Beyond Paradise

"They've gone for now, but they'll be back," Aden said in a scratchy, rough voice. He looked drained and exhausted, his hands red and trembling. "I don't think it's safe for you to be out alone again," he said, this time directly to Billie.

"Where's Tabib?" Jabril asked. "And Fowler--he should have caught back up with us by now?"

"Tabib's gathering some supplies for tonight. Said we'd be needing all the help he could give us. Fowler led them out toward the hills, near Omega. It may take him some time to lose them, but he'll be back," Aden said. "He'll have to track back through the woods so they can't spot him from the air."

"I'm a little surprised he was able to fool them," Max said with relief. "The boy is quite a bit taller than Billie Joe, and not as sturdy. But perhaps they hadn't had time to study their target very well."

"The important thing is that he got them away from here long enough for us to get back to the warehouse. He's got work to do before tonight," said Jabril, cocking an eye toward Billie, "and so do we."

"Boys, you have to be very careful," Max urged. "This time is different, not what you're used to. The stakes are much higher, and I think Stroud may be willing to assume more risks than we've seen him take before."

"But he's bound by--" Jabril began.

"Yes, he is," Max explained. "But the things that serve him are not. They have an amazing tenacity, and once summoned, they won't return without being satisfied. It won't be over as easily as we would hope, I'm afraid."

Billie saw the old man's eyes rest on Jabril, almost lovingly, and with a sadness that went beyond sympathy. The boy's head lifted only a fraction, and his shoulders pulled back in a silent show of courage and determination. "Then we'll have to fight harder, that's all," he said simply. "But no matter what, we fight." Aden and Sabeil nodded vigorously and grunted their agreement.

"Whoa, wait a minute," Billie said, holding up his hand. "I thought you said that I'd be able to play my way out of this. You told me that if I found the answers I was looking for, if I was able to channel that into the music I chose for tonight, that I'd stand a fair chance. Are you telling me that's not true anymore?" The fear he'd felt before paled now, seeing the faces of these boys--children, really, not much older than Joey--who seemed to be preparing themselves for a battle from which they might well never return. And it was all because of him.

Jabril's clear, unclouded eyes held his steadily. "I don't know," he said flatly, his hands lifting and falling in clear frustration.

It was like a punch to the gut. Billie's hope wavered, faltering like a falling kite. He paced, head down, his hands linked behind his neck as his mind chewed over this new blow. Finally he halted, seeming to come up against the worst of it. "If--if I lose, what happens?" he finally asked, his back turned to them. He couldn't bear to see the pity in their eyes.

Max took a long moment, searching for words to say what was impossibly hard. "I've only seen it happen once, years ago," he said at last. A deep, hitching breath sucked between his lips. "He was a brave, strong boy--a lot like Jabril here, but very headstrong and proud." His eyes closed, as if to shut out the memory. "They cornered him near the library, backed him into an alley. There were four of them, black as moonless night, hovering around him. They had huge wings, leathery like a bat's, but their faces..." He shuddered. "Their eyes were round and huge, glassy and completely black, set into what looked like bleached bone. And their mouths were drawn into a long snout, like the head of a hammer, ringed with needle-like teeth that writhed like fingers to pull him into that hellish maw..."

He had to stop, his trembling hand gripping the edge of the desk. The somber faces of the boys watched Billie as he stared at one of the clocks, tick-tocking away what might be the last hours of his life.

"Did they kill him?" he asked without emotion, still looking away.

"It would have been better if they had," Max said. "What they left behind was nothing more than a breathing mannequin. He--"

"Stop," he interrupted, one hand extended behind him in supplication. "I don't want to know any more." Arms dangling limply at his sides, he watched the pendulum, back and forth, seconds marching into minutes, the ceaseless drip of time. Finally he turned, facing not only Max and the boys, but whatever fate lay ahead of him. "Jabril, I need to get ready," he said, with bravado he didn't really feel.

The boy nodded, and Aden and Sabeil followed suit. Max rose from his chair and reached toward Billie's hand. Thinking he was going to shake it, Billie raised his right hand, but Max grasped his left, and began to twist his wedding ring from his finger.

"No, that's--" Billie protested, trying to pull away, but the old man's grip was surprisingly strong.

"It will do you more good this way," he said kindly, and he untied a piece of leather string, slipping the silver band onto its length and retying it. He raised his thin arms and hung the makeshift necklace around Billie's neck, tucking it into his shirt and patting it gently against the skin of his chest. "Now go and do what you have to. Don't lose your focus, Billie Joe. More than your life depends on it."

Their footsteps were barely audible over the ticking of the clocks as they made their way back to the ladder. Aden raised the cover cautiously, only an inch or so, and peered carefully around before lifting it away and climbing out. The others followed him, murmuring astonishment at the scorched grass and blackened walls of the alleyway, still smoking from the intense heat that had driven the Zeileter screeching from their prey.

Jabril allowed himself a dry laugh. "You threw everything you had at them, didn't you, man?"

Aden was nonchalant. "It didn't seem like a good time to play around," he said, and the other boys chuckled.

"You did that?" Billie gasped.

Aden nodded, holding his palms in the air as if that clarified everything.

"Fire's his thing," Jabril explained with a grin. "He's the only one of us that Stroud is really afraid of. Well, him and Sabeil," he added, inclining his head toward the blond boy.

Sabeil tossed his tawny hair and wrinkled his nose, pulling his lip back to reveal teeth that were whiter and sharper, longer in the canines, than Billie had noticed before. He remembered the moment back in the warehouse when he had kicked over the fire barrel, and the astonishing change that had come over the boy's face, and realized that his eyes hadn't played tricks on him after all.

He looked back to Jabril. "What about you?" he asked, with a dawning awareness that he had badly underestimated all of them.

Jabril waved the question away casually. "I'm just kind of a guide, I guess. Nothing special. Some people who end up here have a lot of questions, more than usual, and I try to help them out."

Billie eyed him skeptically; somehow, he had come to believe that Jabril understated most things, and he had a feeling there was a lot more to it than he was letting on. But he let it go, not wanting to make the boy uneasy. "I guess Fowler and Tabib have their own 'talents' too, then?"

"Fowler's, like, a runner. He can track anything, anywhere. Runs like a cheetah. And he's pretty good at playing decoy." The other boys grunted agreement, bumping fists and nodding approval. "Tabib is kind of quiet, doesn't say much. But if you get hurt, he knows all kinds of ways to get you on your feet again. Probably the closest thing we've got to a doctor here."

That sense of military cohesiveness made sense now. The boys were a cadre, of sorts, united in their ability to help those who had been targeted by Stroud to fight against him. And it required discipline and loyalty, qualities they all seemed to possess in abundance.

A high, whining sound made Billie turn back toward the dumpster. As his eyes strained in the dimming light to find the source, a wet, black nose timidly poked around the side, followed by a pale blue eye.

"Snot!" he said, patting his thigh, and the scruffy dog ran gratefully to him, licking his hand. The dog's tail whipped back and forth joyously at the sight of his friend, and Billie noticed his whiskers were singed. "Bet you thought all hell had broken loose, didn't you, boy?" He rubbed the furry head and patted the dog's skinny sides, glad that he hadn't disappeared in terror.

Suddenly the dog's head snapped around, and one paw lifted warily as he sniffed the air. The boys followed his gaze, and Sabeil's nostrils flared as he tried to pick up a scent.

"What is it, Snot?" Jabril asked, watching the animal closely. A keening whine rose from the dog's throat, trailing into a low growl. "I think we're running out of time," he said, his eyes narrowing. "We'd better get back as fast as we can."

"What about Fowler?" Aden asked. "What if he couldn't shake them? We can't just leave him out here alone with those things."

Jabril understood his meaning. "Okay, go out toward the woods and see if you can find him. But don't go any further--it'll be dark soon, and you won't be able to see them coming. Bring him back to the warehouse as soon as you catch up to him."

Aden's copper hair was flying behind him already as he ran, disappearing down the other end of the alley. Jabril turned back the way they had come, motioning for the others to follow, and his pace was almost as quick as Aden's. The guitar bounced against Billie's back as he ran, and he reached behind him to try to steady it.

They turned the corner and pulled up in front of the warehouse door, and Jabril's mouth tightened in a grimace. "Shit, we may be too late," he said huskily.

Long, deep scratches marred the metal door's surface, leaving it crosshatched and scarred. The door itself bowed inward slightly, attesting to the strength of whatever had tried to get inside. Snot sniffed the door and yelped, backing away to hide trembling behind Billie's legs.

Jabril reached down and picked up a torn and filthy rag that lay on the sidewalk beside the door. He lifted it in front of his face, examining it closely in the sparse light.

"What is it?" Sabeil asked hesitantly.

"It's Fowler's shirt," he answered. "The one he was wearing when he left."