Taken With A Grain Of Salt (Salt Series Book 2) Read online

  Will he? Chidi risked a peek.

  The Leper she once feared but fought anyway looked a lone sentinel, all that stood between those inside and Henry. Wotjek deftly tied his hair back, arched his back like a cat might stretch, then settled in a battle stance.

  Henry stopped near the wrecked gas station island. Propped his foot on the fallen pump. He seemed unfazed to Chidi’s mind. Why should he be? They both wear the same Leper coat.

  The two men appeared of a similar age and size. When it came to blows, Chidi guessed the outcome relied on which Selkie had the most fight in them. She knew which that would be, despite Zymon Gorski’s continued faith in his guardian.

  “I only want ze girl!” Henry shouted. “Give ‘er over and I weel let you leeve.”

  Wotjek did not reply. He did, however, glance over his shoulder at the gas mart.

  Move, Chidi. You have to move! Her conscience hustled her along. Wotjek might die for Zymon Gorski, but she harbored little doubt he held the same regard for her life.

  “Allambee,” she whispered. “We have to go.”

  “Where?”

  Chidi scanned the area. The mart had only three short aisles. She looked across the way.

  Zymon hunched low between the counter and bathroom. A short hall continued past him.

  Didn’t he go back there to turn off the security camera?

  “Will you give ‘er over?”

  Chidi heard Henry ask as she scurried down the aisle of chips and corn nuts toward the western wall. She headed for the furthest row south, where the corners met, to the wall lined with coolers and soft drinks.

  “Or must I keel you first?”

  Squatting, Chidi now clearly saw up the row to where Zymon had earlier disappeared.

  The path ended in a wall.

  No. Chidi sunk to the floor.

  “What is it?” Allambee asked.

  Chidi heard scuffling outside and skulked up the row to look out. She watched Henry snarl, swipe at his calmer opponent.

  Wotjek turned in her direction. His left cheek bared open, oozing red. He evaded a second attack. Caught Henry’s wrist and turned it back.

  Henry’s reef blade clattered to the ground.

  Chidi’s spirit soared. Kill him, Wotjek! Do it!

  She watched Wotjek force his opponent to a knee, then head-butt Henry in an attempt to finish him. The blow enlivened Henry. With a feral scream, he lunged at Wotjek. Bit the other man’s cheek.

  Wotjek cried out, losing his hold as he flailed at Henry’s face.

  No! Chidi thought as Henry palmed Wotjek’s face with one hand and wrenched his head back. Get away. Move, Wotjek.

  Henry pushed his opponent against an ice cooler, pinning him.

  Go, Chidi!

  “No!” Zymon called out. “Not my Wotjek.”

  Chidi shook her head, knowing the end had come. With no way out but the front door, it would only be a matter of time. Soon enough, Henry would finish the one Selkie capable of protecting them. Chidi knew even she and Zymon fighting alongside one another would not stop Henry’s rage. A dark desire lived inside him, one gifting strengths no sane folk could fathom.

  “Yes!” Zymon said. “Fight, my friend. Fight.”

  Chidi glanced up. Wotjek had fended Henry back. The two wrestled for control over the other, each hurling punches at the other.

  “Chidi…” Allambee tapped her. Pointed at the cooler door she leaned against. “What is back there?”

  Chidi pushed off the glass and peered inside.

  Gallons of milk lined the racks of the cooler behind her. The next held icy chips with stacked quarts and pints of ice cream. Behind it all, Chidi saw empty space between the end of the racks and a wall lined with painted milk crates stacked atop one another.

  Chidi flung the door open. Yanked the milk off the racks, not caring that several burst open when they landed on the floor and soaked her suit. Her fingers clawed between the wire slats as she attempted to free them and create a space to crawl through.

  The racks held strong, screwed in tight to support the weight of the items they once carried.

  Chidi fell to her butt and kicked at the middle rack, imagining Henry’s face when each struck home. She didn’t stop until the rack clattered off the concrete floor on the opposite side.

  “Wh-what are you doing?” Zymon asked.

  Chidi ignored him. “Go, Allambee.” She pushed him toward the vacant space. “Crawl through!”

  Allambee went headfirst, ducking low to not strike his head on the rack still wired above.

  Chidi glanced outside. Both Lepers had bloodied the other, but Henry stood tall with more fight left to give. He won’t stop until Wotjek’s dead. She knew. The hunger for violence had its hooks in him now. It would not relinquish its claim until it supped on death.

  Chidi felt her cheeks wince as Henry again lashed out at Wotjek, his fist connecting. Her body recalled what his blows felt like. Chidi looked way and found Zymon hunched, tears streaming down his cheeks.

  “Come on!” she hissed.

  Her voice seemed to call him back to reality. Zymon blinked, and she witnessed him make the decision to abandon his companion, the will to live overtaking any ties to the fallen Selkie outside.

  Zymon hesitated only a moment, a glance to see if Henry might see. Then he crawled across the aisle to join Chidi.

  Chidi scurried over the racks. Her Silkie suit kept her body warm while the cooler’s cold nipped at her ears and nose. Chidi snorted the chill from her nostrils, pushing herself onward. She noticed Allambee had remained near to help her through the opposite side. Chidi found it more a hindrance.

  “Look out,” she said. “Move. Find an exit!”

  Allambee scampered away as Chidi squirmed through the tight fit. She put her hands on the ground, felt the slickness of spilt milk across concrete. Her hands slipping, she used them like feet to walk her upper body out of the cooler. She tipped out the other side, pulled her legs through, and rolled away to allow Zymon a means of escape.

  Chidi hustled to stand. She surveyed the dim area; nothing but a small hand-truck and the boxes and old plastic crates she had already seen.

  Allambee grunted near the wall.

  A door! Chidi’s spirits rose for a split second, then crumbled. Why can’t he get it open?

  She hurried to his side. Pushed her weight against a door that refused to budge.

  Allambee sighed. Shook his head.

  “No…” Chidi said.

  “What is it?” Zymon asked, his head and shoulder already sticking out of the cooler wall. “Is there a door?”

  “Yes,” said Allambee. “It will not open.”

  “No…” Chidi said, hitting the door with her shoulder. “No!”

  She rammed it again. Heard the loose chains that locked it rattling on the opposite side.

  “No!”

  “Help her, boy!” Zymon said as he pulled his legs through the cooler.

  Allambee seemed to understand. He hit the door with Chidi on the next turn.

  Again, the chains rattled, and again the door held firm.

  Chidi grit her teeth. Open!

  “Chidi…” Allambee’s voice quivered.

  She looked through the open cooler door.

  Wotjek lay on the ground with Henry on his chest, pounding away at the Selkie foolish enough to face him.

  “It’s locked?” Zymon asked.

  “Yes,” said Chidi. “Help us.”

  She made to ram the door again.

  “No,” said Zymon. “We do not have enough force. Not enough weight as we are now…”

  “What do you mean as we are—”

  His meaning clicked in Chidi’s mind. She looked down at the slippery floor.

  “Wet and slick,” said Zymon. “Almost like ice, yes?”

  Chidi donned her crème-colored hood, the one patterned with what resembled flowing white sashes encircling her extremities. She pictured her Salted form—a Ribbon Seal—and ordered the
changes sweep across her body.

  She felt her upper and lower body bulge like a water balloon filled almost to its bursting point. The growth overtook her thighs and shins. Her ankles went lax, her toes extending into long flippers. Whiskers sprouted from her cheeks and she felt her face morph into a dog-like muzzle. Her ears sucked into her head, leaving two holes the size of quarters. Though currently blind, Chidi knew her eyes changed from their normal brownish hue to the seal’s charcoal black.

  Chidi opened her eyes, the transformation complete.

  The floor felt not so slippery now. It welcomed her. Begged her seal brain to slide and play as nature always intended the animal to do.

  “Yes!” Zymon said.

  Chidi used her left flipper to pull her along the surface. Felt her body glide over the thin layer of milk. She felt human hands across her back. She flinched at the touch.

  “Calm yourself,” said Zymon as he positioned her at the back of the cooler. “Now, push off this to strike the door. Hurry!”

  The seal brain didn’t understand what its human counterpart meant to do. Chidi leveraged her weight down on her flippers, then pushed off. She careened across the floor toward the door. She tucked her head at the last. Slammed into the one thing barring her escape.

  She felt the door rattle along with her brain. Smelled clean air for a moment.

  The door shut again.

  Chidi shook off her dizziness.

  The blow had weakened the old chains enough for Allambee to open the door a few inches. His shoulder prevented his escape and he pulled himself back inside.

  “Almost!” Zymon said. “Please, hurry!”

  Chidi made for the cooler and another attempt. She positioned herself faster this time, barely allowing her weight to settle before pushing off.

  Again she hit the door, jostled it a few inches further.

  She watched Allambee fit his head almost all the way through. He came back inside grinning. “Once more!”

  Chidi nodded her seal head. She wriggled back, settled in for one final try. Please work. Please…

  She pushed off with all the strength her hind flippers had left. Again she tucked her head.

  The door budged easily. The scent of air remained and Chidi knew she had accomplished her task. She watched Allambee squeeze through the opening.

  Yes!

  Glass crashed behind her.

  Chidi whipped around and saw the noise had come from Henry throwing Wotjek’s body through the gas mart doors. He stood in the shattered remains, his face wild and red. He didn’t seem to have caught sight of them yet.

  Chidi felt a breeze as Zymon scurried past her. Wait! She directed her thoughts toward him.

  Then she remembered having thrown her earrings away. Carelessly tossed aside her only means of communication with others. All because Zymon had told her and Racer doing so truly freed them of their former yokes.

  No!

  Zymon grunted, half outside already. His lower, pudgy half all that kept him from escaping the stockroom.

  No! Chidi lunged and bit at him. You have to free me!

  Zymon squeezed through. He turned back, reached for the seal’s mouth to free Chidi from her Salt form. “Come, let me—”

  “Chidi!”

  Zymon stopped short. His eyes drifted past her, back to the mart from whence the voice came.

  “I weel ‘ave you, Chidi.” Henry yelled.

  Chidi barked at Zymon to call his attention. Help me!

  Zymon looked at her, his face awash with terror. “I-I’m sorry…”

  Then he vanished.

  KELLEN

  The steel floor pulsed beneath Kellen.

  Driving. Kellen rightly surmised of the iron beast he found himself in. But to where?

  God only knew.

  Kellen certainly didn’t. His throat felt raw from the obscenities and threats he had shouted after Oscar Collins shoved him inside the bus hold. Kellen had given up screaming threats for his release long ago. Or was it only a short while past?

  How long I have been in here now? Twenty minutes? An hour? Maybe two?

  Kellen couldn’t speak to that either. The absolute dark made it hard to tell much of anything aside from the bus’s movement and the stench. Worse than the musty locker rooms at his high school, he swore Oscar kept a dead thing in this hold before him.

  At least they took it out.

  He picked at the dried flecks stuck to his biceps and hair on his arms. When Oscar first pushed him inside, Kellen thought the floor coated in water to make him slide. Water left no flakes upon drying though. It also didn’t feel as sticky as what coated his extremities now. Only later, when he needed to pee, did he assume the former wetness might be urine. Perhaps the last occupant lost control of their bladder.

  Not about to pee on myself.

  Or so Kellen once told himself.

  Now, it felt like he might break that promise.

  The pulsing cage around him did nothing to help the matter. His bladder reminded him how bad he needed to go every time Kellen’s thoughts drifted to the rattling.

  Kellen distracted himself by picking at the flecks and imagined pounding Oscar Collins’s face in upon his release. I’ll bet the midget would even help me. Kellen brushed at the smaller bits that refused to pry free. The more time passed, the more curious he grew at what the dried pieces were. He risked a smell.

  Nothing. Not even a hint of odor.

  It’s blood. A voice inside him said. Someone else’s blood…

  The thought made Kellen brush harder. His skin warmed at the rubbing, palms scratched against the dryness, irritated. Someone’s blood is drying on my arm. Kellen slammed his elbow against the metal wall. “Let me out!”

  He spun. Pounded it with his fists, determined to beat through the wall.

  “I said let me out!”

  Kellen felt the skin on his knuckles break open anew.

  “You can’t keep me in here!”

  Rather than the cool of metal, now his fists found the wall slick-coated.

  My blood. Some part of his conscience said. Is this what happened to the last person in here?

  The thought took away the pain in his knuckles. Kellen struck the wall with more than hatred. “Open the door! I need out of here!”

  Fear drove him to strike harder, again and again.

  Exhaustion made him quit.

  Kellen slumped away. Lay on his back. He felt his fists ooze stickiness down the back of his hands and into his palms.

  “Aaaah.” The groan came from the back corner of the hold.

  Kellen sat up. The first thing he had done after seeing the door slammed shut was to explore the cell. Inch-by-inch, he had palmed around the rectangular hold until he stumbled over the body in the back.

  He thought the man dead initially. Perhaps from where the stench originated. Years of lifeguarding made him test the man’s pulse. He found it weak, but there. Kellen had wasted no time in searching the man’s pockets for any weapon or tool he might use to pry open the door. He found nothing.

  “Oh, my head,” the man said with a Southern drawl.

  Kellen said nothing. He listened to the iron shackles clatter as the man moved. Perhaps sitting up.

  “No,” the man said, his fetters clanking louder. “No! No!”

  Kellen heard the man pound his shackles against the floor. Shout obscenities in a voice that made Kellen realize how pitiful his own claims must have sounded not a few minutes ago.

  “Is anyone out there?” the man asked. “Anyone in here? I can’t see nuthin’!”

  Do I let him know he’s not alone?

  “Caspar! Either of you in here?”

  Caspar. Kellen remembered the name. The deputy marshal who freed him of his cell at the Lavere County Jail had been named Caspar. The same marshal who held a gun to Kellen’s head and kicked him into the battle between men and seals. Now that man was dead. All Kellen’s fault too, according to the girl, Marisa Bourgeois, who had been Caspar’
s captive.

  What will this guy do if he finds out his friend died because of me?

  “I won’t go down without a fight!” the man shouted. “You hear me, you sorry Selkie slavers! You’ll not take me like you did my wife!”

  Slavers? Kellen’s mind raced.

  “Ah, my head.”

  Kellen pictured the stranger rubbing his temples, based on the clamor of shackles.

  “Not like my wife…not like Susie…” the man whispered, his voice breaking. “Oh, Susie…”

  Kellen heard the shackles strike metal again. Unlike before, the fetters sounded closer now. He heard scratching and the clatter of jostling cuffs.

  He’s moving!

  Kellen scooched away from the wall. The metal paneling rebounded as he moved.

  “Who’s there?” the man asked, his tone firm. Demanding.

  Don’t say—

  “Speak up.”

  Kellen heard his cellmate moving, drawing closer.

  “From the echo in here,” said the man. “It don’t sound like you have far to go. Can’t avoid me for long.”

  Kellen remained still and quiet.

  “You don’t say nuthin’, the more I think you and I aren’t gonna be friends, partner. Speak up. Won’t give you another chance if’n you make me find you in all this dark. I’ll throttle you first and find out who you were after.”

  Kellen didn’t doubt the man’s sincerity. He did wonder whether he would win the fight if it came to such matters. He’d been in his fair share of fistfights over the years. One couldn’t talk smack and not expect an opponent to step up every now and again. This matter seemed different. Kellen had always been able to pick and choose his fights before. At least against those close to his age. The fights with his father were another matter altogether. Kellen never knew when Martin Winstel would stumble in to wake him, eager for a bout.

  No son of mine would back down from a fight. Kellen could almost hear his father’s slurs. You really my boy, or you just some bastard son of that whore that left me?

  Kellen felt the familiar anger he had learned to store away. Let the blood on his knuckles feed it. I’m not shackled like he is. I can move faster.

  The ceiling warned against it, refusing to let him stand hunched over, let alone mount an effective attack against an unknown adversary.