The Order of Brigid's Cross - The Wild Hunt (Book 1): The Wild Hunt Read Online Free

the metal pull bar on the
door, hoping to snap the lock and get in.   The door jiggled slightly as Jamal desperately fought against the lock,
but the metal held, and the door stayed closed.
    Suddenly, the wind increased, and trash cans and cardboard flew
down the street in front of him. The wailing sound of wind rushing through the
buildings reminded him of a video he had seen on the news when a hurricane had
hit the east coast.   This tornado was
coming fast and hard.   Desperate, he
threw his shoulder against the door, cracking one of the pieces of plywood. He
ran against it again, and it split in the middle. Prying his fingers into the
crack, he pulled on the wood, trying to increase the six-inch gap, but the wood
was too thick.
    He dashed away from the door and out of the overhang, frantically
looking up and down the street for anything he could use to pry off the
plywood.   All of a sudden, the wind
seemed to change direction. Instead of between the buildings it was howling down
the street, creating a wind tunnel down the sidewalk.   Jamal’s body was shoved by the gust, and he
rammed his head on the brick façade. Then, the wind twisted and came from the
other direction, bringing with it an assortment of debris relentlessly pelting
his body.   Aluminum cans, newspapers,
paper cups, pebbles and garbage hit his back, pounded his body, and smacked
against his arms as he protected his head from the onslaught.
    Struggling against the wind, he stumbled back towards the
door and the slight shelter the overhang provided. The wind hit again, nearly
lifting him off his feet. He pushed forward against the gust, trying to reach
the door, his heart pounding as the wind pulled him back towards the street. For
a moment, he was paralyzed, the force of the wind equaling the power of his
limbs.   He dug deep and forced himself to
push harder. Finally, he slapped his body against the brick façade and like a
rock climber, dug his fingertips into the gaps between the bricks for grip,
trying to find a solid hold. Inch by painful inch, he fought to move closer to
the doorway, fingertips scraped and bruised as he pulled himself forward,
fighting the drag of the maelstrom.
    Finally, he reached the boarded door, shoved his hands back
into the small gap in the plywood and held on for dear life. The wind screamed
against the building, almost sounding human, and his body was shoved sideways. Squeezing
his fingers tighter, he held on as his legs were lifted off the ground and
pulled. Shoving his hand farther in for more grip, he felt the jagged plywood
slice through his hands, but he still held tight.   “Oh, Lord, please help me hold on,” he cried.
    Suddenly there was quiet. His body smashed against the door,
ripping his hands out of the gap and cutting them deeply. His stomach turned
when he looked down and saw the damage; skin, muscles and tendons had been
severed to the bone.   The pain was immense.
He breathed in, ready to scream, but the sound died in his mouth when he saw a movement
out of the side of his eye. He reached for the gun that was no longer there.
    Jamal faced the street to meet his enemy, but what he saw
was not what he expected.   The cloud, the
tornado was at street level now.   But it
wasn’t a cloud, it was an army, and they were walking out of the cloud.   There were at least a hundred of them
marching towards the park. The leader was tall—over ten feet.   His body was thick, and on his head he wore
the skull of some kind of giant deer. The antlers extended for yards in either
direction. He was riding on a giant, gray horse that breathed steam through its
wide nostrils while its sharp, stone hooves destroyed the asphalt beneath it.  
    Other creatures followed, some
riding and some on foot.   They were tall
and thin, just like their leader, and their clothes looked like ragged shrouds.
Moss and tree bark hung on the sharpened angles of their bodies.   Their limbs, long and sinewy, reminded Jamal
of