The Blood Mile

Nine: Night of the Howl

When the amber sky chilled into navy blue and studs of white fire encompassed the moon, a howl droned through the land. It started coarse, fevered, and it faded dryly. There was a short pause before it began again, louder and strenuous. The night had become imprisoned by the howl's power.

And for once in a very long time, everyone at the O'Malley Farm lay awake.

Carol leaned against the window of her pen searching for the howl. She focused on the farmhouse, watching and flinching with every flicker of red and yellow that exploded in the dark. She could feel Its pain, whatever It was, clawing at the night. "It breathes fire..." she whispered to herself.

Weston knew It breathed fire. He'd seen It charge around the farmhouse many nights blasting flames in the air. It stayed close to the house and hardly ever veered to the barn or the pen or the perished garden. Weston observed Carol from his cotton bed waiting patiently for her to move away from the window. But she didn't move. Not while The Snakewolf was out.

Iddy hadn't returned to the barn ever since he got his harmonica. He was halfway to the pond when he heard The Snakewolf moan and cry. He stopped to listen to its odd sounds, trying to decode its language with no success. So he proceeded to the small rock placed firmly by the water. He sat down, leaned against the rock and studied the silver plate and construction of the instrument. A great feeling of wonder and interest swept over him, and for a moment, his inner demons surrendered. For a moment, there was a stillness inside him he wasn't used to.

Polly stayed under the seat of the tractor that night, the same place she hatched. She admired her feathers, twisting and twirling in front of a shard of mirror that leaned against her magazines. Beside the mirror, the face of a striking, young, blonde actress graced the cover of a summer issue of Fashion Magazine. It was the one she hatched on, the very first image she ever saw and admired. The tractor was her first home, the only place she felt closer to the beautiful Giants that beamed from the pages of all those magazines. She was the last to break out of her shell, her siblings had already run away, and while she wondered where they had gone, she never felt alone under there. She had her magazines and the world she'd built inside her larger-than-life imagination. 

The Snakewolf continued to growl and spit outside, but Polly was too enthralled at her own reflection to be intimidated by such sounds. One day, she thought. One day, I'll walk out of here in those fabulous red shoes. Studying her spindly shanks that connected to four equally thin toes, she placed a wing on the mirror and an unexpected heaviness descended down her throat and into her stomach. She was far from being a Giant, she knew that, but a little hope and a little faith in her magical Oprah kept her goal alive.

And Sawyer held himself in his stall, trembling from the unknown sounds of the world. Ella was once again beside him, of course. Even though his cotton bed served some comfort and warmth to him that night, his eyes were glued to the flashes of red snapping against the window.

Ella moved her muzzle closer to him, almost touching his wing, acknowledging his presence for the very first time. Her skin tightened with a smile, and she watched over him until his body stopped shaking.

"Do you think I'll ever be brave? Will I ever be a fearless chicken?" he asked quietly. He waited for an answer that never came. Instead, a low hum escaped her throat. And that low hum climbed to a higher hum until she started a melody. Sawyer had never heard anything like it, and it made him feel safe. Within moments, the howls drowned by Ella's song, he finally drifted far from the chaos that troubled him and into a peaceful slumber.

Ella studied Sawyer's unusual mohawk and thought of all the other birds that had once lived on the farm. After O'Malley vanished, the farm became crippled by fear of beasts and starvation. Almost every bird and cow headed south for a better life, all except for the few who believed O'Malley would return. Ella thought of her own family, and the struggle she had with them before they left. They called her dumb and mad for staying behind, told her she'd dry up, or worse—become sour and die. Maybe she was mad for staying behind, maybe O'Malley would never return, maybe her family was right for heading south. But in the midst of all these maybes glimmered a whole lot of faith–in O'Malley, faith in the home that once brought her happiness, and faith in her self. It's all she needed to hold on for something better.

She exhaled, driving out the image of her mother walking away and focused on Sawyer's mohawk again. Of all the birds she'd seen, not one had his head.

He's so young, barely touched by the poison of the world, she thought. He'll need to be protected. She studied his breathing until a shadow whipped by in the distance. Her eyes slimmed, peering into the darkness. There hadn't been an intruder in years, even the skulk of foxes who bullied the farm at one time fled north. But there was something hiding in the stall, and Ella could feel its presence. Before she could make a move, a blackness rose behind Sawyer and it cloaked him, and he vanished.

***So excited for you to get to the next chapter where we discover who kidnapped him and why, and we uncover more of O'Malley's mysterious history. Thanks for reading! Please don't forget to vote :)