The Between by David Hofmeyr

Author:David Hofmeyr [Hofmeyr, David]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Random House Children's Books
Published: 2020-02-25T00:00:00+00:00

29

“Wake up, Ana. We gotta go.”

The voice is faraway.

“Ana!”

All right. OK. Lemme alone.

Someone’s shaking me. Hands on my shoulders.

Lemme go!

I try to throw them off but they hold me tight. I open my eyes and see Malik’s face close to mine. His dark eyes, wild and fierce.

“Ana. We gotta go. C’mon. Now!”

I sit upright, blinking, trying to get my bearings. The window offers a stream of red moonlight into the room. The door is closed. I see the four beds arranged around four walls and I can see Vidhan sitting up, putting on his glasses, and Akuji, nearest me, already out of her bed and half dressed. Outside, someone shouting.

“C’mon!” Malik urges, throwing my yellow hoodie on the bed.

“What’s going on?” I ask groggily.

“Reapers,” he says. “They’ve found us. Quick, get your gear. Hurry.”

Tiredness curdles into bright fear.

I remember the dream. The claws and hooks, ripping into me, tearing me apart.

I leap out of bed, high on adrenaline, not even caring I’m half naked. But he’s not looking. No one’s looking. The tension in the room is palpable. I hear a scream from down the corridor. Doors slamming, footsteps drumming floorboards, people yelling. Crashing noises. Thumps and bangs. It’s as if the place is being ransacked.

“We can’t use the front door,” Malik hisses, when we’re dressed and ready. All four of us, alert and wide-eyed. “We’ll have to go up to the roof,” he says. “There’s an emergency ladder back there. We can climb down. C’mon!”

Vidhan, Akuji and I grab our weapons and follow.

He opens the door a crack, scans the landing and waves us through.

“Move. Go!”

We jog down to the end of the corridor and thunder up the limestone staircase. The noise is frightening behind us, and close. Blood-chilling screams. A carrion stink in the air. We haul up another flight of stairs onto the third floor.

Malik throws open a fire exit at the end of the corridor and we step out into the freezing, predawn air. Malik is the last through. We slide and skim along the icy cement, outside the conservatory this time. Chimney stacks rise black against the sky.

I can see other figures struggling across the flat rooftop, ducking and diving for cover. And then I see why. Reapers.

Two of them, circling.

One turns in the sky, heaves upward, checks and dives in towards us.

“Hit the deck!” Malik yells. His breath is smoke.

We throw ourselves down in the red shadows and freeze. The Reaper gusts over us.

That’s when I see a man standing upright and tall on the roof, pistol drawn.

With fluid ease, he turns and follows the Reapers in the sky and, while turning, unleashes a hail of gunfire with absolute precision. I see who it is now.

Gabe.

“Go!” he shouts at us. “Get to the bikes below!”

Then, disaster.

In slow motion, I see it. A third Reaper, unseen by Gabe. It hammers down out of a pall of red ash and, in a violent gust of wings, swoops.

“GABE!” Malik yells.

Too late.

He turns at the last second, off-balance.

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