Dylan

I’m a hefty guy, and PE was easily my worst class. Last year, I had to run a mile in under ten minutes to pass. By the end, I thought I was going to die. That had been on a flat, bouncy running track. Not a hiking trail with hills and rocks.

Not to mention the death from above.

Clarissa easily outpaced me. She turned back, an anguished look on her face.

I motioned her on. "Go!"

What was the saying? You didn't have to outrun a hungry bear. You just needed to outrun your buddy? Well, a griffin in flight could outpace us both.

Their excited shrieks filled the warm, mid-afternoon air. I didn't know if they were riled up because of the gunshots, or if we had been spotted.

I had known something bad was on the horizon. That was the reason I’d left the house last night to try a vision quest. But no way did I think it would happen the next day.

Now, the griffins were on the hunt.

You can't see us, I thought, putting all my concentration into it, just like when they’d been after me and Merlot. I didn’t know if I was crazy, but I had to try something. You can’t see us. We’re not here. You can't...

My thoughts became a rhythm to go along with my running feet. I was so focused that, if not for the flash of a yellow beak as it caught the sun, I wouldn’t have spotted the griffin in time.

Dappled black and mud–brown, its plumage blended perfectly with the shadowed tree that it perched on.

Clarissa, who was further down the trail, was nearly under it.

"Clarissa! Stop!" I shouted.

She skidded to a halt. Twisting, she looked right, left, and up. But I could tell she didn’t see it.

“There! Above you!” I yelled.

The griffin spread its wings, breaking the illusion of camouflage. Clarissa took a step back, raising the pistol. One foot caught on a fallen branch and she fell backward to her butt. She raised the pistol again, but it didn't go off. I didn't know if it was jammed, or if the safety was on and she was too panicked to think clearly.

I ran faster, but was still yards away. Helpless to watch as the griffin shifted to drop down on her.

"No!" I yelled. "You can't!" I reached out as if I could stop it.

It felt like I'd thrown something. Something that rebounded right back on to me, evil, sick, and wrong. I staggered, sharp pain flashing through my head that made me see stars.

The griffin hesitated over Clarissa, focus shifting to me. The ring of feathers around its neck mantled like a lion's mane.

Clarissa, scrambling, grabbed onto a railroad tie bordering the side of the path. The parks department re-purposed them to shore up walking trails from erosion. It was basically a mini-log, pounded into the earth. She lifted it, clods of dirt falling away. Swinging, she smacked the griffin so hard it fell to the side.

The griffin was as big as a horse, and she’d used a railroad tie easily half her weight. She’d done it with one hand.

Screaming, Clarissa leaped up and brought the tie down on the griffins head in a death blow.

Reaching her at last, I grabbed her arm and hauled her back. And in that moment I felt, again, the imbalance. It emanated from her shoulder like the representations of black holes I’d seen in science class.

The railroad tie fell from her hand and landed with a thud I felt through the ground. Her eyes were wild. I thought she was going to attack me next.

It wouldn’t be the first time.

Then, she blinked. “Dylan?” She looked at the tie by her feet and stepped back. “Oh, my God. How—?”

“Same way you tossed me across the basement,” I said. “Where’s the pistol?”

“I dropped it. A bullet wasn’t in the chamber. I should have checked,” she babbled. “Why didn’t I check? Oh man, did I really just do that?”

I barely heard her over the shrieking pain in my head. Whatever I had tried to do to stall the griffin had been a bad idea.

The pistol was a couple feet away. I scooped it up and turned to her. “We need to get out of here.”

Visibly pulling herself together, she nodded. “Yeah, no time. Got it.”

We both fell into a jog back down the path. This time, Clarissa kept closer to my side.

I turned back in time to see a silver griffin—the same silver griffin that had fed his nesting mate—swoop down on the dead camouflaged one. Had it been watching us the entire time?

We kept going, though it was more of a fast walk. My head pounded and Clarissa limped along.

"What's wrong?" I asked, puffing.

"I think I twisted my knee. It’s not a big deal." But she winced at every jarring step.

To my surprise, we were nearly to the end of the dirt path. I could tell because it turned to gravel as it reached the subdivision. It had taken us half the night to travel this far at night. Less than twenty minutes during the day.

As we recrossed the fire break, another gunshot sounded in the air.

Clarissa pulled up short and ducked behind a thick stand of bushes.

"What?" I puffed.

Clarissa shook her head. "That last stretch is open space."

She was right. The end of the trail was well kept, and ran between two large houses. A few lots away was the winding driveway to my house. There were a few ornamental trees along each side of the road; short and hearty things meant for Alpine weather. They would provide almost no cover at all.

And worse, much worse, were the two griffins sitting perched on the top of each roof of the two nearest houses. They looked like gargoyles up there. Their attention was turned away from us for now, but that wouldn’t last. As soon as they saw us, they’d attack.

Clarissa pointed to one of the nearby garages not far from the end of the trail. "See that Mini-Cooper in the driveway? Do you think there are keys inside?"

I shook my head. "Doubt it. Plus, the griffins will go for the car the moment it moves." I would never forget what happened to those kids on the mountainside, or being inside the Hummer while they tried to crawl in.

"I'd rather have steel and glass between us and them," she said.

“They can still break in. Trust me.” I looked back the way we had come. I couldn't see the silver griffin. It hadn't bothered to follow us because it was busy eating already dead prey. I’d known they were cannibalistic before, but it was like they preferred to eat each other.

Even after everything I’d been through, a part of me rebelled at the idea forming in my head. There was a difference between self-defense and murder, and I was about to toe that line.

I turned to Clarissa. "Where’s that extra box of bullets?"

She paled. "I left it back in the pioneer cabin."

Crap. Well, no help for it. I looked at the pistol. I think this was the type that held eight bullets in the magazine. Should be plenty.

She watched me carefully. "Have you shot before?"

"On a range." My father thought it would make a man out of me to shoot at paper cut-outs. I was no marksman, but griffins were a big target. And I would only have to wound one.

Luckily, the two perched griffins were faced away from us. One was a dark red, maroon color. Not too far off from the shade of Clarissa's feathers. The other was a nondescript gray.

Blood would show up better against that one.

I took careful aim, standing with one arm supporting the other. My head pounded. Dehydration, exhaustion, or weird magic-kickback, I wasn't sure. But if I wanted to shoot straight I had to ignore it. Breathing out, I forced the pain aside.

The gray griffin lowered its head to nibble at its razor-sharp talons.

I pulled the trigger.

I wasn't sure where the griffin was hit, only that it reared up with a sharp cry of pain. The maroon griffin turned toward it, wings opening.

Clarissa and I didn't wait to see what happened next. We jogged/limped past the houses. Behind us, I heard a squeal from the gray griffin. The maroon had taken the bait.

What did it say about me that I felt a pang of grief?

Sorry, I thought, knowing the griffin—or the person it had been—would never know, or care how I felt. But it was you or me, and... I’m sorry.

* * *

We kept under the cover of trees as best we could. Once we reached the driveway to my house, the hedges helped hide us a little more.

“If I live long enough and get a home of my own,” Clarissa puffed as we staggered up the incline driveway. “It’s going to be at the bottom of a hill. Not the top. So help me, God.”

Despite everything, I grinned.

Then my house came into view. Clarissa and I stopped in shock. There was no doubt in my mind: We had only managed to get as far as we had because the other local griffins were distracted.

Dozens of griffins in a rainbow of colors surrounded the house. At least seven perched on the roof alone, another few on the garage. The ones that couldn’t fight their way down to a landing spot wheeled, dived, and shrieked at each other.

As I stood, frozen, another gunshot boomed out from within the house. There was someone still alive in there.

Clarissa grabbed my hand. This time, I didn’t feel that black-hole imbalance.

“C’mon!”

My legs screamed at me as I forced myself back into a jog. Breathing hard, it was all I could manage. Clarissa, with her twisted knee, was doing no better.

I stumbled on an uneven rut in the driveway. It only took a second to catch myself, but I’d been noticed. Above, a black and white griffin, patterned like a magpie, cried out excitedly and dove.

Clarissa grabbed the pistol from me and fired. The black and white banked away. I wasn't sure if they understood the concept of bullets, or if the loud bang had startled it just in time. Maybe her aim was just bad.

Others echoed the call and launched themselves from the crowns of cedar trees to join the chase. We had seconds.

Fear gave me new strength. Clarissa, too. We dashed over the last rise of the incline driveway and to the front door.

Locked.

I pounded a fist against it. "Let us in! Terry! Merlot! Anyone!"

Clarissa screamed. I turned.

The black-and-white landed about twenty feet away. It charged at us, beak open to display a raspy tongue.

The door opened behind us. I fell in, pulling Clarissa along, and scrambled back.

"Shut the door! Shut the door!" we yelled.

Ben slammed it shut and fumbled at the bolt. No sooner had the latch turned than an impact shook the door as the griffin crashed against the other side. The heavy wood door jumped within its frame, but held.

Ben stepped away, then turned.

"Clarissa!" He fell onto his sister, who was still on the floor beside me. "I thought you were dead!"

Clarissa struggled to get up. For one moment we were a tangle of awkward, flailing limbs.

I managed to stagger to my feet, and a bolt of pain shot straight through to the back of my head. I leaned against the wall for balance.

Another gunshot boomed through the house. This close, it was shockingly loud—almost louder than the renewed shrieking from outside.

The wooden oak front door rattled again with a cracking sound of splintering wood. The black and white griffin knew we were in here and it wasn't giving up.

Clarissa and I looked at each other.

"Get away from the door," she said.

"Yep."

Clarissa grabbed Ben. Together, we hurried out of the entranceway, through the short hall, and into the formal living room.

"Ben, what's going on?” Clarissa asked.

“It’s Terry! They were on the porch,” Ben said, with little kid logic, “And he said it was us or them. And I didn’t know where you were!”

“Clarissa?” Terry called, probably overhearing. “Is that you?”

He stood in the middle of the formal living room, a long rifle in hand. He turned as we came in. "Where the heck were you two?”

“We left a note," Clarissa said and pointed a finger to the kitchen counter. "It’s right there."

I’m glad she spoke first, because I’d been at a complete loss for words. The place where the sliding glass door that used to go out to the porch was gone. Broken by gunshot. Glass littered the thick carpet. Beyond that were the bodies of at least five griffins. There still forms contorted, and their blood splattered over the stained deck.

No wonder the griffins were gathering. All that dead, available meat just for the taking.

"What's going on?" I somehow kept my voice level. “Why are you shooting?"

An ugly expression crossed my cousin’s face. "You were gone," he said to Clarissa, ignoring me completely. "And then those things started roosting on our porch. I thought they’d killed you two. What else was I supposed to do?"

“Nothing,” I said. “They didn’t know you were in here.” But they did now.

Finally, Terry looked at me. “This is our territory. I'm teaching them a lesson: You come here, and you die."

“Yeah, I'm sure they’re really impressed," Lilly said. She stood off to the side, and there were streaks down her cheeks. If I didn't know better, I would've thought she was crying. But not Lilly.

Terry ignored her. “You left with him. What was I supposed to think? I had to take care of the kids somehow.”

I stared. Was he... jealous? Of me?

“Terry, it’s not like that,” I said.

I wish it was.

Another thud came from the direction of the front door, hard enough to rattle the house. The black and white griffin was still on the hunt.

"What's that?” Merlot asked, whirling in that direction. As usual, Jane watched us from the safety of her arms.

Terry turned to us both. "You led them right to the front door, didn't you? What were you thinking?”

"What were we thinking? Clarissa's voice raised to a shriek. "You just set out a buffet for those monsters.”

"Good! I'll shoot them, too!" Terry said. “They’re animals, every single one of them. And they need to know our house is off limits."

This was all falling apart. "Terry, stop. Think,” I said. “They were just sunning outside. They didn't even know we were in here!"

"Well you've changed that, haven't you? I was showing them that if they landed here, they died. You—" He broke off at the sound of splintering wood. The black and white griffin must have given up on the front door. It came crawling up the back porch, instead.

All of us stepped back, except Terry. He calmly raised the rifle. "They eat their own. Isn't that right, Lilly?"

For once, Lilly had nothing to say. Her eyes were wide, her lips white around the edges. Scared. Brash, cold, Lilly was actually frightened.

The black and white pounced on one of the mangled bodies. Hooking its talons into a brown griffin, it started tugging it away. Not to save the other dead bird, I was sure, but to eat in peace. It had forgotten about us completely.

Terry took aim.

“Dylan, stop him!" Lilly commanded.

Terry had a least three inches over me. There was no excuse for what I did next. I reached out and grabbed for the barrel of the rifle. Stupid spot to be in. I was on the wrong end of a loaded weapon. I tried to push the barrel down as Terry strained to bring it up.

“Terry, let it go,” I said, almost begged. “We can board up the window.”

“Is that what you want to do for the rest of your life? Hide and hope they don’t find you? Well, I don’t!” Terry sidestepped and shoved me hard. I lost my grip and Terry stepped past.

"Is he going to kill that griffin, too?" Ben asked, sounding hopeful.

Terry brought the rifle to his shoulder. The gunshot was thunderously loud in the house. The black and white staggered to the side. Terry fired again, and the griffin went down.

Behind us all, baby Jane wailed in fear.

"Shut her up!" Lilly yelled. "They’ll hear!"

Terry snarled something and discharged the spent round out of the rifle. He reached for the box of ammo, which sat on a side table. “Like shooting fish in a barrel,” he said in satisfaction.

As he reloaded, a giant brown griffin landed on the deck. It didn’t immediately start tearing into the carcasses like the black and white had. Instead, the brown turned its head to stare with slit irises through the broken door at Terry.

It charged.

Terry fired a third time, and the last remains of the glass door shattered into a thousand pieces. But either Terry missed, or the griffin was too enraged to stop. He crashed right through, finger-length talons ripping the carpet.

Luck more than anything else saved Terry as the griffin tripped on caught talons and toppled over the couch. Terry ducked and scrambled back, inches away from being disemboweled.

"Run!" he yelled. “The basement! Go! Go!"

I turned and pelted down the hall. Over my shoulder, I saw Terry stop long enough for one more shot. I didn't see if it hit, only heard the griffin shriek.

But it had been the last crumbling rock that fell away before the dam fell away. There was a sound of shattering glass as windows broke. More griffins were coming.

Even though Terry was behind us, his longer legs carried him faster. He was on my heels as we made it to the basement door. The girls went in first, Terry and I, last. We slammed the door shut. I turned the lock on the knob, for all the good it would do.

On the other side, the griffins raged.

Baby Jane’s screams were almost as piercing as griffin cries. "Merlot, shut her up!" Lilly yelled.

"I don't—I can't—" Merlot stammered.

Lilly rushed forward and clapped her hand over the baby's mouth. Jane’s scream cut short. Probably more in shock than in fear. Merlot snatched the baby away.

"Don't touch her!"

Something slammed hard against the basement door.

"Get in the far corner," Terry said. He held the rifle halfway up, though I wasn't sure what he expected to do if they broke through. Gunfire and more blood would attract even more griffins. "Lilly's right. I don't care what you have to do, but keep the baby quiet. Dylan, don't just stand there. My baseball stuff is in the corner. Grab the bat."

As pissed as I was at Terry, his instructions at least made sense. I grabbed the bat and stood ready.

The door rattled again.

Clarissa stood a couple feet away, a pool stick in her hand. Beside her, Ben clutched a cue ball as if ready to throw it.

Whatever makes you feel better, buddy, I thought.

The living room was right over our heads. The ceiling shook and modes of dust drifted down after every hard thud. Wood snapped and more glass shattered. Then, other high griffin voices joined the fray, all attracted by the blood and chaos inside.

We can’t die like this, I thought. I reached for that strange surety I’d felt when the griffins were attacking me and Merlot’s car. The power that had hidden us.

It wasn’t there. My head pounded from the effort. I felt used up. Maybe there was a limit, or maybe it had never been there at all.

"Can they get in?" Ben whispered. “Are they going to find us?”

Clarissa shushed him.

I couldn’t hear the baby anymore. I risked a glance to the corner to see that Merlot had wrapped herself and Jane up in a big, wooly blanket. She rocked the baby back and forth.

Lilly sat nearby them both, weaponless, her face tilted up to the ceiling. Watching.

A feeling of unreality settled over me, like I was watching the whole scene on a TV screen. Maybe it was shock, but I could swear in the distance I heard... Was that the ocean?

I licked my lips and tasted salt.

Oh no, I thought. I was doing it again. I was going away.

Comforting blackness crept into the corners of my vision, tunneling the world into a tube. It took all my willpower to turn to Clarissa. I had to warn her because if the griffins broke through, I wasn't going to be there to help.

I met her green eyes, and saw her lips move. I could not hear what she said.

The bat fell from my numb fingers. I knew I was falling, but I never felt myself hit the floor.

* * *

Once again, I stood on a beach.

For the first time, I knew that this was a dream. No, a vision. My body was back in Lake Tahoe. Griffins were trying to break into the basement. Maybe they already had. What would happen to me, here? Would the world just fade away? I hope it didn’t hurt.

But whatever was happening back there was out of my control. I had wanted to induce a vision, and here I was. Now, I had work to do. I had to find my uncle.

The sea and sky were both a vivid blue, one mirror reflecting the other. I was alone on the beach, so I figured I would walk in the direction of the cave.

Only, when I reached it, the black upthrust of rock was completely covered by high tide. I stood on the wet sand and watched the waves roll in and out, at a loss of what to do. A high wave washed over the toes of my sneakers. The water felt cold and real.

I could swim out there, but the cave was underwater. It must be only visible during extremely low tides.

There was a super moon on the day of the turning, I remembered. Would that affect the tide? Yeah, of course it would.

Turning from the water, I shaded my eyes against the bright sunlight to see my uncle’s house on the bluff. Larger than the Lake Tahoe house, it was built decades ago to my grandfather’s specifications. My grandfather was the one who made the family fortune. He left the reservation, and braved racism to go to school to become an investment banker. I never met him, but my father liked him, so I figured I wouldn’t have.

I stared hard at the house. Then, in the blink of an eye, I stood in front of the red, faded front door.

“Okay... I can teleport in visions, I guess.” I turned in place, but there was no sign of anybody around. “What am I supposed to do, now?”

Wasn’t I supposed to have a... spirit guide, or something? Most of what I knew about these kinds of visions were from movies and TV. Father never believed in the spiritual, and in mom’s tribe it was taboo to speak about certain kinds of magic. Mom never talked to me about this, either. Not that I could remember, at least.

Or maybe it wasn’t a vision at all. Maybe I was just crazy.

Either way, I didn’t go into the house. I didn’t know why, but it felt wrong. Instead, I walked across the small concrete courtyard to the garage/airplane hangar.

My grandfather had been an amateur pilot, though no one else inherited his love of flying. The hanger door stood open. It felt inviting in a way that the house did not.

When I was a kid, the hangar had been stuffed full of old cars and whatever bits of junk and curiosities my uncle had thrown in and forgotten about. Half–done craft projects, broken dream-catchers and drums, and weird stuff he’d picked up traveling all through the world and learning about different cultures. I remembered a creepy broken totem with an eagle’s head on top.

All of that was gone. In its place were aisles upon aisles with shelves stuffed full of supplies. Canned food, seasoned wood, sheet metal, and sealed barrels of what I assumed were water. I walked down one row at random and picked up a foil package stamped MRE. Turning it over I read an expiration date five years in the future and an ingredients list a paragraph long.

A cold chill crawled up my spine. I wasn’t smart enough to imagine all this detail. The foil packet had weight in my hand. It felt real. Was I really here? Or was I in the Lake Tahoe house?

Setting the MRE aside, I walked through the hangar to the other side. The door stood open there, too.

Beyond, the land fell away at the edge of a bluff. My Mom stood there, her back to me as she gazed out to the ocean.

I joined her.

When my mom spoke, she sounded sad. “Everything I’ve done, I’ve done for you.”

I didn’t know how to feel. Relieved that she was speaking directly to me? Pissed off about what she had pulled in the cave? Grateful she had chosen me to save? Or scared about what was to come? I felt all of it, and more.

“I don’t know what to do," I told her.

She heaved a tired sigh. Her face was still turned away from me. “You may ask three questions, only.”

Why? I almost blurted, but held back.

My first instinct was to ask the obvious question. The thing that had been on the tip of my tongue since the turning: Why had this terrible thing happened?

The thing was, the most obvious question wasn’t the best question. I burned to know why the world had flipped on its head and gone insane, but in this moment I knew I had to think like Lilly. I had to be analytical.

“When you made me drink from the tide pool, you said it was to keep me from turning. Will that cure the others, too?” I asked.

“There are places of protection scattered throughout the world—places where magical power is strong.” My mother waved a hand to indicate the airplane hangar, the huge house, and the beach. “I’ve convinced your uncle to build this sanctuary for you, your sister, and Terry. It is not perfect, and I’m afraid I could not include everything. But here, the unbalanced ones cannot find you. Here, there is a cure for those who have not yet succumbed. Here, you will be safe.”

I was starting to think mom never answered a direct question in her life. And unbalanced ones? She’d dropped that tidbit on purpose. It was important. But I had other worries. “Big Sur is hundreds of miles away. You don’t understand what it’s like out there. I almost got eaten today. They are right outside the door—” I stopped and glanced quickly at her, hoping she hadn’t taken that as one of the three questions.

Mom just waited patiently, hands clasped in front. Her face turned away.

No, I thought, suddenly. This isn’t my mom. My mom is dead.

I didn’t know if this was a piece of what my mom had been, or if I was speaking to something else that had taken her form. All I knew was that this thing wore my mother face, but it was not her.

Coyote? I wondered. I knew the stories of the trickster. He was universal in most of the tribes. Coyote was known to take shapes of people, and receiving his help was almost always the definition of ‘be careful what you wish for’.

Then, I knew what my next question had to be. It was important, though I couldn’t put my finger on exactly why. “High-powered electronics have stopped working.” It wasn’t technically a question, but my mother nodded anyway. “My laptop, Lilly’s laptop and her phone. What does that have to do with what has happened to the world?”

She turned her face to me. Her eyes were sunken pits, black and dead around the edges.

“It is one of the fundamental truths of this universe. Natural magic and the things that sentient beings create using tricks of physics instead of their own skills, such as high-powered electronics, are not compatible. As magic seeps back into the world, these human things will cease to function and degrade. Such is the nature of balance.”

I let out a long breath. That had definitely raised more questions than it did provide answers.

As she spoke, the world began to dim around us as if the sun were a light burning out. The shadows lengthened until I couldn’t see the ocean, the edge of the bluff, or the airplane hangar. It was as if all the light had collected below my feet.

I stood knee-deep in a glowing pool—no, it was the tide pool. The same tide pool that mom had taken me to as a child. It glowed a blue so vivid it was neon.

I had one more question, and I had to make it good.

"If you were me, what would you ask, and what would be the answer?”

The thing that was not quite my mother smiled. It was the smile of an old, wise predator. “That is technically two questions, but since we are family,” the thing paused as if it knew I had figured out its secret, “I will allow it.” It tilted its head. “If I were you, I would ask when the window to enter Sanctuary closes. And if I were me, I would reply that you have until noon of June 22st.”

What day was it now? I had lost track. “And if we don’t make it?”

It only smiled. That was one question too many.

“I’m scared,” I said. The words came from my heart. “Other people have joined us. Clarissa, and Ben, and Merlot and the baby. I don’t think I can get them all here. No one ever listens to me. My father said that I was weak, and you know what? He’s right. If I tell anyone what you’ve told me, what I’ve seen here, they will think I’m crazy.”

“Perhaps.” The thing didn’t seem disturbed about that at all. “Dylan, there is a saying that no man is an island. Think of everyone you know around you. Surely, they have strengths you can call upon. People who lead, people who know how to get others to follow, people who think of things that you cannot.”

I opened my mouth, then stopped. I thought of Lilly, who was so brash and rude, but was able to distill problems to their base ingredients and then tackle them analytically. Hadn’t I just been telling myself to think like her?

Merlot, who knew how to take care of Baby Jane and did her best to cheer everybody up. With everyone strung tight as a bow, a little calmness and kindness went a long way.

Terry could be a knucklehead, but he oozed the type of confidence that made people want to follow him.

So did Clarissa, and she didn’t have to resort to charm or being older and stronger than anyone else to do it. She was brave and selfless, and people wanted to follow her.

Understanding, I nodded slowly.

The room, the world itself, started to melt around me. I was aware, distantly, of my shoulders pressing against a hard surface. The floor? My body was back in the Lake Tahoe house, waiting for me.

“No, wait—!”

The thing smiled. “I cannot tell you for sure if you will succeed. The road to Sanctuary is twisted and full of danger. But I have hope for you, Dylan.”

I heard the baby whimpering not too far away, and Merlot’s efforts to quiet her.

My answer was lost somewhere in the mist. That's when I woke up.