Hunted by Skye Melki-Wegner

Author:Skye Melki-Wegner
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Henry Holt and Co. (BYR)

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

THE LAND OF LOW CLOUDS

On the far edge of the tar field, the moon was rising. Shadows sprawled across the land, dappled like lichen.

“Almost half a moon,” Eleri murmured, glancing upward. “We’re running out of time to stop this war.”

“We can make it,” Sorielle said. “I know we can.”

But even the cheery ankylosaur sounded less hopeful than usual, her spirits worn by their journey. They all trudged slowly, limbs aching and faces downcast.

Beyond the tar pits, they emerged onto a small cracked plain. In the dark, a faint sulfuric stink hung in the air. The moon cast a shine across several knobbly hills, about two hundred yards ahead.

“Let’s try aimin’ for them hills,” Tortha said. “Looks like a good defensive position, I reckon. We can camp behind a ridge—and with a rotatin’ sentry roster, we’ll be safe enough till daybreak.”

“Can’t we just stop here?” Sorielle asked.

Tortha gave her a scathing look. “Are you mad? Ain’t no cover here. Soon as the sun comes up, we’ll be invitin’ every corpse muncher in this part of the Deadlands to snack on us.” She shook her head and muttered, “It’s like workin’ with a bunch of hatchlings!”

“Hey, we haven’t all had military training,” Eleri said.

“No? Really? I never could’ve guessed.”

Eleri decided not to argue. They were all on edge after escaping the tar field.

“Right,” Tortha said, mollified. “Let’s go.”

The plain was low, flat, and cracked. As they traveled deeper into its grasp, the stink of sulfur grew stronger.

“Not too far,” Sorielle said, her tone brighter. “At this rate, we’ll reach the nearest hilltop in approximately seven and a half minutes. We’ll be bedding down for a proper kip in no time.”

But as they traipsed toward the hills, Eleri drooped. It started with his legs, which grew slower and heavier. His foreclaws hung lower as his torso buckled, and suddenly, he sucked in a whiff of dirt and clay.

“Eleri?” Sorielle asked, alarmed. “Are you quite all right?”

He couldn’t decipher her words. They were meaningless noise: strange cries that echoed inside the fog of his head. As if he’d eaten a poisonous plant or been struck by some invisible sickness …

“He’s falling!” someone cried. “He’s—”

Eleri hit the ground. A dull reverberation ran through his skull as the others thundered toward him, their enormous feet casting tremors in the earth. Boom. Boom. Boom …

The air stank. His head swam. Every breath tasted oddly bitter. Too late, he remembered what Lerithon had seen before they entered the tar field. Beyond the black, a land of low clouds lies …

“Gas!” Sorielle cried, her voice raw with horror. “It must be poisonous gas—that’s what we can smell.”

“Why ain’t the rest of us sick, then?” Tortha demanded.

“It’s coming from the ground,” Sorielle said. “It’s hovering low and then dispersing, so our heads are above the worst of it, but Eleri is much shorter than the rest of us! I suppose he’s right in the thick of it…”

Eleri barely heard her. His head spun, thick and gluggy. He felt as if someone had filled his lungs with tar—and numbly, he realized that he was choking.

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