Hunger

by Michael Grant

  “Oh, my God,” Dekka whispered. “Brianna.” She closed her eyes and seemed to be praying.

  “She’d be back by now,” Sam said heavily. “If she was coming.”

  He felt sick to his stomach. Sick down to his bones.

  Lana felt the dread growing on her. She was prepared. She knew it was coming.

  “What is this place?” Cookie asked, feeling something, too, no doubt, but only the ghosts, not the living, seething evil that was now so close.

  “It used to be a mining town,” Lana said. “Gold miners, back in, like, the 1800s or whatever.”

  “Like cowboys?”

  “I guess so.”

  They walked through the ghost town, the shabby, tumble-down wreck of a place that had no doubt once been someone’s dream of a future metropolis. The mines had mostly played out back in the late 1800s.

  It was still possible to make out where the main street had been. And Lana supposed if you really thought about it, you’d be able to figure out which of the piles of sticks was the hotel, the saloon, the hardware store, or whatever. Here and there a tenuous wall or rickety chimney still stood outlined in silver. But roofs had mostly collapsed long ago, storefronts had pancaked. Maybe it was an earthquake or something that had tumbled the weakened structures. Maybe it was just time.

  Only one building seemed more or less intact, the roughhewn warehouse where Hermit Jim had hidden his gas-fired gold smelter and his pickup truck.

  “That’s where we’re going,” Lana said, nodding in the direction of the structure.

  Lana’s gaze was drawn beyond the building to the trail that led up the side of the hill. She knew she would have to walk up that trail, up that hill to the mine shaft, and dig the keys from the mummified miner’s pocket.

  Not her favorite idea. Being even this close to the thing in the mine shaft laid shadows on her soul. She could feel it up there, the Darkness, and she had the terrible feeling that it could sense her closeness as well.

  Did the Darkness know she was coming?

  Did it know why?

  Did she know? For sure?

  “I know why I’m here,” Lana said. “I know.”

  “Of course,” Cookie said. He seemed to think she was rebuking him.

  Patrick was quiet, cowed. He remembered, too.

  They were in the warehouse. Lana checked the propane gas tank. There was a gauge that showed it half full. That should be enough.

  She knelt and checked the support for the tank. It rested on a sort of steel frame, rusted, but not, thankfully, bolted down to the ground or anything. The cradle rested on dirt. Good.

  “What we have to do, Cookie, is get this tank into that truck. In a little while I’m going to get the keys. We’ll back the truck up to the tank. But first, let’s see how it all works, huh?”

  “You got it, Healer.”

  She pressed her leg against the bottom edge of the tank, finding it came to the top of her thigh. She walked to the pickup truck and compared the height of the tailgate.

  Good. Good. They were very close to being the same height. The tank was maybe two inches lower, which meant it would have to be lifted. Lifted and shoved. But there would be a system, had to be, because Hermit Jim would have had to carry the tank in his truck to get refills.

  “Cookie. Look around for a toolbox.”

  First things first. She made sure the nozzle was off.

  Then she rummaged in the toolbox Cookie had retrieved until she found a wrench that fit the pipe fitting. The coupling that attached the hose to the tank was frozen up.

  “Let me give it a try,” Cookie suggested.

  Cookie was at least twice Lana’s weight. The coupling gave way.

  Lana pointed to the rafters. A heavy chain hung down from a series of pulleys. There was a hook on the end of the chain, and an eyebolt on the gas tank’s frame.

  “Jim would have had to refill the tank from time to time. That’s how he got the tank into his truck.”

  Cookie hauled the hook down. The chain clanked and came easily, rolling through the well-oiled pulley.

  Cookie hoisted himself heavily up onto the framework and attached the hook to the eyebolt.

  “Okay. Good,” Lana said. “Now I’m going up to get the key.”

  Something in her tone must have worried Cookie. “Well, um, Healer, we should go with you. Me and Patrick. It’s not safe out there.”

  “I know,” Lana said. “But if something goes wrong, I want to know I have someone I trust who can take care of Patrick.”

  That was the wrong thing to say if her goal was to soothe Cookie. His eyes were wide, his chin trembling.

  “What’s going to go wrong?”

  “Probably nothing.”

  “Okay, I have to go with you,” Cookie said.

  Lana laid her hand on his big forearm. “Cookie, you have to trust me on this.”

  “At least tell me what the problem is,” he pleaded.

  Lana hesitated. A big part of her wanted Cookie and Patrick, too, along for the walk to the mine entrance. But she was worried about Patrick. And even more, she was worried about what might happen to Cookie.

  In the old days Cookie had been a big, dumb bully, a sort of second-tier Orc. He was still not exactly a genius. But his heart had been transformed by days of suffering, and whatever meanness had once been in him was gone. There was now in Cookie a sort of purity, he seemed so innocent to Lana. An encounter with the Darkness might end all that. The creature in the mine had left its stain on her soul, and she didn’t want that same thing to happen to her trusting and loyal protector.

  Lana retrieved her bag. From it she drew a letter, neatly sealed in a white business envelope. She handed it to Cookie. “Look, if something does happen, you take this to Sam or Astrid. Okay?”

  “Healer…” He was reluctant to take it.

  “Cookie. Take.” She placed it in his hand and closed his fingers around it. “Good. Now, listen, I need you to do something else while I’m gone.”

  “What?”

  She forced a smile. “I’m so hungry, I could eat Patrick. Look around this dump and see if you can find something to eat. I’ll be back in fifteen minutes.”

  She turned toward the door and plunged out into the night before he could argue any further.

  Lana slipped her hand into her bag, wrapped her fingers around the cold plastic grip of the pistol. She pulled it out and let it hang by her side.

  She was going to get the key from the dead miner. If Pack Leader showed up to stop her, she would shoot him.

  And if…and if she could not bring herself to come back out of that cave, if she found herself instead walking deeper into it, deeper, toward the Darkness, unable to resist, well…

  Taylor was not Brianna. Breeze had an image of herself as a superhero. Taylor knew she was just a girl. Like any other girl except that she had the strange ability to think of a place and appear there instantaneously.

  And now Brianna was very late getting back. The Breeze was never late. Brianna didn’t know how to be late. Something had happened to her.

  So it was Taylor’s turn. She felt it, knew it. But Sam didn’t ask her. He stood there staring down the road, like he was willing Brianna to appear.

  Dekka was more upset than Taylor had ever seen her. Dekka was normally a rock, but the rock had some cracks in it now.

  Edilio kept a poker face. Eyes straight ahead, waiting for orders. Patient.

  No one wanted to pressure Sam. But everyone knew that with each passing minute, it was becoming harder to act.

  It was up to Taylor. Sam didn’t want to send her. So it was up to her.

  She would do anything for Sam. Anything. She supposed she was kind of in love with him, even though he was older than her and was totally into Astrid.

  Sam had saved Taylor’s life. He had saved her sanity.

  Caine had decreed that uncooperative freaks at Coates be kept under control. He had figured out that most powers seemed to focus through a ki
d’s hands, and with Drake’s help he had moved quickly and decisively.

  It was called plastering. It involved encasing a kid’s hands in a block of cement. The blocks weighed forty pounds. The sheer weight rendered kids helpless. At first Caine’s flunkies had fed them in dishes on the ground, like dogs. Taylor and the others, including Brianna and Dekka, had lapped up bowls of cereal and milk like animals.

  Then trouble had broken out between the kids left in charge at Coates while Caine went down to grab control in Perdido Beach.

  The feedings had grown less frequent. And then they had stopped altogether. Taylor had eaten weeds poking up through gravel.

  Sam was the reason she wasn’t dead.

  She owed him. Everything.

  Even, she realized with a sinking in the pit of her stomach, the life he had given back to her.

  “I’ll be right back,” she said.

  Before Sam or anyone else could speak, she was gone. Just down to the end of the road so she could see the gate, not far, not as far as she was capable of teleporting.

  One second she was with Sam and Edilio and Dekka. A millisecond later she was alone in the dark, her friends just out of sight behind her.

  It was like changing a TV channel. Only she was inside the TV.

  Taylor took a shaky breath. The gate was just fifty yards away. The power plant beyond was bright and intimidating.

  They would expect her to either bounce into the guardhouse or directly into the plant. She wouldn’t do either.

  A split second later she was on the hillside above the guardhouse, tripping because she had materialized on a steep slope.

  She caught herself, glanced around quickly, saw no one, and bounced to a dark shadowed place behind a parked delivery truck just off to one side of the gate.

  “Ah!”

  A shout of surprise and Taylor knew she had made a bad choice.

  Two kids, two of Drake’s thugs, both armed with rifles were right there, right next to her, hiding behind the truck. Waiting in ambush.

  Surprise slowed their reactions. She could see it in their eyes.

  “Too slow,” Taylor said.

  They shouted, swiveled their guns, and she was gone.

  She appeared three feet from Sam, who was still staring down the road.

  “Taylor. What are you doing?” he asked.

  He hadn’t realized she was gone. She laughed in relief. “Two guys with guns behind a big truck, just past the gate, to the left. I don’t think anyone’s actually in the guardhouse. It’s an ambush. If you guys went toward the guardhouse, these guys would be able to shoot you in the back. They saw me.”

  Now it was Sam’s turn to be a little stunned.

  “You…”

  “Yeah.”

  “You shouldn’t…”

  “Had to. And look, I didn’t see Brianna anywhere.”

  “Load up,” Sam ordered. He leaped into the Jeep. “Dekka?”

  “On it,” Dekka said, breaking into a run for her own vehicle.

  Edilio shouted to his guys to load up as well.

  “Thanks,” Sam said over his shoulder.

  Taylor felt amazingly happy over that one word acknowledgment. “I could…,” she began, not really wanting Sam to say yes.

  “No,” he said firmly. “And keep your head down.” To Edilio he said, “Straight to the gate, but pull over before you reach it. We have to move fast before they can figure out what to do. But, remember, there’ll be one more guy out there. The one that Taylor didn’t see.”

  “Yep,” Edilio said. “We’re ready for that.”

  Taylor wondered what they were talking about, but it wasn’t time for twenty questions.

  The Jeep careened around the curve and hurtled down the hill to the gate. Edilio slammed on the brakes. Dekka’s SUV barely had time to avoid piling into them. The third vehicle followed more slowly.

  Sam jumped out. Dekka leaped while her own car was still moving.

  Both pelted down the hill.

  Taylor heard Sam yelling instructions to Dekka. Seconds later the truck, tons of steel, floated up off the ground.

  Taylor saw the two thugs gaping up at it.

  Sam raised his hands. “Guys?” he said to the two startled thugs. “Way I see it, you have a choice. Drop your guns, run away, and live. Or point those guns my way and burn.”

  The two guns clattered on the pavement. The two boys stuck their arms in the air.

  “You have anything we can eat?” one asked.

  Dekka dropped the truck back into place.

  It made a huge noise, smashing, bouncing but remaining upright.

  “Have you seen Brianna?” Dekka asked them.

  “No,” the boy said.

  “But if she tried to go after them inside, she’s not coming back,” the other said, trying to sound tough, even though his hands were in the air.

  “Taylor,” Sam said. “Double-check the guardhouse.”

  Taylor bounced into the guardhouse. She was on a hair trigger, ready to bounce back out again. But she saw no one inside.

  Outside, through the window, she saw Edilio’s soldiers piling out of the last car, machine guns ready. Howard stepped out of the SUV, scared, cringing. And slowly, like he was an old man with arthritis, came Orc. Howard was a tiny shadow beside him.

  Taylor bounced to them.

  “No one’s in the guardhouse,” Taylor reported. “And no Brianna.”

  Dekka looked at Sam. “If anyone’s hurt that girl, they don’t get the chance to walk away.”

  “Dekka, we need to play this smart,” Sam said.

  “No, Sam,” Dekka said with sudden, savage ferocity. “Anyone who hurts that girl dies.”

  Taylor expected Sam to put Dekka in her place. Instead, he said, “We all love her, Dekka. We’ll do what’s right.”

  Taylor bounced next to Dekka. She put her hand on Dekka’s strong shoulder. The girl was trembling.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  18 HOURS, 1 MINUTE

  SAM WISHED CAINE would come out after him. That would be best. That would be the thing. A straight-up fight, out in the open. Last time they’d had that fight, Sam had won.

  But Caine wasn’t going to step outside.

  The fight had barely begun and already he had lost Brianna.

  Poor Breeze.

  “What do we do?” Edilio asked. He was at Sam’s side. Edilio was always at his side, and Sam was profoundly grateful for that. But right this moment, standing here in the shadow of the hulking power plant, with images of Brianna filling the next hole in the town plaza, he wished Edilio would shut up and leave him in peace.

  But Sam was the guy who made decisions. Win or lose. Right or wrong. Life or death.

  “I should have brought Astrid along,” Sam said. “She knows the plant better than either of us do.”

  “They gotta be in the control room,” Edilio said. “Whatever Caine is up to, he’d want to have the control room.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Only two ways in, as far as I remember. Either in through the turbine building or back through all the offices. They’ll have both covered.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Kind of narrow hallways from either direction. Come through the turbine room, maybe they won’t want to get crazy and do anything that messes up the plant, right?”

  Sam looked at him sharply. “You’re right. That makes sense. I should have thought of it. Caine doesn’t want the plant destroyed.”

  Edilio shrugged. “Hey, man, I’m not just your good-looking Mexican sidekick.”

  Sam smiled. “You’re not Mexican. You’re Honduran.”

  “Oh, yeah,” Edilio said dryly. “Sometimes I forget.” Then, serious again, he said, “Caine didn’t come here to wreck the place. He came here to take it over, use it somehow. Boy doesn’t want to sit in the dark any more than we do.”

  “But he’ll do what he has to,” Sam said.

  “Yeah. If the other choice is him coming out peacefully and letting
us lock him up, or…”

  Howard sidled up. “We standing around here all night or what? Orc’s, like, let’s do this or let me go home and go to sleep.”

  “I kind of thought we’d take a couple of minutes to think it over,” Sam snarled. “We’ve probably lost Breeze. But if you’d rather just have Orc go barreling in there alone, fine.”

  “No, man,” Howard said, backing down quickly.

  Sam laid his hand on Edilio’s shoulder and gave it a little squeeze. “He may have hostages.”

  “Yeah,” Edilio agreed. “My guys. Mike and Mickey and Brittney and Josh.”

  “Okay, as long as we understand,” Sam said. He made eye contact with Edilio. Edilio gave just the slightest nod in return.

  “Here’s my plan. Taylor bounces in, carries a shotgun, starts to blast. One, two, three rounds, then bounces out. At that point we hit them all together, straight through the turbine room.”

  “Yep,” Edilio said. “Straight through the turbine room.”

  Looking perfectly casual, Edilio slung his knapsack off his shoulder and began rummaging inside. He called over to a kid named Steve, one of his soldiers. “Hey, Steve, man, where’s my Snickers bar? I had it right here in my backpack.”

  Steve frowned and headed over. The pockets of his cargo pants were bulging.

  Edilio drew a gun—too big, too brightly colored, and too plastic to be real from his backpack. He pumped it once, leveled it at waist level, and fired.

  A thin stream of watered-down yellow paint sprayed thirty feet.

  At the same time Steve drew twin cans of spray paint from his pants, aimed, and fired.

  Edilio and Steve both sprayed in a circle, twirling, hitting kids and cars and foliage.

  “There!” Sam yelled.

  Bug was almost completely invisible at night. But a lot less invisible with a spray of yellow paint across his chest.

  Bug bolted, looking like nothing more than a dancing, racing streak of fluorescence. He pelted away, yelling, “Open the door! Open the door!”

  Dekka took a stance. “Make it look good, but not too good,” Sam whispered.

  Suddenly Bug tripped. Gravity had ceased to exist, but he stumbled out of Dekka’s range, regained his feet, and hit the door.