When Devils Sing(108)
The Clearwater folks glanced at one another, clearly caught off guard. Jonah, who still held the bucket above her face twitched, and Sam flinched away.
“Grant is providing a different sacrifice,” Russ said evenly.
Farris stepped back while Jason freed Kiran, trading her for another. He guided her out of Sam’s sight and into the trees with little ceremony. A heartbeat later, Sam’s face was in Jonah’s bloodied grip again, the bucket poised over her head.
Scalding water engulfed her, overwhelming every nerve in her body. It was the worst pain she’d ever felt; it was all she felt. There was nothing else besides the burning as water gathered in her eyes and her ears, silencing out the world.
ISAIAH
ISAIAH HAD SEEN enough. He was crouched down, hidden in the burnt remains of an old shack near the crossroads. He’d reluctantly recorded every unbearable scream, every desperate plea for the suffering to end. It was all on his phone, including the faces of every Clearwater resident involved. Evidence. Enough to indict the most powerful families of Lake Clearwater. No matter their reach in the world, no one could deny what Isaiah had recorded.
He was prepared to leak it to every independent news outlet in the country, and even beyond, once this was all over. But first, he had to make sure all of the captives made it off the island alive, though he wasn’t sure how much more he could take.
The Chosen, as Dawson had called them in his journal, crowded around the first sacrifice now—a nameless woman who Isaiah didn’t recognize. They unlocked her chains, working together to tie a rope around her ankles, which they secured to an overhanging branch. The whimpering woman gave a guttural cry as she was jerked off the ground and dangled from the tree like an animal before slaughter.
Suddenly, there was a glint of a blade and then a scream. Several of the captives cried out as the woman’s throat was slit, her blood spraying onto the ground.
“Oh God,” Isaiah breathed. He bit hard on his tongue, struggling not to cry out himself. He’d thought the film negatives had been enough to prepare him for the sight of ritual murder, but nothing realistically could.
Come on, Neera, he thought anxiously. Come on.
Neither Isaiah nor Reid could act until Neera’s performance. Their entire plan hinged upon her.
The Chosen watched as the woman’s blood spilled to the earth below, where it flowed against gravity toward the center of the circle. The captives’ cries were eaten by the explosion of fireworks overhead.
Once the blood touched the center, the ground beneath Isaiah began to tremble and shake. He had never experienced an earthquake before, but he imagined it was a similar sensation. Great undulating tremors rippled out from the center of the circle.
What the hell is that?
The ground rumbled again, thundering beneath the island. Everyone turned to the center of the clearing as a split appeared in the circle, spreading like cracked glass across the dirt and cobblestones.
Slowly, a tiny sliver of earth ripped apart, revealing a yawning darkness. A strange, thrumming sound emanated from the trees. The cicadas. Isaiah ducked lower to the ground as thousands of them swarmed down the trunks of the pine trees, sliding across the forest floor. In hundreds of lines, they marched to the center of the clearing. One by one, the cicadas crawled into the split in the earth and disappeared into the dark.
“It’s time,” Russ Langley announced. “We owe our good fortune and riches to our Maker—to the one who has kept us fed for the past century. May He feast, then rest once more.”
With his face nearly touching the floor of the shack now, Isaiah struggled to continue recording the ritual on his phone. As he angled the camera to zoom in on Russ Langley, the screen froze, then went black. Isaiah had been obsessive about having enough battery that night, but his phone was suddenly dead—entirely unresponsive to the touch. He frantically pressed the side buttons, struggling to turn it back on, but nothing happened.
A growing sense of panic began to settle within him.
No no no, Isaiah frantically thought. Please don’t let the footage be lost.
The ground continued to rumble and shake, while the sticky air grew charged with the metallic tinge of blood. More cicadas swarmed from above. Many marched toward the chasm in the center of the clearing, while others followed the trail of blood to the dead woman’s hanging body, enveloping her in a pulse of winged insects. Once Isaiah could no longer discern her body beneath the cicadas, several of the Chosen gathered her corpse from the tree, then carried her to the chasm.
The woman disappeared within.
The second sacrifice was hung and killed in the same way as the first woman. The cicadas surrounded him, too. Isaiah couldn’t watch any longer. Every muscle in his body was poised to act—to do something. But if he made a move too soon, he’d ruin everything. He had to wait for Neera.
More fireworks burst overhead, growing louder and more frequent.
The third sacrifice had been killed and their body drained when Neera’s voice finally rang through the night air.
“My name’s Neera Singh,” her voice echoed across the island, somehow louder than those who performed before. “And I hope you enjoy this song.”
Isaiah scrambled for the earplugs in his pocket. He placed them firmly into his ears, then saw Reid crouch down and do the same thing. Before anyone could react, Neera’s music rang through the trees, and everyone’s attention was captivated. No one in the clearing moved except for Reid, who rose from the ground, studying the faces of those around him. They were entirely still. Reid signaled Isaiah with a whistle, and he whistled back.