Alight (The Generations Trilogy #2)(18)

A spider.





My hand thrusts into the water, my fingers find my spear. I point the metal tip at my new enemy.

Spingate is the first out of the pool. She scrambles over the boulders, out of my line of sight. I can’t see her, but I hear her shouting.

“Run! That thing is chasing us!”

My feet won’t move.

Bishop, Farrar and Coyotl rush out of the water. They snatch up their weapons.

I stare up at the spider, a spindly shape blurred by the shimmering sun. Perfectly still one second, the next it’s scurrying along the top of the waterfall, each step kicking up a high splash of water.

We’ll never outrun that.

It stops at the stone steps. Long legs reach down, tap at the first switchback step. Reach, tap, pull back, reach, tap…

The spider turns away and is instantly gone from sight.

It wouldn’t use the steps. Why? Are they too steep for it?



Hands on my waist—Bishop flings me over his shoulder. In an instant he bounds onto the big rocks, then down to the vine-covered street.

“Bishop, let me go!”

He does, fast and firm. He’s terrified. As big as he is, that thing, that nightmare, is much bigger.

I see the backs of Farrar, Coyotl and Spingate. They’re running the way we came, headed for the shuttle or maybe the warehouse. But the warehouse is an hour away, the shuttle even farther. If that thing finds another path down from the cliff, we won’t make it—it’s far too fast.

There is only one place we can go.

I raise the spear high and scream with the same voice that rallied us in the Garden when we fought the Grownups.

“To me! To me!”

They all stop. Spingate and Farrar come running back, instantly trusting me. Coyotl pauses, turns to run away, stops, snarls, then follows Spingate and Farrar.

Bishop grips my shoulder. His touch was tender before; now he forgets his own strength and it hurts.

“Em, what are you doing? Didn’t you see that thing? We have to run!”

I whip my arm up, knocking his hand away.

The others reach us. They are on the edge of panic. That shape, the way it moved—it frightens us at a level we can’t deny.

I look each of them in the eye as I speak.

“We’re going to that gate.”

Coyotl shakes his head.

“We should have run,” he says. He gestures wildly with his thighbone, left, right, all over. “Now we have to hide in one of these buildings.”

“It took Spingate forever to get into the warehouse,” I say. “We can’t be caught in the open if that thing comes. The gate is close. If the spider can’t handle stone steps, it can’t climb the city wall. We shut that gate behind us, we’ll be safe.”



Farrar clutches his shovel to his chest.

“The door could be stuck,” he says. “Will it close?”

I have no idea if it will move at all, but I’m not going to waste a moment second-guessing myself.

“It’s our best chance,” I say. “Move!”

We run south down the vine-choked street, heading for the larger road that runs east-west. Spingate trips, regains her balance, runs hard at my side. She’s so slow.

Bishop stays beside me. I’m sprinting all out, yet he looks like he’s barely jogging. Farrar and Coyotl could easily run out ahead of us, but they stay a few steps behind, protecting our backs.

We reach the intersection. We turn left—away from the shuttle and the warehouse—and see the gate far off down the road. Tall doors set into a taller archway.

Bishop sprints toward it, red axe gleaming.

We chase after him, running as hard as we can. My lungs burn, my stomach clutches. Spingate stumbles. She’s already drained. I hold the spear in one hand, slide my free arm under her shoulder to support her. I have to keep her moving. She gets a burst of energy when we hear Farrar call out from behind us.

“It’s coming!”

I don’t look back. The door: it is survival, it is life itself. I run, part of me waiting for the spider-thing to bring me down from behind, for the pointy legs to punch through my back and out my chest.

The gate looms closer.

Bishop is already there. He stands half behind the right-hand door, which is slightly open to whatever lies beyond. The wall stretches off to either side—high, impenetrable. He waves us in, desperate for us to move faster.



Spingate and I reach the doors: sheets of metal, as thick as my forearm is long. We rush through the opening. Coyotl and Farrar are right behind us. They drop their weapons, throw themselves against the door alongside Bishop.

I stand there, trying to breathe, as the three boys attack a metal slab that is four times as tall as they are. Their arms shake, their legs tremble, their feet push against vines that slip and slide away.

Over the boys’ grunts, I hear a faint grinding sound—the door is closing, but too slowly. As it moves, long vines bunch underneath it, thick stalks jamming between the bottom of the door and the street’s flat stone.

I rush back through. I use my spear blade to slice at the vines. Spingate joins me, chopping away with Farrar’s sharp shovel. Blue juice splatters and sprays. The smell of mint is everywhere. We cut, we kick, clearing space.

A new sound—a horrid whine.