Read Online Walk the Sky by Robert Swartwood, David B. Silva - Free Book Online
Authors: Robert Swartwood, David B. Silva
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become experienced at it.
Still, he tried again to pull himself free of the rope.
Again, he was barely able to move.
And then Clay remembered what Marilyn had said.
Once you’re tied to the post, keep your eyes cast down.
It was getting almost too dark to see the ground right in front of him, and certainly too dark to clearly make out anything in the dirt. So why did she want him to keep his eyes down? Was it something to do with the demons? Something about looking into their eyes?
No—she said it would give him a fighting chance.
Marilyn wanted him to find something.
Clay dragged the heel of his boot across the surface of the dirt in front of him. It left a smooth track. No hiccups, no surprises, just dirt. When he dragged his heel against the grain he had created, the result was the same.
He tried the dirt closer to the post.
This time his boot stopped against something solid.
Something buried in the dirt.
Clay raised his leg and dragged his boot heel over it again, coming up against the same stop.
Excitement overtaking him, he tugged once more against the rope wrapped around his waist. But that only made things worse. The more he tugged, the more the rope seemed to restrict his movement.
And then he heard it, faint and distant ... shuffling .
Clay looked up into the darkness. He couldn’t see them, but he knew they were there, just as they had been there last night.
Demons.
They were coming.
The thought pushed him into a panic. He tried fighting against the restraints again, realized it was a losing battle, and was finally able to get his feet out far enough in front of him so that the weight of his body slid him down the post. From there, Clay rotated around the base until his fingers found the tip of the object buried in the dirt.
Shuffling .
Clay glanced up. The beat of his heart felt as if it might tear a hole in his chest.
In the distance, he saw movement.
Dark shadows in the night, moving awkwardly and off balance.
His fingers dug into the dirt. Brushing away anything and everything that was loose. Finally they hit on a solid object. Not a rock—he could tell that right off. A stick, perhaps.
Clay picked at the loose dirt around the edges, uncovering a little piece at a time. It wasn’t a stick. It was too well formed for that. And it felt as if a design had been carved into the side.
The sound of movement was louder now, closer.
The flesh on his bones rattled with the vibrations.
A quick glance up and he realized the darkness had expanded. It seemed as if there were an army of shadows hovering at the edges of the darkest corners, moving ever closer.
He wrapped his fingers around the object. Tugged on it. The dirt’s grip began to loosen. Not enough to pull it free, but enough to give Clay hope.
His fingers dug deeper around the base of the object ... tugging ... pulling ... until they hit something.
A sharp edge.
Shuffling .
It was a knife.
Clay found the hilt. In the next moment, with what felt like the last of his strength, he gave it a violent yank and the blade slid out of the ground.
Shuffling.
The blade of the knife found the rope linking his hands, and as he began to slice into the first strand, he did the one thing he knew he shouldn’t do just then: he looked up.
An army of black figures that looked more human than demon as they took shape approached.
The knife moved faster over the surface of the rope.
Through the first strand ... onto the second ... onto the third ...
Until— snap! —his hands were suddenly free and the rope around his waist released its death grip, allowing him to let out a breath.
Clay madly unraveled the rope until he was able to climb to his feet and step out of the bindings.
By then, the demons had appeared out of the shadows under the mercantile across the street, and from the plank walkway behind him. They were naked,
Still, he tried again to pull himself free of the rope.
Again, he was barely able to move.
And then Clay remembered what Marilyn had said.
Once you’re tied to the post, keep your eyes cast down.
It was getting almost too dark to see the ground right in front of him, and certainly too dark to clearly make out anything in the dirt. So why did she want him to keep his eyes down? Was it something to do with the demons? Something about looking into their eyes?
No—she said it would give him a fighting chance.
Marilyn wanted him to find something.
Clay dragged the heel of his boot across the surface of the dirt in front of him. It left a smooth track. No hiccups, no surprises, just dirt. When he dragged his heel against the grain he had created, the result was the same.
He tried the dirt closer to the post.
This time his boot stopped against something solid.
Something buried in the dirt.
Clay raised his leg and dragged his boot heel over it again, coming up against the same stop.
Excitement overtaking him, he tugged once more against the rope wrapped around his waist. But that only made things worse. The more he tugged, the more the rope seemed to restrict his movement.
And then he heard it, faint and distant ... shuffling .
Clay looked up into the darkness. He couldn’t see them, but he knew they were there, just as they had been there last night.
Demons.
They were coming.
The thought pushed him into a panic. He tried fighting against the restraints again, realized it was a losing battle, and was finally able to get his feet out far enough in front of him so that the weight of his body slid him down the post. From there, Clay rotated around the base until his fingers found the tip of the object buried in the dirt.
Shuffling .
Clay glanced up. The beat of his heart felt as if it might tear a hole in his chest.
In the distance, he saw movement.
Dark shadows in the night, moving awkwardly and off balance.
His fingers dug into the dirt. Brushing away anything and everything that was loose. Finally they hit on a solid object. Not a rock—he could tell that right off. A stick, perhaps.
Clay picked at the loose dirt around the edges, uncovering a little piece at a time. It wasn’t a stick. It was too well formed for that. And it felt as if a design had been carved into the side.
The sound of movement was louder now, closer.
The flesh on his bones rattled with the vibrations.
A quick glance up and he realized the darkness had expanded. It seemed as if there were an army of shadows hovering at the edges of the darkest corners, moving ever closer.
He wrapped his fingers around the object. Tugged on it. The dirt’s grip began to loosen. Not enough to pull it free, but enough to give Clay hope.
His fingers dug deeper around the base of the object ... tugging ... pulling ... until they hit something.
A sharp edge.
Shuffling .
It was a knife.
Clay found the hilt. In the next moment, with what felt like the last of his strength, he gave it a violent yank and the blade slid out of the ground.
Shuffling.
The blade of the knife found the rope linking his hands, and as he began to slice into the first strand, he did the one thing he knew he shouldn’t do just then: he looked up.
An army of black figures that looked more human than demon as they took shape approached.
The knife moved faster over the surface of the rope.
Through the first strand ... onto the second ... onto the third ...
Until— snap! —his hands were suddenly free and the rope around his waist released its death grip, allowing him to let out a breath.
Clay madly unraveled the rope until he was able to climb to his feet and step out of the bindings.
By then, the demons had appeared out of the shadows under the mercantile across the street, and from the plank walkway behind him. They were naked,
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