Highway of Bones

Chapter Two

The closer to the road we get, the more quiet it is. When the Turning happened ten years ago, most of Earth's natural fauna retreated inland; like us, they're just trying to survive in a world full of demons and monsters. I've never been this far up the coast before; away from Ehtab's constant storms, the world is a different place. It's still hell, don't get me wrong, but it's nice to see a place that's not covered in six inches of dust, where a person has to throw on several layers of clothing just to step outside. Where you have to learn how to breathe with a scarf wrapped around your mouth and nose; and to look at the world through goggles unless you want to go blind.

Most of my hunting has been done around Eureka and the surrounding towns. Monsters tend to congregate in a demon lord's territory, so there's no shortage of horrors to make a profit off of. That's not to say we should be safe in these woods. If lindworms can haunt the Redwood Forest, who knows what lurks out here? That's why I've got daggers in both hands—one to throw, the other to slash.

Our campsite is next to the highway—not close enough to be seen by passing cars, but sheltered behind an old cockatrice lair that Glaris and I cleared out. Cockatrices are like rats, burrowing into hills and swarming after prey. The rusted guardrails of the highway are littered with their bodies, left to rot as road kill. There's nothing left worth collecting, which is a pity.

As a monster hunter, I'm not above rooting around in carcasses to find parts that will fetch a good price on the market. But no hedge witch will take week-old, putrid venom sacks, so I leave everything where it is.

Glaris's giant black Friesian stallion notices us first, pinning his ears back and flaring his nostrils as we emerge from the forest. I've never been fond of horses, so the feeling is mutual. Glaris is sitting by the small campfire, talking with Kayleigh. He stands up, dusting off his black pants.

"I see you were successful."

I grunt and reach under Ray's belly to untie the doe's legs. The peryton lowers himself to the ground and tilts his hindquarters so the carcass slides off.

"Not talking again, I see," Glaris notes, standing nearby but at a safe distance with his hands linked behind his back.

I continue to ignore him, as I typically do, and set to work gutting the doe. Glaris has made it his goal to get me to open up. Admittedly, I've slipped a time or two and engaged in conversation, but normally I'm tight-lipped. Kayleigh has more luck, but that's because she's a nephilim and is probably an empath. I'm not certain as to the extent of her abilities, because the kid refuses to practice.

Maybe she's still in shock. I suppose I can't blame her, but I've spent the last ten years crushing every emotion to bits under my heel.

I survived.

She will too.

Glaris continues to stand there as I spread out a clean scrap of cloth to place the meat on, slit the carcass open, and start pulling out organs, tossing the offal to Egon and Ray. It's dirty, smelly work, but I've long gone nose-blind to a lot of scents—blood, guts, and excrement included. The Striker, however, is not as immune, because he coughs and takes a step back. With my back turned, I allow myself a little smirk. For someone who slays demons for a living, he's quite sensitive.

"I've made some plans."

I pause butchering, one hand on what remains of the doe's hind leg. There's blood up to my elbows and my hands are sticky. I sit back on my heels and wipe my forehead against my shoulder. "Go on," I say, loosing a long breath, then drawing another one deep into my lungs. In this matter, I've got to trust the Striker. My initial—solo—goal had been to save up enough money to make the trip up to Alaska to save my parents. Planning the journey was supposed to come after securing the funds.