Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 92996 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 465(@200wpm)___ 372(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92996 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 465(@200wpm)___ 372(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
Quickly, I got the amalgam out of my pocket, pulled the stopper, dumped it into my lifted hand, and blew hard. “Protect us all from harm.”
My intention was clear, us meaning me and Lorne, the kids, the priest, and the stag. I saw the spell fly through the air and surround the creatures. Their screams were loud, but they didn’t slow, advancing fast.
“Come to me,” I pleaded with the stag, who lifted his head and took a few steps forward, just as a horn blared and a semi-truck struck both monsters, obliterating them in a splash and crunch of blood and bone.
Lorne yelled, so did I, as the eighteen-wheeler sailed by us, fishtailed for a moment, nearly going off the road, but then straightened out, the hydraulic brakes squealing loudly as they tried to bring the massive machine to a stop. It took a good quarter mile, but the truck finally came to a standstill on the shoulder of the highway.
It happened so fast, like being jolted out of a dream, going from sleep to waking with a gasp. The only part that was not a surprise was that the stag was gone. I stared at Lorne, stunned into silence.
“I don’t under— Get in the car,” he barked at me.
Once we were both in and he’d secured his rifle, he made a quick U-turn and drove us down the road to where the trucker had pulled off. His hazards were on, bright in the darkness, bouncing off the wet pavement.
I couldn’t wrap my brain around the fact that we were on interstate 90 west outside of Westfield. That was how far we’d driven. There was no one else around but us and the truck, which made sense, as it was a bit past ten.
Lorne pulled in front of the truck, and we both got out.
“What the hell?” Lorne muttered as we closed in, because what we both had expected to see and what was there were two different things.
There should have been blood, pieces of flesh, anything, but instead, the front of the truck was coated in mud. Thick mud that would need to be hosed off, but still, beyond some branches and debris, there was nothing else.
“Is that the spell?” Lorne asked. “Did it change them?”
“It must have,” I murmured, my voice barely working.
“Evening, Officer,” the trucker greeted Lorne, smiling sheepishly. “Did I scare you all back there? I think there might be some debris on the road that basically exploded when I hit it.” He glanced at the police vehicle. “Doesn’t look like I splattered you.”
“No, we’re fine,” Lorne assured him.
He nodded but didn’t move. “I have flares. I’ll put some out if you need me to stay.”
“Oh, no need.” Lorne had recovered so much faster than I did, as evidenced by his ability to form words. “You hit a big pile of mud, nothing else.”
“I was scared for a second, thought I hit an animal.”
“Why’s that?”
“I don’t—I could have sworn I saw a deer, but thankfully not,” he rushed out. “I got them deer whistles on my rig just in case. Supposed to work, and knock on wood, I ain’t never hit one in all my years.”
“Hitting one would be dangerous,” Lorne told him.
“Yessir, but more importantly, I don’t wanna kill one of God’s creatures if I can help it. That would be a shame.”
“Yes, it would,” I agreed, finally finding my voice, smiling at him.
“Can you drive with all the mud on your windshield?” Lorne asked, drawing the man’s attention back to him.
“Oh yeah. The rain’ll clear a lot of it, but I’ll stop in a couple of hours and wash it off.”
“Okay, then,” Lorne said with a nod. “Thank you for stopping and checking. I’ll call the state police, and they’ll get people out here to take care of whatever’s left on the road.”
“Thank you, Officer.” He studied Lorne a moment, glanced at me, then returned to his truck and climbed into the cab. He started up the rig, eased around us, gave a quick blast of the horn, then drove off.
Once we could see his lights in the distance, I realized how quiet it was.
“We should get back to Osprey and drop off Father Dennis and the kids,” I told him.
“Well, yeah, but what the fuck, Xander?”
It was strange to be standing there, out in the open, on the side of the highway, getting damp in the drizzling rain, while having an existential crisis.
“The hell was all that?” he yelled, and it was loud.
We were both quiet a moment after his outburst.
“Feel better?” I asked once I saw him visibly calm.
“Yeah, sort of,” he grumbled. “But what even were those things?”
“I have no idea.”
He looked around, then said, “I think your potion turned them into mud at the perfect time.”
I couldn’t argue with that.
“If it hadn’t,” he said, pointing down the road, “that poor trucker would have been a basket case, seeing all the blood and everything else.”