“Ryan,” Kurt says as he kneels and pulls his arrow into place.

“You can hit them. Go on. On my count. One.”

“Two.”

Thalia’s hands tremble as they search her backpack. She pulls out

two slender daggers and throws one to Layla, who catches it in midair.

“She can’t fight.” My voice is frantic, and I hardly recognize it.

This is not how a champion should sound.

“She has to.”

Layla pulls the dagger out of the sheath and holds it up, her

knuckles with a vise grip on it. She nods surely. This isn’t like

fencing during spring recess. This is something else, something we’ve

never faced before.

“Three!” Kurt and Ryan shoot. The creatures spread out instantly,

howling as Ryan’s arrow pierces the hammerhead in the arm. The

creature howls in pain, but just for a moment, before pulling the

arrow out with one tug, dripping black blood and red flesh.

“Holy shit!” Ryan says, holding his chest as if to keep his heart

from coming out.

I want to tell him it’ll be okay, but even I don’t know that. As

Kurt yells something over the thunder, the creatures charge right at

us. I shove Layla out of the way, so the blue creature pushes the

target on top of me. The ground is muddy and wet. I slip when I try to

push the wooden target off me. The blue one does it for me. He pulls

the red spikes out of his skin and stabs at the grass around me. I

kick his gut with the full force of my legs, roll over, and reach for

my dagger.

Up close, his eyes are dirty yellow. His permanent smile reveals

bloody gums. He raises his fists in the air and brings them down hard

on the ground, shaking the field right under me. I swing and catch him

on the side, and he winces. The barnacles around his neck suck at the

air like suction cups. Layla runs around us, and as he reaches out

with his spikes, she brings the dagger down through his back.

The creature’s body shakes, and black blood dribbles out of his

mouth. The body goes limp over me and falls slack on the ground. I

take his red spikes and stab him through the chest to make sure he

stays there.

“Where are the other two?” I push myself off the ground.

More car alarms go off after another blast of thunder. The few

students who didn’t make it inside are screaming behind the bleachers.

Up inside the school, crowds are gathered at the windows.

Kurt and Ryan hold their arrows at the ready. The five of us stand

in the middle of the field. The other two are still out there. I

breathe in air heavy with their stink.

“There!” I turn and the guys let their arrows fly up at the fence

where the hammerhead has climbed. He ducks to the right and jumps on

the ground and charges at me. For all their strength and speed,

they’re really uncoordinated and stupid. His yellow eyes are focused

on me and only me. I punch him with all my strength; my knuckles come

away bloody from the sharp scales of his cheekbones. I slash my dagger

out with both hands, but he jumps back from every swing.

Kurt’s voice thunders over the car alarms, the screams, and the

clapping thunder. “Tristan, get down!”

I throw myself on the ground as he takes one clean shot. The

creature falls backward with Kurt’s arrow pierced right through his

throat. A guttural wail sounds through the field. Layla runs up to me

and helps me stand. She takes my hand and examines it where my

knuckles are cut open. “It’s just a surface scrape.”

Ryan stands over the blue guy’s body. He taps it with his foot. It

doesn’t move. He bends down and uses the tip of an arrow to prod at

the still body. “What are these things?” He jumps back as the body

convulses and then starts to decompose into the grass, stinking of

rotting fish.

“Ugh, that’s disgusting.”

“Let’s get back inside,” I say, holding my hand out for Layla to

grab. She raises the dagger in the air so the rain will wash away the

slick, black blood on the edges. Kurt’s violet eyes are luminous in

the darkness. I wonder if mine look the same way. I can tell he’s

still listening for the other creature, because I am too.

Thalia stands nervously just inside the gate leading back inside

the building. Her voice is small as her eyes flicker around the field.

She pushes her wet hair away from her eyes. “Come, Ryan.”

He cups his hands at the sky and lets the rain pool in them, then

washes the black blood off with it. He walks toward the entrance with

his blue eyes focused on Thalia. His face registers shock as Kurt

raises his bow and arrow at him. Kurt’s face is stone. Ryan holds his

hands up in the air.

“What are you doing ?” I yell at Kurt. But then I see what he’s

doing. The arrow is pointed past Ryan to where the third creature, the

blowfish, stands a few feet behind our friend.

“Ryan,” Kurt says. He raises his arrow a little higher. “Don’t.

Move.”

I don’t know what I can do with just a dagger. If I throw it at

the creature, I could very well miss and stab my friend. I do know

that none of these creatures want my friends. They want me.

And before I can say duck , before I can even raise my dagger, the

creature puffs out his face and snaps his neck in my direction.

I raise my hands to cover my face, and my entire body is a scream

as Layla jumps in front of me, arms wrapped around my neck, mouth open

in a pained gasp as the needles pierce her back.

The rain beats hard against my neck.

Layla’s eyes are wide and staring right at me. She’s still

standing. I’m afraid to hold her too tightly.

Behind us the creature falls, an arrow pierced though his throat.

Layla’s knees bend. She says my name. The thunder is loud, and the

rain is like pellets against the ground, but I know she says my name.

Her weight goes slack, and I keep my hands under her arms to try to

keep her up.

“Help me.” I don’t know if I’ve actually said it.

Their footsteps splash against the ground. Thalia is at my side,

helping me lay Layla facedown on the ground.

“Do something,” I say. I look up at Kurt, who stands over me.

Doing nothing. He could’ve shot sooner. Why did he hesitate? Why did I

just stand there?

“There’s too much poison,” he says helplessly.

I take my dagger and, as gently as I can, rip the thin cotton of

her T-shirt. The needles go right through it, and I can’t take the

shirt off without hurting her. I drop my blade on the ground. Run my

hands through my hair. Press against my skull as if I can make all of

this go away. Thalia is pulling out the spikes and sobbing at the same

time. Layla’s back is like a dark board of tiny red dots where blood

pools out and is washed away just as quickly by the rain.

My knees are raw from kneeling on the turf. I hold her hand in

mine, but there’s no pressure, no weight. My body is cold. My skin is

numb in the rain.

“That’s all of it,” Thalia says, holding out a handful of black

needles. They’re slick and black and don’t look like much.

“Wake up,” I whisper in Layla’s ear. I flip her over in my arms so

that I can look at her again. I never used to understand what people

meant when they said they felt small against the rest of the world.

But I do now. Her body is motionless in my arms. Her lips are purple.

Her eyelids are wet. She looks the same way she did when she was

sleeping in my chambers on the island, when we’d fall asleep in my

living room when we were littler, when we’d lie out on the beach at

noon and I’d wear my black sunglasses so she wouldn’t see that I was