Read Online Unholy Night by Seth Grahame-Smith - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Seth Grahame-Smith
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leap, he grabbed on to the rope and swung off the end. You can make it. Just don’t look down and you’ll—
There was no way he was going to make it. As soon as Balthazar swung out over the ravine, he knew he was in trouble. The distance between the two sides was twice what it’d looked like from the bridge, and the drop twice as far. Worse yet, the top of the crane he was swinging from wasn’t centered between the two bridge sections—it was much closer to the side he’d started on. As he approached the bottom of his arc, Balthazar suddenly found himself with two unsavory options: He could either hold on to the rope and return to the side he’d swung from—the side where two big men were waiting for him—or he could let go and jump. Either way, there would be no more miracles today.
He let go.
Once again, it was a decision met with instant regret. He wasn’t going to make it across. Not on his feet, anyway. There was a chance—a sliver of a chance—that he could reach the edge of the other bridge with his fingertips. Balthazar pumped his exhausted legs as he flew, as if running on air would propel him farther.
I’m descending.
He reached his arms out in front of him as the uneven, unfinished stones of the other bridge rushed at him. But it was his chest that hit first, smacking against the bottom of the other canal and knocking the air from his lungs.
The impact startled a rat that had been picking through litter on the other side of the canal. It looked up, a half-chewed maggot in its mouth, and saw a human boy clinging to the edge of the waterway, struggling to pull himself up. It was a brief struggle, for the boy began sliding back toward the drop almost immediately. The rat watched as the boy’s fingers grabbed at the bottom of the stone channel, trying to hold on. After a brief but valiant effort, the boy disappeared over the side. The rat, who assumed the human had fallen to his death, went back to its rummaging.
Balthazar had absolutely no idea how he’d caught himself. He hung by little more than the grit beneath his fingernails, pumping his feet. Trying to push against a surface that wasn’t there. Don’t look down. It’s very important that you resist the urge to—
He looked down. It was a hundred feet to the hard gravel road below, but it might as well have been a mile. He could see a pile of carved stone blocks beneath him, waiting for their turn to be hoisted up. He could feel himself falling, smashing against those blocks. Feel his brains squeezing through the cracks in his sku—
Look up, you idiot!
Balthazar brought his left hand up to the bridge and grabbed on. His skinny arms shook as he pulled, trying to claw his way back to the top, trying to ignore the searing pain he felt in his empty lungs. He swung his legs back and forth, using the force to help propel his body upward. And it did. With each swing, he was able to grab a little more of the canal above with his hands, until at last he managed to get his elbows over the lip and squirm up the rest of the way.
The third miracle…
He rested on his belly for a moment, his face against the stone, catching his breath, unaware of the rat that he’d frightened off. Balthazar got to his feet—chest heaving and fingers bleeding—remembering that his pursuers might be thinking about performing the same rope trick and following him across. But the Greeks were thinking no such thing. They just stood and stared at him from the other side of the unfinished bridge, dumbfounded by what they’d seen.
Balthazar wasn’t sure why he did what he did next. Maybe it was the bewildered look on their faces; maybe it was a by-product of fear—but he flashed them a smile. The same confident smile that would infuriate many of his future pursuers, the way it infuriated the Greeks now as he turned and disappeared into the impenetrable fortress of the slums.
II
T here were five of them altogether: Balthazar; his mother, Asherah; his younger
There was no way he was going to make it. As soon as Balthazar swung out over the ravine, he knew he was in trouble. The distance between the two sides was twice what it’d looked like from the bridge, and the drop twice as far. Worse yet, the top of the crane he was swinging from wasn’t centered between the two bridge sections—it was much closer to the side he’d started on. As he approached the bottom of his arc, Balthazar suddenly found himself with two unsavory options: He could either hold on to the rope and return to the side he’d swung from—the side where two big men were waiting for him—or he could let go and jump. Either way, there would be no more miracles today.
He let go.
Once again, it was a decision met with instant regret. He wasn’t going to make it across. Not on his feet, anyway. There was a chance—a sliver of a chance—that he could reach the edge of the other bridge with his fingertips. Balthazar pumped his exhausted legs as he flew, as if running on air would propel him farther.
I’m descending.
He reached his arms out in front of him as the uneven, unfinished stones of the other bridge rushed at him. But it was his chest that hit first, smacking against the bottom of the other canal and knocking the air from his lungs.
The impact startled a rat that had been picking through litter on the other side of the canal. It looked up, a half-chewed maggot in its mouth, and saw a human boy clinging to the edge of the waterway, struggling to pull himself up. It was a brief struggle, for the boy began sliding back toward the drop almost immediately. The rat watched as the boy’s fingers grabbed at the bottom of the stone channel, trying to hold on. After a brief but valiant effort, the boy disappeared over the side. The rat, who assumed the human had fallen to his death, went back to its rummaging.
Balthazar had absolutely no idea how he’d caught himself. He hung by little more than the grit beneath his fingernails, pumping his feet. Trying to push against a surface that wasn’t there. Don’t look down. It’s very important that you resist the urge to—
He looked down. It was a hundred feet to the hard gravel road below, but it might as well have been a mile. He could see a pile of carved stone blocks beneath him, waiting for their turn to be hoisted up. He could feel himself falling, smashing against those blocks. Feel his brains squeezing through the cracks in his sku—
Look up, you idiot!
Balthazar brought his left hand up to the bridge and grabbed on. His skinny arms shook as he pulled, trying to claw his way back to the top, trying to ignore the searing pain he felt in his empty lungs. He swung his legs back and forth, using the force to help propel his body upward. And it did. With each swing, he was able to grab a little more of the canal above with his hands, until at last he managed to get his elbows over the lip and squirm up the rest of the way.
The third miracle…
He rested on his belly for a moment, his face against the stone, catching his breath, unaware of the rat that he’d frightened off. Balthazar got to his feet—chest heaving and fingers bleeding—remembering that his pursuers might be thinking about performing the same rope trick and following him across. But the Greeks were thinking no such thing. They just stood and stared at him from the other side of the unfinished bridge, dumbfounded by what they’d seen.
Balthazar wasn’t sure why he did what he did next. Maybe it was the bewildered look on their faces; maybe it was a by-product of fear—but he flashed them a smile. The same confident smile that would infuriate many of his future pursuers, the way it infuriated the Greeks now as he turned and disappeared into the impenetrable fortress of the slums.
II
T here were five of them altogether: Balthazar; his mother, Asherah; his younger
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