Salamander

Chapter Fourteen: Mutants

Chapter Fourteen

I could feel the presence past the darkness of my closed eyelids. I could almost feel the breath of the individual, the weight upon its feet as it walked the perimeter of the site, looking through the gaps in the wooden fence. I grew restless, constantly snapping my eyes open to only catch a glimpse of the figure before disappearing into the forest beyond.

            “You sense it, too?”

            I looked to my left and saw the kid staring at me with knitted brows. He looked to be about my age, only frailer. Although he didn’t by any means seem like a type of kid that could lose to a fist fight, and I knew that it had to do with his unusually cold stare, colder than that of Madeline’s and all of the looks my father had given me combined. I wasn’t going to let him get on my bad side, and frankly, I would have preferred minimal to no contact with him ever since he had somehow planted that blade at the bottom of the Collector’s shoe.

            “It could just be our minds playing tricks on us,” I tried to say as casually as I could under his fierce, grey eyes.

            He let out a long breath. “Then why is the hair on the back of my neck standing up?”

            I looked at him as if it was some sort of trick question. I whispered back, “That’s just psychological. Doesn’t mean anything’s actually out there.” To be honest, I didn’t even believe in what I was saying. I kind of hoped the more I denied the fact that some unknown entity was watching us the less it made it true.

            “Well, I’m telling you, something’s there.”

            My mind flashed back to the blade and the shoe. “How did you manage to plant that blade on the Collector’s shoe?”

            He raised his thick eyebrows like I was stupid. “By taking a small razor and –”

            “No. I mean, your hands were all tied up. It’s not possible.”

            “My father is a blacksmith.” He looked away from me and down at the ground. “He’s a bit out of his mind; he convinced himself that some murderer was going to come and kill us, so he booby-trapped the entrance to our house. After an arrow nearly stabbed Madeline in the neck, she ordered my father to disable all of the traps. He did as he was told, but being the crazy person that he is, he left one of them untouched.”
            I rested my head against the fence. “That was pretty foolish of him.” After a short hesitation, I said, “My name is Alan.”

            The kid gave off a short chuckle. “I’m Lance.”

            The sound of twigs snapping under a person’s foot resonated from beyond the clearing. It came directly from behind, and I was too afraid to look over my shoulder and peer through one of the gaps in the fence. But I turned my head anyways, peering into the darkness that enveloped the camp like a giant blanket. “Who’s there?” I whispered.

            I could hear grass being pushed flat against the ground, accompanied by the sound of heavy boots.

            Lance looked through the fence. “What the hell?”

            I shook my head for him to be quiet, positioning my index finger on my lips. He rolled his eyes defiantly but didn’t say another word. Through all his sarcasm, I could see that he was quite afraid. His breathing quickened and his eyes scanned whatever he could see through the narrow gap between two of the posts.