Inevitable

Mercury disappears so fast it almost does not look human. One second he is crouched at the ridge above me, pale eyes huge with terror. The next he is scrambling backward across the stone on all fours like a frightened animal, vanishing into the red rocks without a single glance behind him. “Mercury!” I scream. Nothing answers except the wind.

Then something heavy lands behind me. The impact shakes dust loose from the cliff face. I turn just in time to see Pluto standing there in the growing light of dawn. He looks even larger this close up. His massive shoulders are wrapped in filthy fur and bone ornaments.

Pluto's pale scalp gleams damply beneath the sunrise. White eyes fixed on me with the same terrible calm a butcher gives livestock before the hammer falls. The blood-stained axe hangs loose in one hand. The blood-stained axe hangs loose in one massive hand. It is not raised, he is not rushed.

He stands there beneath the newborn sunrise with the calm patience of gravity itself, pale eyes fixed on me without anger or excitement because he already knows how this ends. I stagger backward toward the open mesa, chest heaving. Every muscle in my body still burns from the climb. My hands shake. My knees barely feel connected to the rest of me.

But I run anyway. The cold dawn air tears through my lungs as I sprint across the stone. Bare feet slap against sandstone slick with morning condensation. The canyon yawns black and endless on both sides of the narrow ridge. Behind me, Pluto walks with slow, steady footsteps that never quicken no matter how hard I run.

That is the worst part because it means he does not see this as a chase at all. He moves with the patient certainty of something inevitable, the sound of his boots against the stone following me across the mesa while panic tears through my chest and every instinct in my body screams that I am already caught.

I hear the steady crunch of his boots against the stone while I practically kill myself trying to escape him. He knows I cannot outrun him. I risk a glance over my shoulder and instantly regret it. That huge pale body moving with horrible efficiency over the uneven terrain. The axe swinging lazily beside him, his expression unchanged.

I push harder anyway. My legs scream. The horizon glows gold now, sunlight bleeding slowly over the mesas and canyons. For one insane second the desert almost looks beautiful. Then my foot slips. Pain explodes through my ankle as I hit the ground hard enough to bounce. Skin tears open across my knees and elbows.

Momentum sends me sliding across rough stone toward the edge of the cliff. I catch myself inches from open air. The canyon below drops away forever. My breath catches in my throat. Behind me, the footsteps stop. I scramble desperately, clawing backward away from the edge just as Pluto reaches down and seizes the back of my overalls.

The **** jerks me off the ground like I weigh nothing. I scream and thrash violently, twisting to elbow him in the face. The hit lands solidly. It does not matter. His other hand closes around my throat. Panic detonates inside me as he lifts me bodily against his chest. I kick wildly, bare feet hammering against his legs and hips. My nails rake bloody lines down his forearm.

He barely reacts. “Lotta fight in ya,” he murmurs in that awful dead voice.

I slam my forehead into his nose. It crunches and for one glorious second I think I actually hurt him. Then Pluto simply growls and drives me face-first into the sandstone hard enough to make white light burst across my vision. Pain detonates through my skull. My limbs go weak. The world tilts sickeningly sideways.

I feel him wrench my arms behind my back while I try desperately to recover enough breath to keep fighting. Stone grinds against my cheek. His full weight crushes me into the mesa. I buck and twist anyway, snarling through blood and dirt, refusing to stop.

His massive hand pins both wrists together like they belong to a child. Above us, the sun finally breaks over the horizon. Warm gold floods the canyon. Pluto calmly holds me down beneath it while my strength slowly bleeds away. He holds me fast, his fingers digging into my arm. I try to pull away, a weak, instinctive jerk, but his grip is iron.

My heart hammers against my ribs, a trapped bird. He pulls me against him, his other arm wrapping around my waist. I can feel the hard line of his body, the warmth of him through our clothes. The scent of him is everywhere, pine and something wild, and underneath it, the coppery hint of my own blood. He doesn't move, just holds me there, his breath stirring my hair. I go still, the fight draining out of me, replaced by a cold, creeping dread. What does he want now?