She looks fervently, eager to find the source. The animalistic noise had been close, too close for her to miss it. It was either within her range or nearly there.
Dustin's restrained tone echoes off the steel walls. "Filly, you see him?"
"Nothing." Filly fights the urge to shake her head, steeling her gaze forward. "Not yet, anyway." The earlier quiet had become like a taut bow resting heavily on a violin's strings, waiting for its chance to play a note. The precipice before its downward stroke can be felt in the loudness of its imminent song.
It's deafening when she leans into the feeling. A moment in the arms of stillness and she realizes that she can use it, make it a tool to serve her purposes. The silence grows until it starts to produce its own sound. It fills her. It swarms her. It becomes her. Embracing the ring in her eardrums from the absolute languor is like flipping a switch. She can see so much clearer. It's so broad and yet so defined. But it's so much.
Bright white is sharper at the edges. Nothing like the typical vision of the naked eye, but so improved from her days at the lab, forced to depict the cool, splotchy images they made her watch. Even the cyanotype environments are refined, becoming fuzzy silhouettes with a sense of dimension. It's like a topographical map has formed in her retinas, separating her depthless vision into three dimensions. She can see the small mound in the center of her yard and she knows it's their bait. She views the muculent quadruped's muscular humps and thick skin glued tightly to its near-average bone structure. She can see how far it is, its toes dodging the umbrella of the lone streetlight that reaches longingly for the night sky.
The dastardly beast has a skeleton that resembles a canine all the way up to the neck. Above the shoulders, the spine plugs into a shallow dome. The cranial bone could not be called a skull by any stretch of the word, curbing before it could even begin to surround the brain. The Demogorgon hadn't allowed her any breathing room in order to examine its inner structure, but there was no need for that right now. She can see everything like it's through a wide lens. She need not glance about incessantly, only allow the panorama to soak into her mind. If she were a painter, she would equate it to taking a step back and looking at the full form of her creation.
"There." Filly grabs the sleeve of the teen looking out the grate at her side. The filtering of white noise into her conscious sneaks up on her, fading into her senses gradually. She points through the window, identifying the horrid little beast. "It's right there."
As soon as she says it, Lucas's high-pitched alarm reaches them. His voice cracks when he repeats the words "ten 'o'clock" as if it's some sort of warning, his fright apparent. Like her, he had spotted their enemy as it stalks the presumed prey. With her powers unengaged, she can see the oppressive green of Dart's skin, glazed by a mucilaginous exterior. In its face, the Demogorgon's mouth had been reproduced. She can see each barbed tooth inside of its sectioned maw. Fog had settled in the yard, making everything dull and blurry to the ones with only their eyes. She was faint with the effort, drained succinctly by the newfound strength of her ability.
"Look," Filly commands, straightening her index finger to indicate Dart's location. At the very edge of the yard, the monster inspects from afar. "He's there."
A hand to the side of Filly's spine warms her from the point of contact. With Filly kneeling on the bench seat, there's little room for the other teen to stand at her rear. Steve leans very little weight into her, gently cupping her upper back to peer through the window and the metal grate that girds it. The curly-haired boy squeezes in on her other side, opting for the seat adjacent.
Dustin and Steve zero in on and scrutinize Dart's skulking figure. "What's it doing?" asks the youngest.
"I don't know." The other teen shakes his head imperceptively and glances at the dark-haired girl. "Filly?"
"I..." She pulls in a bolstering breath, plunging back into her private world of blue. The strain is physical, wearing on her mind and body as one. The cloak of silence wanes, flitting at the edge of her senses. She can't let it swallow her now, but the balancing act is a delicate one.
Nervousness lingers in Steve's quiet muttering. "He's not taking the bait. Why is he not taking the bait?"
Seemingly from underwater, the impression of the conversation tickles at the back of her brain. If she focuses too much or too little, she will fall onto one side of the fence. If only she were fierce enough to fight the pull, to walk the tightrope in divine tranquility. Within seconds she tips over, falling into the soundless void again. Swelling inside her head is the sharp stab of quietude. In striking detail, she watches the thing tiptoe around the perimeter of the scrapheaps. Dart crouches on his four legs, his mouth cinched around the opening. Dart's pursed lips snuff at the dry, shallow-rooted grass and loose dirt.
"You cover your tracks after, use dirt or leaves to make sure your scent doesn't stick around."
"He's checking." Hopper had covered his traps with old leaves and dirt. The scent of the forest covers their own. This time, they had forgone an important rule. Color returns to her vision, flooding out the blue and white with a spectrum of grays and browns. "Scenting the area for a trap. We didn't mask our scent at all."
"That, or maybe he's sick of cow... so we swap our bait, make it so the smell won't matter." The chill recaptures her when Steve starts to step away. He waits by the rusty ladder for a breath. "Two birds, one stone." Filly twists her body, her gaze tracking him dumbly. The question dies in her throat at the sight of him nearing the exit.
"Steve?" The middle schooler sidesteps the bench seat and stands in the walkway uncertainly. "Steve, where are you going?"
"You must be joking." But he nears the door as though he hadn't heard her. Dustin's jumpy nature snags her subconscious mind while she rises. Her delicate body is obstacle enough for him as well as any assailant that wishes to do him harm.
Worried for the teen as she is, she knows him enough to hope. Steve has been good to her. Accommodating. Kind. Funny. Safe. "Not this time, Fil." His molten bronze orbs turn on her, melting the ice of her blue ones. "You still got that lighter?" His face is cast in an ethereal glow from the second opening in the bus's ceiling.
"I do." She hopes he lives. She hopes he succeeds. She hopes he wins. She hopes for the best, but something ambiguous burrows into her flank. It reeks of instability and dubiety. It gnaws at the optimism she wants to keep secured tightly within her soul. "Why?"
"Jonathan's not here. I need you to light the fire this time." His calloused skin creaks around the handle of his weapon. The thick digits of one hand wrap it while the other opens the folding door.
One step.
Two steps.
Three. His shoes displace the dry dirt and she rushes forward as if breaking from a spell. Filly slides it shut, backing up a few paces to stay in the shadows of the vehicle.
Trembling fingers extract the zippo from her pouch. It does nothing to settle her frayed nerves but the lid flips open with a satisfying click. She wishes she hadn't made herself nauseous with the overuse of her newly discovered power. Now is the time she needs them the most, to watch over Steve in his time of need. He's wagering his life on a bet to protect theirs. It could have been an opportunity to repay her debt, but she's weak. She owes him this much. She keys in on the breathing at her right. Back in the narrow spaces between the seats, she and Dustin watch with bated breath as Steve forays into no man's land.
His actions portray a casual flippancy that Filly doesn't think will fool Dart. Breathing in time with the boy beside her, she teeters on the safe side, dipping her toes into her power and wrenching them back at the sting. Her eyes burn and her head spins, protesting the sensory abuse. She needs more time. Each moment is an eternity spent watching Steve with her painfully naked eyes. Worn trainers pad silently on the loose ground. Steve stalks away from the only safety to be found in the sea of darkness that coats the clearing. His whistle pierces the air and draws a target on his back, all at once.
The side rail clatters against the roof when a burden is placed on the ladder's rungs. Max's soles slap onto the floor and she demands, "What's he doing?"
"Expanding the menu." Dustin's reply doesn't reverberate in his typical teasing manner. His pitch doesn't slide up near the finish nor does he tack a chuckle on after the punchline ends. Filly had only just leaned a careful shelter over her withering hope and a perfectly-timed verbal attack desecrated it.
It's impossible to calm her racing mind. Notions ricochet against the inner walls of her skull, leaving behind only an imprint. She can't pin down anything but the turbulent thoughts immobilize her. A blanket of thick emotion smothers her in its palpable gravity. She feels bad. Anxious. Anticipatory. Expectant. Not in the way she would like, not out of hope, but out of fear.
She expects Steve to fail.
Her ribs feel brittle, close to snapping and weakening more with every wild pound of her heart. Since her youth, there had been no one to root for. Every person she'd known after her parent's death was a despicable wretch, desperate to siphon power from her abilities. Until she found Hawkins.
"He is not," Whether the word is a self-soothing affirmation or a denial of Dustin's proclamation, she doesn't know. What good is faith that only shows when the sun is out? What good is hope that fades away with the cleansing daylight? When it thunders and the deluge storms around her, hope is tested. When the night curtains the world, faith lights the way. "On any menu."
She had picked feathers from her teeth. She had dug up worms. She had gnashed her teeth on tree trunks. She knew what it was to be empty. Right now, she's full. Full of spirit. Full of defiance.
She has to be.
"He's insane," she breathes, stomach surging into her mouth. She can only see Steve's hunched back ceasing its motion by the centerpiece. A heap of raw meat was supposed to be everything they needed to set the table.
"He's awesome," Dustin amends, his cheeks rounding with the pull of a grin on his lips. Their companion is disturbingly mum, a thought that picks at the threads of Max's focus. She doesn't even move her head, flicking her gaze to appraise the frail teen.
"Holy shit." The curse bubbles out of Max's throat. "Is she okay?" Dustin does a double-take, nearly missing the stiffness of his friend's demeanor at first glance.
On their left, the older girl convulses just enough for it to be visible but otherwise is as stone. Filly's spindly fingers clamp the navy vinyl of the seats on either side so tightly that her knuckles turn white. Her huge eyes appear even rounder now, fuller than they had been.
"Shit! Filly?" He whispers, shuffling past the red-haired girl and nearing Filly's side. He clasps her upper arms from behind and attempts to turn her around. Her thin frame doesn't budge. Redness stains her sclera and her pupils shrink to the size of a pinhead. The distinct contrast makes the astoundingly pale blue of her irises pop. "Come on, Filly. Talk to me."
"Oh, my God!" She shrieks. Although retreating by a few steps, Max can't help that she's drawn to her chilling gaze. "What-what the hell is wrong with her?" Filly's pupils are confined in a cold, iceberg blue that's so far removed from Max's vivid teal. Hugely different from Dustin's insightful cobalt. Despite her dreadful appearance, Max doesn't see the tearful, panicked look she has come to expect from people that look like Filly. The friendly ghost she met on Halloween was a different breed than the hunter before her.
Her onyx black hair is jagged and fluffed. The fringe above her brow melds into the rest of it and flips outward when it reaches her jawline, exposing the engorged veins under the thin skin of her temple. They feed hemoglobin into her optic muscles only for it to pour from her lids. The dull bags under her eyes collect several droplets in their folds. She makes a terrifying image, crimson fluid dribbling down her neck from where it stems from her ear canals before merging with the dark hue of her sweater. The rivers from her eyes stream down her chin, flowing to where it meets the other streams at the base of her neck.
Then the strings that paralyze her are snipped, dropping her like a ragdoll and expelling all the tension brought on by her sudden fit. The humble beginning of a red drop beads just inside of her nostril. She's returned to being the friendly ghost, but her distressed eyes glimmer under filtered moonbeams and reflect the determination of the hunter. Filly spins on her heel and grabs her head at the motion.
Max stands unmoving, still processing what she'd witnessed. Turning over the freakish stimuli in her head brings her not an inch closer to understanding. Her sight tracks the mint-condition zippo while it passes from Filly's quivering hands to Dustin's, but she isn't absorbing it in the slightest. Her head swirls around the unsuspecting image of the girl, attempting to reconcile it with her recent display. It boggles the mind.
"He's got to get back here," Filly wheezes. Steadying herself with the help of Dustin's narrow shoulders and the backrest of the bus seat, she recovers from the dizzy spell swiftly. In seconds, she uses the breath she sucked in to call Max and Dustin to action. "Get him back here! Now!" She pushes the boy away but only succeeds in toppling herself into the chair, her weakened legs unable to hold her. It was the most she'd ever pushed her sight. She never had a good reason to until now.
"Steve, watch out!" comes the high wail from the boy on the roof. It draws a brief, shouted dismissal from Steve. Shockwaves rattle her teeth, the sudden volume reminiscent of being submerged in frigid water. It's a shock to her senses. "Three 'o'clock! Three 'o'clock!" Lucas's voice cracks fearfully when he forces out the cry.
With their worries validated, Dustin and Max speed to the door. Dustin throws it open, squealing out a frantic plea. "Steve! Abort! Abort!"
Lucas slips through the moonroof and into the interior of the bus, pausing to take in the dark-haired girl's haggard form. "Filly?" She reaches for him and he catches it, helping her hobble her way to the entrance. The five of them crowd the area by the recessed stairs of the vehicle, clamoring for Steve's return.
The open door provides her with an unfettered visual of Steve rolling over the hood of an aged yet classic convertible while Dart snaps at his heels. He immediately pivots and takes aim from a stance with one knee driving into the soil. He swings the upward, planting the spiked head of the bat just under Dart's jaw and flinging him into the distance. Her ears throb from the din of metal reflecting screams of encouragement back into her sensitive eardrums, forcing her to her knees with the intensity. She crawls, resting her sore body where she can see Steve. For just a breath, she lets her body droop without a fight, hoping beyond hope that she's done her part to protect the life of her second-time savior.
Steve's pace rips up grassroots and tears at the land below. He presses each practiced step into the loose dirt with insurmountable effort and propels himself away from his pursuers. Monsters lap at his ankles with each tread but he pulls away with a leap, threading the narrow gap of the passageway. His body crashes atop the steps, the momentum carrying him halfway into Filly's lap. Dustin slides the lever in his hand, shutting out the night and, feasibly, its creatures, too.
Her arms snake under his armpits to fold over his chest, steadying herself with the reassurance of his heartbeat. The rapid thumping of the organ mimics her own. Lucas grasps foin search of Steve's hand, his arm curling around Filly's shoulder to find it. Dustin's free hand tugs the sleeve of Steve's jacket as if pulling him further into the bus. Steve takes a fraction of a second to gather himself before flying out of our grasp. He pulls down one of the long metal sheets from the windshield, commandeering it to reinforce the door. He fixes it with both feet, returning to his previous position and bracing himself with either hand on the back of the first bench seat and the dashboard. Boxed in by the expanse of his arms, Dustin's hands close around Filly's forearm, huddled low by the steering wheel. Max and Lucas lean over the divider, clutching their palms together in search of support.
It's becoming increasingly loud, the ringing sound returning to her ears from the commotion. She tries to find the pulse point on Dustin's wrist, but the irregular thuds against her bus disrupt her and stagger her thoughts.
The bus shifts. It tosses them back, rocking forward and shaking them with its massive tilt. The floor lurches once more, just enough for Steve to lose his footing against the steel barricade. Its variegated surface shimmies just enough for a few deathly-sharp claws to find entry and bend away the metal, missing Steve by mere inches. He snaps to alert, grabbing his bat to reciprocate the attack.
Except for Filly, the group jumps to action. She feels a rough jerk on her wrist. Dustin tries to pull her up and away from danger, gesturing for her to follow him after Lucas and Max, but she can barely sit upright.
Like a foal on new legs, she has to work to put on foot flat on the ground, bringing her knee straight above it to gain leverage over her traitorous ankles. She realizes she's taking far too long when she's lifted from the floor and insistently pressed in Dustin's direction. He drags her, hobbling, to the back of the bus, finding cover behind the last two seats and hiding amongst her things.
A pass of her tired eyes over the wall recalls the information to the forefront. "Lucas." pressed up against the wall on the opposite side of the aisle, the boy looks at her in question. "Knives," she replies, pointing simply.
He's reminded of the time the party prodded her about her throwing skill and she showed them the old milk crate that contained her vast collection of edged weapons, each one stored properly in its sheath. He pushes it across, ignoring the bewildered look from Max or perhaps just not seeing it. Dustin plants himself on a bench, attempting to make contact with a lifeline.
"Is anyone there? Mike? Will? God! Anyone!" He cries over the radio, desperation evident in his tone. Filly slides as many blades as she can into the pockets and waistband of her jeans. She keeps another handy, making seven in total. It's almost fitting.
She crossly thinks it may be her lucky number. It's the number of the tattoo on her wrist, a mark that was forced upon her like cattle. She's branded.
Steve wails on the beast, beating it repeatedly. It's worrisome to know that the monsters are so durable, but she doesn't let it halt her. She doesn't let it suppress her resolve. Steve is indisposed and that means she's the last line of defense.
While she can't identify a point in time when she started thinking of them as hers, she can admit it to herself. In the privacy of her thoughts, she regards Dustin, Lucas, Mike, and Will as her own. Max was an unexpected but welcome addition to that group.
Tonight, she plays the role of the rancher. And her flock is in danger.
Punctures form in the body of the bus, openings in the metal coming much too close for comfort. Dustin once again handles her arm, pulling her to relocate to one of the middle seats. He passes Filly to Max who catches her and keeps her balanced.
"We're at the old junkyard, and we are going to die!"
She's no longer listening to Dustin's cries, her strained eyes trailing along the roof where dents manifest, looking like the impression of footprints. She unsheathes her blade, a stainless steel bowie knife revealed by the removal of the sheath. She holds it in front of her, knowing she wouldn't hit the broad side of a barn in her current state. The best she can do is be an obstacle. She will stand in their way.
She staggers in front of Max. The party is behind her. Filly would sink to the floor had she not held herself up with a hand on a seat. The quadruped chirps lowly, then snarls. She feels the scream before she sees the wretched beast peering over the lip of the moonroof. Cloaked in shadow, her still blurry vision hadn't even picked up the motion. She widens her stance, wrapping her other hand on the handle of the knife and doing her utmost to stay standing.
"Out of the way! Out of the way!" He says, his arm shooting out between the ladder and the teenage girl. Steve crowds her back, meeting the spot where eyes would have been on the creature's head. He lifts the bat threateningly while it emits an animalistic squeal. "You want some? Come get this!"
For the second time that night, it doesn't take the bait. Its sectioned head turns away and suddenly it's as though it was never there at all. The sounds of its kin returning the howl are distant, yet they echo around the yard.
The stillness outside the vehicle is disquieting. After what feels like hours but likely is just minutes, Steve's feet guide him to the door. Creeping outside, he's startled by a jarring bang when he pries away the metal shutter in place of the door. The last of the unexpected guests scamper into the tree line. As though called up by the retreating four-legged army, the fog vanishes with them.
Lucas's query parts the cool night. "What happened?"
"I don't know." Max stands just behind him and toes the entryway of the bus.
"Steve scared 'em off?" Dustin ventures timidly and Steve quickly fills the space with an answer.
"No. No way." Steve spins, facing the younger people. "They're going somewhere." With his bat on his shoulder, he takes in their appearance. No injuries jump out at him, nor do any of the kids look damaged. His eyes flit over his charges, finding one member to be missing.
"Where's Filly?" Steve's endless, deep browns drill into Dustin's grayish blues. The boy's chin dips to his chest and his bottom lip is sucked between his teeth. "You, you left her in there?"
A/N: To Noel23 who reviewed chapter 10, goodness, I'm so flattered! You can't say that or I'll get a big ego, lol. Thanks so much for your continued support of the story! I'm honestly overjoyed that there are people out there who get a kick out of my little creations. I'll definitely miss hearing from you going forward, but I promise to keep going. There's so much I have planned for Filly that I couldn't just stop now! Thank you again for all your kind words, Noel23!
Thank you to GirlNextDoor01 and jayrosew for the follows and faves!
