Out of This World Read online

  He looks at me over his shoulder and smiles. “You found me.”

  “With this,” I say and touch the side of my nose.

  “Ah.” He shrugs. “That’s okay. We’ll figure it out.”

  He hops to his feet with more agility than I’d expect for an old guy, and with way more cojones than I’d have on that precipice. But I guess if he can turn into a hawk, what does he have to worry about?

  “What makes you think I can fly?” he asks.

  I’m sure my mouth hangs open.

  He laughs. “No, I can’t read your mind. But I can read your face and your body language.”

  I close my mouth, then clear my throat. “Well,” I say, “I’ve heard that you—los tíos—the uncles from Halcón Pueblo, you’re not cousins, but they say you can still take the shape of hawks.”

  “Huh. Wouldn’t that be something? Imagine what the world looks like from up there.”

  I can’t tell if he’s being disingenuous or if it’s really not true.

  I can’t think of any reason for him to lie to me, but if he can’t turn into a bird, how does he get around as quickly as he does? It’s not like—

  “You’re making friends with that conversation in your head again,” he says.

  I smile. “And I suppose you’ve got nothing in yours.”

  He cocks his head like a bird and considers it.

  “Only what I need,” he tells me. “Come on,” he adds, heading back to the top of the gulch. “Let’s get our gear and make camp.”

  I open my mouth to ask him where these backpacks came from—because he never did answer me—then shut it again and just fall in behind him. He shoots a grin over his shoulder.

  “Now you’re learning,” he says.

  I really wish I had Josh’s weird GPS ability—this topographical map inside his head that tells him where every nearby living thing is in relation to him. My Wildling sense of smell and hearing are acute, but they can only do so much. Right now I can’t hear anything out of the ordinary approaching the playground, and if someone is creeping up on me, they’re doing so with the breeze taking their scent away from me. All I have to go on is a warning prickle at the nape of my neck.

  If I were Josh, I could pinpoint right away if someone’s not where they’re supposed to be. I might even know whether they present a danger. But I’m not Josh, and anybody wandering around at this time of the night is probably up to no good, no matter how often I tell my stepdad that it’s perfectly safe.

  I try to figure out who might be after me. Josh stopped the Riverside Kings from beating me up, but what if they’ve found out that he’s not around anymore? And what about the original animal people—the ones who were here before any of us kids in Santa Feliz started changing? Vincenzo and his pals were pissed that the Wildlings showed up on their turf and wanted to get rid of all of us. Josh killed Vincenzo, but what if one of his buddies is sneaking up on me right now, ready to get their genocide started?

  My nose and ears are on full alert. I glance around as casually as I can. If someone is stalking me, I don’t want to let on that I know. I want to establish who or what it is, so that I know how to confront them.

  Out of the corner of my eye I catch a glimpse of movement just past the far side of the park. I turn for a better look, caution forgotten, my pulse quickening, and then I have to laugh. It’s only a stray barrio dog, long-legged and skinny, soft-stepping like a coyote as it walks along the pavement.

  Talk about letting your imagination run away on you.

  Except then I see another. And a third.

  I get the little warning ping in my head that tells me they’re Wildlings—no, not Wildlings. This ping is stronger. These dogs are cousins, part of the original animal people. Now that I know what I’m looking for, I spot maybe a half-dozen of them coming from all directions. I get the sense that there are even more out of sight in the shadows.

  My laugh from a moment ago dies in my throat. It has to be Vincenzo’s crew. So this is how they’re going to take us Wildlings down. I almost have to admire the simplicity of their plan: the guise of a rogue pack of dogs suddenly attacking people, one by one. And once again, the elders will fly under the radar, with the general public none the wiser.

  I stand up and turn in a slow circle, trying to keep them all in sight—an impossible task. Again I think of Vincenzo and how incredibly strong he was. I am so screwed.

  I have nothing to defend myself with.

  I might have a chance of outrunning ordinary dogs, but these will have the same extra speed and stamina that I do.

  My head fills with should-haves as I mark their steady approach. I should have just gone home instead of mooning here in the playground. I should have called Theo to come pick me up. Really, I should have toughed it out and stayed in Ampora’s bedroom, no matter how unwelcome she made me.

  I make myself stop. None of that’s going to help me now.

  I continue to turn, trying to keep them all in sight, the seat of the swing banging against the back of my legs. I’m surprised they haven’t rushed me yet. I count at least eight or nine of them. They have the numbers. Why aren’t they attacking? They’re fast and strong. They’re—

  They don’t know what I can do, I realize. They’re holding back, taking my measure. They know Josh tore Vincenzo to ribbons. What if Vincenzo was way stronger than them? Theo said that Vincenzo handled him like he was a little kid.

  So, if Vincenzo was so powerful, but Josh—who’s just a Wildling kid—could take him out as easily as he did …

  Maybe they’re wondering what the other Wildling kids can do.

  Maybe they’re wondering what I can do.

  That’s a good question. Even I don’t know what I’m capable of. I’m faster and stronger than a normal human, but by how much? I’ve never truly tested myself. Whenever I’m in human shape, I just keep my head down and try to fit in like I’m an ordinary girl. I’ve never let loose. Not ever. Not even once.

  I bump into the seat of the swing again as I make another turn to keep an eye on the dogs. The chains going up from either side of the seat rattle from the movement. The sound makes me look up. One of those chains could make a decent weapon, and they’re only attached to the bar by a link at the top of each side.

  I’m strong enough to break those, aren’t I? And then at least I wouldn’t be empty-handed when the dogs finally get up their nerve to attack.

  I’m full of confidence. I get a fistful of chain in either hand and pull down hard.

  And nothing happens.

  The pack is still moving in closer to me. The closest of the dogs is twenty feet away.

  I give the chains another yank. Harder.

  Still nothing.

  The lead dog shifts into his human shape. He’s tall, with black hair and skin much darker than the tan brown of his fur when he was a dog. He stands barefoot in black jeans and a leather vest. There seems to be a mark on his shoulder—no, it’s a tattoo of a circle with a lightning bolt stamped across it like a no-smoking sign. His eyes flash with cruel humour, but I keep my gaze steady, trying not to show my fear.

  “Hell,” he says, shaking his head. “Why would Sandino tell us to be careful? You’re nothing like the mountain lion. You’re just a girl.”

  Then he laughs and starts to walk forward. The other dogs close in.

  I glare at him, anger washing away my fear.

  “Just a girl?” I mutter.

  I don’t know if it’s something to do with being a Wildling that enrages me so quickly, or if this is just the final straw in a long, crap-filled day. Nothing’s gone right, from my sister and the Kings, to Josh abandoning us on his dumb quest for Elzie, to all these stupid haters like Congressman Householder who just want to lock up every Wildling because we’re different. And now these so-called cousins who’d rather kill us than protect us.

  Something in me just snaps.

  I channel all my anger into a last attempt to yank down the chains and this time they break
from the bar at the top of the swings. I almost bean myself with them as they come flying down, but I jump back and they crash to the sand beside me. I grab one of the chains where it’s attached to the swing seat and break it free.

  When he sees what I’m doing, the guy with the big mouth charges. The dogs move in from all sides, growling and snarling. But I’m good and royally pissed off now.

  I swing an end of the chain at the lead guy and he catches it easily. He grins at me, so full of himself that he doesn’t twig to what I’m doing until it’s too late. With all my might and speed, I whip the other end against the side of his head. There’s a loud crack and it drops him like a dead weight, blood gushing from his temple.

  I don’t waste a second celebrating his fall. I move away from the swing set, whirling the chain above my head like it weighs nothing more than a skipping rope. The charging dogs break off their attack and beat a hasty retreat, but they don’t go far.

  “Come on!” I yell. “What are you afraid of? I’m just a girl.”

  I’m pumped with adrenalin, but not so stupid as to forget that I’ve only bought myself a moment’s respite. I might be able to get one or two more of them, but there are too many for me to ever get out of here in one piece.

  My options are so limited. I could run for Papá’s house, and I might even make it, but I don’t think anything will stop the dogs from busting in and going after my family. Except there’s nowhere closer, nowhere to hide. Unless …

  It’s a crazy idea, but what if I escape into the otherworld?

  I’ve never even tried it before, but I’ve watched Cory do it, and it’s not like he uses some kind of magic incantation. It seems to work the same way as shifting into my otter shape. You just have to will it to happen, though I doubt it’s all that easy on the first attempt. You probably have to concentrate pretty hard, the way you do when coming out of your animal shape and you want to be wearing clothes.

  The pack can follow me, of course—that snarling gang of dogs observing a safe distance from the end of my chain while keeping me penned here. But I remember Cory and Auntie Min talking about how the otherworld holds endless layers. If I can get over there in the first place, and then keep shifting from that first world deeper into the others, I’ll bet I could lose them.

  The chain’s getting heavy. I stop swinging and hold it loosely at my side. When one of the dogs gets bold and starts moving toward me, I flick the end of the chain in his direction. The dog yelps even though I missed by at least a couple of feet. As he retreats I see that he has the same tattoo on the upper part of his front leg. No, not a tattoo. It’s a brand, like in a cowboy movie where they burn the mark on the cattle.

  So whose brand is it? The first guy mentioned somebody named Sandino.

  I hear a scuff in the sand behind me and whirl the chain again in a big circle. This time the end connects with one of them and the high-pitched yelp is for real.

  Part of me is aware of the danger I’m in, and part of me is trying to figure out what these marks on the dogs mean. I tell myself to stop getting distracted. Right now, the only thing I need to concentrate on is getting over to the otherworld.

  I lower the chain and put all of my focus on what it was like to be there. What it felt like and smelled like. How clean the air was.

  But when I reach for it—nothing.

  I push and push. Still nothing.

  I hear one of the dogs sneaking up behind me again. Up goes the chain and I whirl it around, except this time it stops dead, then yanks me forward. I wasn’t expecting that. The chain flies from my hands and I stumble, turning as I go down. I land on my hands, gaze fixed on the dog who’s shifted into a man holding the chain.

  Like the first guy, he’s got this big grin on his lips. Mean eyes mocking me. I hear an echo of that dismissive comment his friend made.

  Just a girl.

  So I do the last thing he’s probably expecting. I come up off the ground and charge him.

  He doesn’t have time to use the chain. He doesn’t have time to do a damn thing before I barrel into him. He goes down with me on top and the impact knocks all the breath out of him. I hit him hard and fast, my fists drumming against his face.

  Now the rest of the pack surges forward.

  For most of us, moments of stress trigger our change into Wildlings.

  I guess it doesn’t get much more stressful than being attacked by a pack of rabid, snarling dogs. As I’m about to go down under them, I reach out for the otherworld one more time.

  One of the dogs hits me in the back and we both pitch forward, except instead of landing on the loose sand of the playground, we’re on dry rough grass and dirt. I can still hear the other dogs howling and snarling. The one on my back snaps at my neck and yanks a mouthful of hair upward, pulling my head with it.

  I don’t even bother to try to fight it off. I suck in the pure air of the otherworld and then push deeper again, away from the pack. For the moment, I’ve lost the dogs and I’m in a glade in some forest. Big trees rise up all around me and the night is gone. The sun is high in the sky and sends down shafts of light. I seem to be alone, but I can still hear that last dog growling so I push farther still.

  This time I’m standing in—snow? It’s up to my knees and a cold wind gusts, spraying snow into my face. As far as I can see, there’s an endless expanse of white.

  There’s a So-Cal world that gets this much snow?

  No, this isn’t some parallel unspoiled version of Santa Feliz anymore.

  I remember somebody—Cory, maybe, or Auntie Min— saying that the deeper worlds get stranger and stranger, the farther you go. I’ve hardly gone anywhere and it’s already too bizarre for me. And cold. And I can still hear that howling dog.

  I push again, and again. Landscapes flicker around me. Jungle, desert, arctic tundra, a mountaintop. Once I appear in the middle of a town square straight out of some medieval movie, startling the people around me. I push on quickly before somebody grabs me.

  I know I’m panicking, but I can’t seem to stop the unreasonable fear from pushing me on and on. I haven’t heard the dogs for a while. The worlds continue to flicker by. I’ve got a sharp pain in my temples now and I’m getting more and more nauseous.

  Finally I manage to stop pushing. I collapse on what feels like broken asphalt. I curl up, holding my head, and try not to throw up. I know if I start, I’ll never stop.

  I don’t know how long I lie there before I finally feel like I can move without being sick. The pain in my temples has receded to a dull ache. I listen hard, but I don’t hear the dogs. I lost them a long time ago.

  I sit up and look around. I’m in the middle of what was a street, in what once was a city. But something flattened most of it and the forest has grown back over the rubble. Parts of buildings covered with vines and moss are still standing. There are remnants of streets like the one I’m on, but trees and other vegetation have pushed up through the pavement, and you can only see the shape of the road by the rubble of the buildings on either side. Judging by the size of some trees, whatever happened here happened a long time ago.

  It’s when I stand up to get a better look at my surroundings that the quiet hits me. It’s not just the lack of traffic. I can’t hear the ocean anymore, either, and that’s just creepy. I’ve never been away from the coast before. Distant or close, the sound of the waves is always somewhere nearby.

  But not here. Wherever here is.

  My stomach’s settled down, but the headache hasn’t gone yet and I’m weak as a kitten. I massage my temples. I need to rest up a bit before I can start to make my way back. Until then, I’m not moving from this spot. I can’t see the door, or portal, or whatever it is that will take me home, but I do know that there’s a way back close at hand. If I start wandering and try to shift back, who knows where I’ll end up?

  I’m pretty sure that’s not exactly the way it works—I’ve seen Cory cross over at whatever random spot he happens to be—but I’m not taking any chances.r />
  Except then I hear voices.

  My pulse quickens. I lift my head to read the wind, but it betrays me, sending my scent in the direction of the sound and giving me nothing in return.

  Friends or foes?

  More of the dog men or possible allies?

  Weak as I am, I can’t face the dog men right now.

  So … risk outweighs hope.

  I take a loose rock and scratch a mark on the pavement, then head to the closest side of the road, where I take shelter in the rubble of a building.

  We leave the desert world behind. From one step to the next, the red dirt underfoot turns dark and we follow a trail through a thick forest, its canopy so dense that it feels like twilight down here.

  As we walk I catch a glimpse of something moving off to our left. My nose tells me it’s a deer a moment before I catch a glimpse of its disappearing flanks, white tail bobbing. The mountain lion’s hunting instinct wants me to chase after it and grumbles when I stay on the trail with Tío Goyo.

  He shoots me a questioning glance, which I ignore.

  I haven’t particularly noticed the land rising underfoot, but a moment later the trail takes us out of the forest to the top of a broad plateau. There’s still vegetation here—tall fir trees, some kind of browning grass, along with lots of big rocks, some flat and the size of a city lot, others rounded.

  “This is as good a place as any to camp for the night,” Tío Goyo says.

  When he drops his backpack under one of the towering fir trees, I do the same.

  “You’re sure about this time thing, right?” I say. “I don’t want Elzie to get hurt while I’m off camping in the woods with you.”

  “I’m sure. But consider this: until we fix the map in your head, you won’t be able to find her anyway.”

  I don’t want to think about that.

  I watch as he starts to scoop together pine needles. When I realize he’s making himself a mattress, I copy what he’s doing, rolling out a blanket on top of the makeshift bed just the way he does. Then we gather wood and he makes a small fire on a flat slab of stone that abuts the nearest of the big rounded rocks. He pulls a frying pan out of his pack and I expect him to make some kind of meal, except he just takes out a couple of foil-wrapped burritos and heats them up. I want to ask where they came from, but decide to live in the moment, letting the delicious flavours explode in my mouth.