadn’t said anything to him, hadn’t done anything other than walk alongside him, but Jason was relieved in some ways that she was there. Glad he hadn’t killed her, though he knew she must be pretty pissed off with him: that tile looked painful.
He avoided looking at her wrinkled sagging body, her blood-stained breasts. They made feelings of shame and embarrassment squirm through him, and an overwhelming sense of sorrow: his mother was a proud woman. The thought that the residents of St. Davids would see her walking around in such a state would leave her mortified.
Jason had motioned to her to cover herself up a couple of times, figuring
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