The redwood forest looms in front of us. The trees were massive pre-Turning—post-Turning they are skyscrapers. Trunks as wide as houses burst out of a forest floor carpeted in pine needs, giant ferns the size of small cars, and bones. To be fair, they were squirrel bones and not human, but it was not something I wanted to see so soon. The trees are so tall that I cannot even see their tops, everything vanishing into the mystery of the sky.

Off to the left, the crater can still be seen through the small gaps between redwoods. The road is relatively debris-free, with only a few branches crossing our way. Tire tracks have marked a clear path through the forest, with only a few thin trails leading off of the main thoroughfare.

"Is that a truck?" Kayleigh asks, pointing above our heads.

I tilt my chin up. A hundred feet in the air is the battered carcass of a big rig; the cab's nose is smashed into the trunk of the tree and the trailer is pushed together like an accordion. Large branches stab through the metal like soft cheese. The back doors dangle open, drifting back and forth in the breeze that plays through the lower limbs.

My heart gives a traitorous thump. Gritting my teeth, I shove the sliver of fear into the back of my mind where it belongs. We should be all right, I reason, because we're smaller and make far less noise than a tractor-trailer.

But even I have to admit that it's hard being confident when you realize that the tractor-trailer was pulled a hundred yards off the road and then thrown into a tree.

"It is," I tell the kid as dryly as I can manage. But I pull the Winchester from its holster and lay it across my lap. Winston flicks an ear back at me but continues at his normal pace.

As the hour crawls on, the road continues its gradual departure from the crater. In short order, I cannot see the ocean nor hear the roar of the falls as water spills into that bottomless pit. We are well and truly in the forest now. An eerie sort of darkness sets in—not the true dark of night, but the kind of false dark that's only possible in a forest of skyscraper trees.

My eyes dart back and forth, looking for any movement that might herald danger. Occasionally, I look at the kid; her knuckles are white as she clutches the rounded saddle horn, reins dangling loosely from her fingers. The crossbow hangs on the left side. While I might keep the Winchester unholstered, I don't trust that the crossbow won't misfire and kill either me or Winston, so I told the girl to not touch it.

Winston takes a step, then draws back. His ears prick up and his head immediately swings to the right. Instantly, the Winchester is in my hands, pointing into the deep shadows.

"What—?" the girl exclaims before I cut her off with a sharp thrust of my hand.

Kayleigh's mare picks up on the tension and tosses her dished head, wide nostrils flaring. My outstretched hand snaps down on the reins, but the mare's hindquarters dance around and knock into Winston.

A low growl rumbles in Egon's throat. The enfield turns in a tight circle, the hair on the back of his cream-colored neck standing up.

Winston's eyes roll and the big bull suddenly jumps forward. The sudden movement jerks me backward in the saddle; with one hand on the Winchester and the other on the girl's mare's reins, I'm nearly pulled to the ground.

A rustle in the giant branches brings my head up. I have just enough time to aim the Winchester one-handed and pull the trigger. Dull red-brown blood rains down on my head like a fine mist; where the blood touches exposed skin, it burns like splatters of hot oil. I yelp and swipe at my face with my sleeves, desperate to scrape it off. Kayleigh screams and the mare jerks free of my grip. Before I can do anything, the mare rears; the girl tumbles over backward and hits the forest floor, almost at the same time as a body falls from the trees.

"No!" Kayleigh cries, reaching out in vain as the copper mare gallops away.

The mare vanishes into the shadows, taking my crossbow and poison bolts with her. No more than a few seconds pass before a thin equine scream bounces off of the dark red trees and the distinct sound of a neck snapping follows.

"No!" the girl sobs, burying her face in her hands.

Shit! I grit my teeth and curse the monsters as my heart begins to drum in my chest.

Winston wheels around as Egon circles back to stand guard over the kid. As the battle-elk turns, I see what fell from the tree: a lindworm.

Ten feet in length from the tip of its blunt tail to its flat, snakelike head, the lindworm is covered in a sickly, pale grey hide. Pearlescent scales cover it from beneath the jaw and sweep under its belly. A jagged hole in its throat slowly pours hot blood onto the forest floor. Two stubby forelegs lay crushed beneath its body; pink, translucent claws dig into the dirt.

"What is that?" Kayleigh cries in horror, hands knotted in Egon's fur. The enfield presses his head against her chest, making soothing sounds in his throat.

I slide down from Winston's saddle and approach the dead lindworm. Using the toe of one boot, I prod its whiskered head, staring down at the flat, milky and unseeing eye. "A lindworm," I tell her grimly. People out east like to carry handbags and wear shoes made of lindworm skin. It's the new alligator, I'm told.

But they're a bitch to kill—almost as difficult as crocattas. And this one was only a juvenile. The adults can grow up to fifteen feet in length—and have barbs on their tails.

"All my stuff," the kid continues to sob, speaking to no one and the whole forest at the same time. "How are we going to get my stuff back?"

To my credit, I keep my mouth shut and don't make a jab about a life being more important than stuff. But she does have a point. Half of our gear was on that Arabian. I can't make or reuse bullets, but I can do that with bolts. With luck, maybe the lindworms won't eat everything.

Or, we might not have to worry about the gear, because we may be next.

A larger lindworm rushes out of the shadows on its belly, forelegs tucked up against its sides like a penguin. Training takes over; I whip around, Winchester pointed at the beast.

But Winston is quicker. The big male gallops towards the lindworm, steel-tipped, poison-coated antlers angled for the creature's neck. As the monster rears up to attack, Winston slams into its chest, tines sliding through the scaled belly with ease. The lindworm screams, tossing its flat, whiskered head back and forth as it struggles to claw at Winston with those short forelegs.

Winston plants his muscled forequarters, grunts, and shoves with his powerful hindquarters. The lindworm is nearly lifted off the ground as Winston raises his head. The barbed tail whips around and skids off of the elk's armor with an ear-piercing shriek.

Bellowing, Winston rears up, twists his forequarters, and slams the lindworm to the ground, jabbing his antlers deeper into the beast's chest. Bloody foam bubbles over the lindworm's jaws, coating its whiskers. Winston yanks his antlers free, sending bits of scale flying as he crushes the lindworm's skull with both cloven hooves.

And that is why they call them battle-elks.

"Get up," I growl, grabbing the girl by the upper arm and hauling her unwillingly to her feet. "Keep your back to Winston. Let the enfield guard our front." Winston circles around, placing his broad side against our backs.

Tears streaming down her face, Kayleigh stands but remains in a hunched position, arms wrapped around her upper torso. Blood coats her black curls and shoulders with rust-red stains.

Great. "Do that thing you did before!" I urge, pulling a vial of flash-bang powder from an inner pocket as a sibilant hissing rolls out of the shadows.

"I DON'T KNOW HOW!" she yells, baring her teeth at me, fists clenched tightly.

Screw this mess. Stuffing the flash-bang vial between my teeth, I reach back into one of Winston's saddlebags to grab more ammunition. Filling my pockets with bullet cartridges, I pull out the vial.

Winston indicates the position of the first monster by subtly leaning in that direction. I whip around his chest and fire into a grey mass streaking through the underbrush. The Winchester spits smoke and a puff of sparks as the bullet strikes my target a split second later. I'm already turning as the creature screams and crumples to the ground behind us.

Two more shapes emerge from the trees, one crawling out of a cave-like hole beneath a redwood's roots.

"Cover your eyes!" I shout. Without waiting to see if the kid will do as ordered, I hurl the vial at a spot on the ground in front of the lindworms.

It takes everything in me to not cover my eyes with my arms. As soon as the vial hits the ground, it explodes into a bright ball of light. A loud BANG! resonates through the forest, making my ears ring and shaking the lowest branches of the redwoods.

Winston beats his hooves on the ground, panting softly. Distantly, I hear the enfield whine. Quickly, I open my eyes; bright stars dance in my vision as I quickly load the Winchester and fire into the heart of the sun. Two cracks of the rifle for two lindworms.

The monsters' keening shrieks quickly die.

Blinking furiously, I dig into my pocket for more ammunition and shove it in without looking at the rifle. The spots impede my vision; no matter where I look, they follow my line of sight.

Hurry up and clear! I shout to myself, reaching up and rubbing my eyes with my wrist.

Something brushes against my leg; there's a knife in my left hand before I can see around the spots and identify the kid. She's down on the ground in a tight little ball, arms over her head.

"Watch her," I order the enfield.

Egon cocks his head at me, orange eyes wide and dazed. He blinks, then shakes all over before sneezing. Wings rustling, he stands over the kid, one scaled and clawed foreleg on either side of her small form.

"Where are they?" I ask Winston, slowly turning in a circle. The big bull whuffs, but gives me no more than that. Gradually, the spots lift from my eyes, but all I see are trees and the long shadows they cast. I know there has to be more. Those two didn't come from the direction the mare ran.

I hazard there must be at least two—perhaps three. Tilting my head back, I peer into the endless canopy, searching every branch, every trunk for a sign.

My answer comes in the form of a threefold attack. One lindworm rushes Winston, another comes for me, and the third leaps at Egon. The beast bears me down to the ground and I lose my grip on the rifle. It clatters to the forest floor, just out of reach. A hoarse scream leaves my lips as my heart threatens to burst out of my chest. I thrust both gloved hands up and make contact with the lindworm's whiskered jaws.

Stubby forepaws swipe at my face drawing a line of blood down one cheek. Grimacing against the white-hot pain, I punch the beast in the underside of its jaw. Hot, stinking saliva drips from the lindworm's mouth and splatters across my face and chest.

I won't die; I can't die. Not today, not tomorrow.

The lindworm's barbless tail wraps around my ankle and starts twisting.

Pain lances through my body as the beast attempts to pull my leg off. Screaming, I shape the magic to my will, forcing a ball of cherry red flame to ignite around my clenched fist. Digging one gloved hand into the lindworm's flat lower lip, I shove the fireball into its face.

The beast's shriek nearly blows my eardrums. It rears back, short forelegs clawing at its burning face. As I roll away, the headache that always accompanies the calling of fire slams into me with the force of a Peterbilt. A new set of stars explode in front of my eyes and a wave of vertigo sends me crashing to the forest floor.

Bile churns in my belly and I struggle to keep from vomiting. A heavy paw knocks into me, sending me tumbling a dozen feet or more. Groaning and nearly sick, I make myself roll onto all fours. A thin line of drool escapes my gaping lips and dangles there like a gross fishing line.

Get your head together, Raine!

Spitting and breathing heavily, I lean onto one side and draw a knife. With all my strength, I throw it at the lindworm, striking it in the shoulder blade. I barely hear its scream. Head pounding like a thousand drums, I collapse onto my back, one more knife in my numb fingers. I'll roll over, but I won't go quietly.

I wait for the lindworm to attack, but it pauses, head turning away from me.

A sound like a helicopter thumps against the forest floor: whump ... whump ... whump! Then I see it: bands of energy cascade off of Kayleigh like a waterfall, each successive band growing larger and larger, spreading out like a rippling wave. She's curled into a tight ball, head pressed against the tops of her knees.

The sound grows louder, the waves increase in size and shape. Nearby, the lindworms drop to the ground, clawing at their earless heads with those short paws.

Oh, God ...

Kayleigh explodes like a bomb, a massive surge of energy flying in all directions. I'm flattened to the ground as the energy rolls over and through me. It feels like a song, smells like fresh laundry, and tastes like sunshine. A single note from a harp rings in my head.

And then it's over.

Blinking furiously, I roll onto my side, groaning as the motion pulls on the leg the lindworm tried to rip off. Through bleary eyes, I see the bodies of three lindworms lying flat on the ground—dead.

Hoofbeats roll across the forest floor. Oh, what now? I groan, groping for my knives.

The feathered fetlocks of a large Friesian stallion come into view.

"Uh ... I guess you didn't need my help?"

Oh, screw me. It's the Striker.