The Child Thief

THE CHILD THIEF slipped from the scrub even before the last Flesh-
eater passed. He dashed from one piece of driftwood to the next, broke free
from the last bit of cover, and sprinted toward the waves. The Mist rolled up
to greet him, seemed to almost dance in anticipation like a dog awaiting a
feeding.
Peter’s face tightened. All things come with a price. No one knows that
better than I. He fought to clear his mind, knowing he’d never make it
through the Mist otherwise, took a deep breath, and entered the swirling
vapor.
The sounds from the beach died in the suffocating silence, even his own
thoughts felt muffled. He stood stock-still as he searched for the Path—
finding the Path, walking between the worlds, was one of his gifts. “There,”
he whispered, spotting the tenuous thread of gold sparkles as it drifted
across the grayness.

---

Peter caught up with the Path and followed, moving quickly, and sooner
than he would’ve liked found himself staring at the Nike high-top. He
stopped. Keep moving, he told himself. Keep moving or you’ll be as dead as
the rest of them. But he heard Nick’s words: “If I’d fallen behind, would I
still be out there? Wandering around, screaming your name until I died?”
Peter wondered how long the boy in the high-tops had screamed his name.
The boy? The child thief laughed at himself, an ugly, contemptuous laugh.
The boy had had a name. Jonathan. And Jonathan was among the Sluagh
now wasn’t he? Peter thought. “Well what of it?” he whispered bitterly.
Whose fault is that? Am I to blame because he hadn’t listened? It’s better
this way, he told himself, better to let the Mist sort them out…the weak from
the strong. Peter kicked the high-top. Everything comes with a price.
Everything. Some things just cost more than others.
Chimes rang from somewhere far away, then muffled laughter and
children singing; the Mist began to stir.
This got Peter moving, almost running, keeping his eyes forward,
keeping to the path.
“It will all end soon,” he whispered.