Riders (Riders, #1)(42)

Flash. I was looking at a creature, crouching ten feet away. Staring at me. Black as the night with white eyes and—wings? were those wings?—and a wrinkled face full of torment, full of pleading, and—

Darkness.

I’d frozen with the tire iron back, ready to swing. Now, surrounded by night again, I still didn’t move.

I scanned the blackness around me, ready to attack. Waiting to be attacked. Every muscle in my body brimmed with violence. Overcharged. In a whiteout of mortal fear.

A breeze swept past me, hot like a breath. It carried a foul odor that made my breath catch. Then the stench was gone. Seconds had passed since I’d seen the thing, but I waited a few more before I brought my arm down.

My heart was trying to kick down my rib cage. As I searched the desert around me again, I pictured the creature’s wide, pleading eyes. Blind eyes, I thought. They’d been like pearls. The way it had crouched made me wonder if it’d been scared of me—but that didn’t mean it was harmless.

Was it one of the Kindred? I knew of four. Was it the fifth? Or was that Death? But Death had to be human—that thing definitely hadn’t been—and I hadn’t sensed any change in the signal from the cuff.

I made my feet start moving again. Every time the sky lit up, I tensed, expecting to see the creature again. Sweat rolled down my back and my knuckles ached from gripping the tire iron, but I made it to the outcrop without further incident.

Approaching from a slightly elevated slope, I could see the rock formation’s general shape. It was configured like a horseshoe, with the open side opposite me. I had a feeling Death had put himself right at the center. It’d be an advantageous position for him. Hidden. And the opening would be the only place he’d need to watch to spot someone coming. So he thought.

I looked up, gauging the height of the near ridge. Thirty, forty feet—approximately three stories high. Steep grade, but I could handle it.

Reaching back, I shoved the tire iron through my belt and started climbing. I couldn’t stop picturing the creature’s emaciated body. How it’d been covered in a leathery black hide. The sharp teeth that had peeked from its withered mouth. I was pretty sure I’d seen black wings folded at its back.

Was it going to pick me right off this rock face?

Had it gone back to the Jeep?

Climb, Blake.

I channeled my concentration to the task. Rock climbing was problem-solving. Choosing the right holds, finding the right route. I worked steadily and fell into a good flow. The wind grew stronger as I neared the crest, my shirt flapping like a flag. My lungs pumped the damp storm air, my muscles craving the oxygen. Rain was coming soon.

The climb leveled off just as my hands and forearms started to burn from exertion. Pulling myself onto the smooth shelf at the summit, I shook them out. Then the hair on the back of my neck lifted as I became aware of the energy from the cuff. It felt much stronger now. Sharper, like a radio tuned to a better frequency. I was on the right track—Death was close.

Brushing my hands off on my jeans, I moved to the edge of the shelf and checked out the view I’d come to see. On this side of the formation, the rocks stepped down more gradually, in levels that dropped to a small clearing down below. I spotted a dark shape there, but I couldn’t tell if it was a person or a sleeping bag. Turning, I could see the small points of my Jeep’s headlights. Farther off, the freeway.

Gravel hissed nearby. I forced myself not to react.

Okay. Not alone. The intensifying buzz of the cuff confirmed it.

Moving slowly, I set my feet and reached back, my hand closing around the tire iron.

A shoe scraped against rock a few feet to my left. Louder. Impossible to pretend I hadn’t heard it this time.

“Come on over,” I said. “View’s nice.”

The footsteps came fast—scuff, scuff, scuff—a flat-out sprint. I spun, caught a glimpse of a dark form blurring toward me. There was no way to dodge aside. To the side was air. I sank down, bracing, and swung the iron.

I didn’t get in a full swing before he crashed into me. As I flew back, I locked my free arm into his—if I was going over so was he—and we went airborne.

It felt like we fell for a year, but it couldn’t have been more than a second. We did a three-sixty in the air. I saw a flash of dark eyes. Death grabbed hold of my shirt and threw his fist at my face, but I didn’t feel it. We crashed into rocks—a punch I felt everywhere. I couldn’t believe he was hitting me as we were falling. But that could’ve been because I was hitting him, too.

We went airborne for another second, then struck rock again. My shoulder took the brunt of our combined weight, pain exploding in my socket, rattling all the way down into my hand. My grip gave and the tire iron clanged away.

Our fall descended a few more levels before the slope decreased, putting us into a tumble. I took a hit to the temple that blacked out my vision for an instant. My hands found his neck and I pulled him into a chokehold. But then his fist smashed into my ear and stunned me, and I let him go. When we finally reached flat terrain we flew apart and came up lunging. I remembered a takedown I’d learned in combatives training and tackled him. I thought I had him down, but he buried his knee into my stomach and flipped me onto my back.

We went on like this for a while. Beating the hell out of each other. Part of me was surprised as it was happening. I didn’t lose fights. In RASP, we’d do this thing called the beef circle, where the cadre would get the class circled up and we’d battle it out, man-to-man, clearing the air of any animosities building up between us with some grappling. I almost never lost in those, even against the bigger, older guys. I’d get worked over pretty good. But I never tapped out. I’ve just always had another gear in a fight.