Chapter Four

Raindrops flew in from the hole in the roof, pooled on the lobby's floor, and then sneaked through the kitchen door's gap. Puddles were forming near the door. Luckily, Rachel was wrapped in blankets on the opposite side of the room as Layla stroked her hair.

"Ambulances will be here in ten minutes," Henry crouched next to Layla. Shallow breaths from Rachel were the only indication she was alive.

"Ten minutes?" Layla's voice broke as her fingers stilled above her friend's soft strands of hair. "Why..."

The words seemed so insignificant.

"We're on the outskirts of the precinct, surrounded by woods."

Layla nodded but didn't stop. Lip curled, she dropped her head down and sniffled. Her tangled curls fell like a curtain around her puffy eyes.

Henry bit his lip and looked around for help. Unsurprisingly, there was no one there to come to his rescue. "The paramedics will be here any time now."

"I know. I just..." Layla looked up at him with shiny eyes. "God, I don't..." A tear slipped out and she lunged toward him, wrapping him in a hug. He hugged her back with the same ferocity.

In his hold, Layla relaxed and leaned against him. Henry did the same and put his head on her shoulder. Realizations that safety was so close was like a saline drip in her veins, a cooling tingle throughout her body. She finally felt like she could breathe. With all the peace, she fought to keep her eyes open. But, she couldn't allow herself to be sedated by tiredness.

Layla tugged herself out of the embrace. "I'm going to go outside to make sure the 911 people know where we are."

Henry nodded.

"Want to come with?"

"I should stay with Rachel."

"Right," Layla had—as awful as it is to say—forgot about the girl laying on the cold tile. "I'll be back soon."

Henry took a seat and gazed at his death-like sister. "Okay."

As Layla traversed the tree branches in the lobby and the slick floor, guilt blossomed in her gut. In the embrace, she had felt happy...so, so happy. But her friend was right beside her, dying. How could she feel like that as her friend fought to cling to vitality? It was wrong, convoluted. No one deserved to be happy until Rachel was safe and sound.

Yellow street lights illuminated the flagstones around the pool. Otherwise, it was completely dark.

"Hello? My friend was the one who called 911!" Layla yelled into the murky expanse. "Hello?"

Running towards the light, she continued to repeat her mantra.

Unfortunately, she had reached the fence and the full incandescence of the street lights stayed just beyond her reach. Raindrops obscured her vision, and she took off her glasses to clean them.

Once she had slid them back on, the yellow light had coalesced into two eyes staring back at her. Connected to the eyes was an emaciated skeleton with scraps of clothing hanging off the twisted frame. A sack of arrows was slung over its shoulder, but Layla couldn't see a bow anywhere. Her blood turned cold, not with the cooling safety of before, but with the freezing certainty of death. As the creature began to raise its arms, the gales picked up and started whipping Layla's hair around.

Skidding on the slick stone, Layla dashed back to the poolhouse, tripping over her foot and tumbling inside the lobby. "Henry? Henry!"

As she was just about to burst through the kitchen door, the door opened. His eyes widened when he saw her. Layla's hands were shaking. Her wide, wild eyes darted everywhere before landing on Rachel.

Water covered most of the floor but was still creeping towards Rachel and her bundle of blankets. Nervous energy began to seep into Layla, and she couldn't let that happen.

"We got to get Rachel onto the counter," Layla moved towards her, pushing Henry to the side, as she prepared to lift Rachel's body.

"Stop, Layla! What is going on? Stop!" Henry tugged Layla's shoulder.

"The water's getting close to Rachel," Layla heaved Rachel's upper body by her underarms.

"Layla!" Henry smacked the table. Layla stilled. Fear of Henry swirled with the anxiety festering inside her. She hated this feeling—she just wanted that saline drip again. Her body ached for another hug. "Why were you yelling?"

Teardrops shined in her eyes, and she gulped. He was already staring at her like she's crazy. She knew Henry, and he wouldn't believe her if she said she said a glowing skeleton was creating the storm. He might even call 911 again and tell them to hurry up and take her to a mental hospital. "Henry, I—"

Thump!

Something just hit the window. It was an arrow, stuck in the window with spider web fractures all around the arrow tip. They both looked to the north window just as another arrow sped towards them. They instinctively ducked as glass shattered and exploded. The blinds, which had tangled with the arrow, clattered to the floor. Glass rained down like hail.

Once the room was still, Layla immediately stood up and ran to the window frame. Yellow eyes pierced through the dark.

Henry tackled Layla to the ground just as another arrow speared the wall.

"What is wrong with you?" Henry lay on top of Layla as she carefully peeled herself from the glass-ridden floor. The gashes and cuts didn't register as she heard coughing coming from Rachel. "A guy's shooting at us and you run to an open window?"

"Rachel?" Layla crawled over and knelt beside her friend.

Another cough as Rachel blinked and tried, unsuccessfully, to move. Confusion clouded Rachel's eyes as she looked straight through Layla.

"We have to go," Henry pulled Layla away from his sister.

"No! Your sister..."

An arrow embedded itself in the wall behind them.

"I know," his voice was strangled with urgency. "We need to run. She can't move. She'll be safer here."

Layla turned to look at him and saw her despair reflected in his face. "No. You do not know that."

Henry grabbed her shoulders and shook Layla as her eyes stayed trained on the barely breathing body. "Look at her!"

Tears soaked Layla's skin as water crept into her socks. Rachel had spontaneously opened her eyes. That must count for something...but then again, Henry was right. Rachel can't move on her own. She can't come with them.

"Layla?" Rachel's soft voice made Layla grab her hand desperately. "What's going on?"

"Nothing...go back to sleep." Voices screamed inside Layla's head. Betrayal! You've left her to die!

Henry got on his elbows, kind of like a push-up position. "Stay low and let's get out of here."

Layla copied him and prepared to start shimmying, but stopped and pulled at Henry's leg.

He didn't stop and had almost reached the door. "What?"

"Aren't we safer here, with shelter? The arrows have stopped."

Henry reached up for the doorknob, making the glass embedded in his skin fall out. "No. We're trapped in here. We have to get out through the windows on the south side of the bathroom and run for the street. The archer is probably just trying to get a better angle or they're trying to find a way to get to us."

Layla only heard the whistle of the arrow as it flew through the empty window and speared Henry's hand. Retracting it with a hiss, he still flung the door outward, and the duo crawled into the lobby before shutting the door.

Standing up, Layla tried to brush off the glass in her elbows. More underbrush crowded the already-cramped lobby—even more than the last time she was here. Water drenched their clothes, and tree limbs and sprigs blocked their way, encasing them in a tangle of branches. The front door was still flung open with freezing water, acting as little arrows of their own, hitting the two children. Layla tried to push the tree limbs out of their way, but all that did was make dislodged leaves and freezing water rain down on them.

"We got to squeeze through," Henry held his wrist.

Layla couldn't help but stare at the arrow protruding from his palm. "You could get through with that?"

There wasn't a scenario she could imagine where the branches didn't mangle his hand further.

"I'll just keep it tucked in my chest," he demonstrated his idea.

"What?" Maybe it was her imagination, but the rain picked up and she couldn't hear a thing except for the sounds of pool chairs being thrown and crashing against the rocks outside.

Henry shook his head and just pushed past her to a small opening in the chaparral of twigs and branches. Curling his upper body so his back and head took the brunt of the impact, he cradled his hand and barreled through the thicket.

Layla could no longer see Henry, but she did hear a muffled shout, which was probably him telling her he made it through. Seeing no other option, she made like Henry and dove into the bracken.

The opening was narrow and she had to wriggle and squirm through.

Once she had freed herself into the other side of the room, she couldn't spot Henry. She peered through the branches to see if he had gotten stuck. She tried to squat, to scan the lower branches. Her feet slipped in something sticky, and she hit the floor, losing her glasses.

Her hand groped the floor and found her glasses. They were back on her face, but her vision was still obscured by crimson fingerprints.

She looked at her hands...covered in blood. "Henry!"

Only her echo answered her.

Smeared on the floor was a red path and it only led one way. Her mind felt like shutting down and allowing her to zone out of reality. That wasn't an option right now.

Following the trail, she stood and pushed open the creaky bathroom door. What she saw belonged in a nightmare. Everything was wrong.

There, against the grimy mint tile, laid the only boy she could ever really stand.