The Child Thief

PETER HEARD THE gurgling of Goggie Creek and let out a silent sigh
of relief. The Flesh-eaters would never dare follow them this far.
He crouched on the bank and put his hands in the fast-moving water.
“This water’s safe to drink,” Peter said, and began slurping down large
handfuls. He splashed his face, glad to wash away the residue of the city.
He hated the city, hated all the concrete, the noise, the stink of exhaust and
garbage, but worse than all that, the city was full of men-kind—men-kind
and all their cruelty and brutality.
He glanced at Nick. The kid was holding up pretty good. He’d done
well in the Mist. Peter had been sure he’d lost him, and yet the boy had
found him on his own. Peter couldn’t remember any other child doing that.
This boy showed spunk, showed promise. Just the kind of child the Devils
are looking for, Peter thought. This one just might live awhile.
Peter watched the boy drink. It had been a long night and the boy
looked worn out, exhausted. Good, Peter thought, a deep sleep will make
things easier.
“Up ahead’s a good spot to rest,” Peter said.
Nick nodded and they moved on.
THE TWO OF them lay between a cluster of boulders on a makeshift bed
of straw. Peter stared up at the overcast night sky. “I miss the stars.”
Nick yawned. “Maybe it’ll clear up soon.”
“No,” Peter said. “The Mist is eternal. The Lady protects Avalon, but at
the cost of our dear moon and stars.”
“Avalon?” Nick said. “I thought that was in Britain somewhere.”
“Used to be,” Peter said.
“What’d you mean?”
“Oh, you’ll see.”
“Sure, okay,” Nick mumbled and closed his eyes.
Peter watched the boy until he was sure Nick was fast asleep, then rose,
slipping silently out from the boulders. There below him a giant tree grew
out from the cliff base; a single tendril of gray smoke wove its way through
its craggy limbs. A solid round door was set into the trunk, thick iron spikes

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protruding from its planks; above the door hung a toothless human skull
atop a thigh bone.
Peter rapped on the door three times; a moment later, the peephole slid
open; one slanted eye peered out at him.
“I bring fresh blood,” Peter said and grinned.

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