Hunger

by Michael Grant

  Diana fell. Her head smashed against a jutting point of rock. She made a sound like a dropped pumpkin.

  Caine froze.

  The fuel rod, forgotten, fell from the air with a shattering crash.

  It fell within ten feet of the mine shaft opening. It landed atop a boulder shaped like the prow of a ship.

  It bent, cracked, rolled off the boulder, and crashed heavily in the dirt.

  Drake ran straight at Caine, his whip snapping. But Jack stumbled in between them, yelling, “The uranium! The uranium!”

  The radiation meter in his pocket was counting clicks so fast, it became a scream.

  Drake piled into Jack, and the two of them went tumbling.

  Caine stood, staring in horror at Diana. Diana did not move. Did not move. No snarky remark. No smart-ass joke.

  “No!” Caine cried.

  “No!”

  Drake was up, disentangling himself with an angry curse from Jack.

  “Diana,” Caine sobbed.

  Drake didn’t rely on his whip hand now, too far away to use it before Caine could take him down. He raised his gun. The barrel shot flame and slugs, BAM BAM BAM BAM BAM.

  Inaccurate, but on full automatic, Drake had time. He swung the gun to his right and the bullets swooped toward where Caine stood like he was made of stone.

  Then the muzzle flash disappeared in an explosion of green-white light that turned night into day. The shaft of light missed its target. But it was close enough that the muzzle of Drake’s gun wilted and drooped and the rocks behind Drake cracked from the blast of heat.

  Drake dropped the gun. And now it was Drake’s turn to stare in stark amazement. “You!”

  Sam wobbled atop the rise. Quinn caught him as he staggered.

  Now Caine snapped back to the present, seeing his brother, seeing the killing light.

  “No,” Caine said. “No, Sam: He’s mine.”

  He raised a hand, and Sam went flying backward along with Quinn.

  “The fuel rod!” Jack was yelling, over and over. “It’s going to kill us all. Oh, God, we may already be dead!”

  Drake rushed at Caine. His eyes were wide with fear. Knowing he wouldn’t make it. Knowing he was not fast enough.

  Caine raised his hand, and the fuel rod seemed to jump off the ground.

  A javelin.

  A spear. He held it poised. Pointed straight at Drake.

  Caine reached with his other hand, extending the telekinetic power to hold Drake immobilized.

  Drake held up his human hand, a placating gesture. “Caine…you don’t want to…not over some girl. She was a witch, she was…”

  Drake, unable to run, a human target. The fuel rod aimed at him like a Spartan’s spear.

  Caine threw the fuel rod. Tons of steel and lead and uranium.

  Straight at Drake.

  Drake, quick as a snake, twisted his shoulder and neck to the side. The fuel rod did not hit him full in the chest, but struck his shoulder and sent him flying down the dark shaft.

  The fuel rod disappeared with him.

  There came a loud crash. Dust billowed out of the hole.

  Silence.

  No sound, but the skitter of falling pebbles inside the shaft.

  “Oh, God, did it break open?” Jack moaned. “Oh, my God, I don’t want to die.”

  Caine raised his hands and stood, arms outstretched, right before the mouth of the mine.

  The ground began to rumble.

  Rock snapped and creaked.

  No! the hated voice cried in Caine’s mind.

  “I’m no one’s slave,” Caine grated.

  No! You will not!

  Caine faltered. There were knives in his brain, knives stabbing and stabbing, and the agony was beyond imagining.

  “Won’t I?” Caine said.

  Caine raised his hands high. He reached with his power into the cave and yanked his arms back.

  Tons of loose rock, wooden support beams, the shattered fuel rod, a battered old pickup truck, the body of Hermit Jim, and the writhing, cursing figure of a wounded but still living Drake Merwin, came flying out of the cave. Like the cave had vomited up its contents.

  The mass of it froze in midair. And then, as Caine formed his hands into a bowl, the suspended mass began to twirl. It swirled like a tornado.

  And then, with Drake’s cries lost in the howling madness, Caine swept his arms forward and threw the entire spinning mass down the mine shaft entrance.

  The noise was so great that Jack clapped his hands over his ears.

  Then, a slow-motion rumble and crack and a sudden, overwhelming, earthquake jolt as the mine shaft collapsed. Millions of pounds of rock closed the shaft forever.

  Caine walked on wobbly legs to Diana. He knelt beside her. She wasn’t moving. He put his ear next to her lovely mouth. He heard no sounds of breathing.

  But when he laid his palm on her back, he felt the slightest rise and fall.

  Gently he rolled her over. The damage to the side of her head was awful to the touch. He couldn’t see clearly, tears filled his eyes, but he could feel a warm slipperiness where her temple should be smooth.

  A sob escaped from him.

  He heard heavy footsteps. Sam, moving like he was drunk, staggering.

  “Sam,” Caine said calmly, not taking his eyes off the dark form of Diana, “if you’re going to kill me, go ahead. Now would be a good time.”

  Sam said nothing.

  Finally Caine looked at him. Through his tears Caine saw the way Sam wobbled, barely able, it seemed, to stay on his feet. He had been cut up badly. The pain must be excruciating.

  Drake’s work. Drake had not killed Sam. But he had come close. And it seemed impossible that Sam would survive for long.

  Quinn was struggling under the burden of the body he cradled in his arms. The Mexican kid, Caine guessed, or maybe Dekka.

  “So. This is the end,” Caine said dully. He stroked Diana’s cropped hair. “I love her. Did you know that, Sam?”

  “It’s not over yet,” Sam said. His voice shocked Caine. He’d never heard more pain in a voice. He heard a barely suppressed scream beneath the words.

  “She can’t live,” Caine said.

  “Edilio’s hurt. Almost gone,” Quinn said. “They shot him. And Dekka…”

  “Not me,” Caine said. “Not us. They were both like that when we got here.”

  He was not interested in Edilio or Dekka. Not even interested in Sam. So sad that Diana would die this way, all her beautiful hair gone. She looked younger this way. Innocent. Not a word he or anyone else had ever applied to Diana.

  “Lana,” Sam said.

  Caine felt the faintest flicker. Lana. But where was the Healer?

  As if he had heard the question, Quinn said, “She’s in there. She’s in there, with…it.”

  Caine looked at the mine shaft. He had been down there before. He knew what lay inside. And now, the fuel rod, too.

  “We need to…,” Sam whimpered, unable to finish.

  Caine nodded. “She must be dead after that.”

  “Maybe not,” Sam managed to say. “Maybe not.”

  “There’s no way to get in there now, anyway. It’s a wall of rock. It’s a lot harder to move rock back out. I’d have to move the whole mountain,” Caine said. “Hours. Days.”

  Sam shook his head and bit his lip as though he would bite it off. Caine saw him hold on barely as the pain passed through him.

  “May have another way,” Sam said finally, staring back down the trail.

  “Another way?” Caine asked.

  “Duck,” Sam said.

  And Caine did, instinctively. There was a rush of wind and a cloud of dust and all at once, there was Brianna.

  And towing along behind her, like some crazy balloon on a rope, a kid floating in midair and looking like someone had just taken him on a roller-coaster ride from hell.

  “Are we there?” Duck, asked, his eyes squeezed shut. “Am I done now?”

  “You wa
nt to eat?” Zil roared from atop his convertible perch.

  The crowd roared its assent. Though not every voice. Astrid clung to that fact: there was grumbling and uncertainty as well as acquiescence.

  “Then grab on to the rope!” Zil cried.

  The rope stretched across the plaza. It ended around Hunter’s neck. It would take no more than half a dozen willing executioners to do the foul deed.

  Astrid began to pray. She prayed in a loud voice, hoping it would shame them, hoping that somehow it would reach through the madness.

  “Grab on!” Zil cried, and he jumped down and seized the rope himself. The rest of his crew did the same.

  Then four…five…ten…

  Kids Astrid knew by name took hold of the rope.

  “Pull!” Zil screamed. “Pull!”

  The rope tightened. More came forward and took hold. But others, just a couple, changed their minds and let go.

  It was a confusion of hands. A mess that turned suddenly to a shoving match.

  The rope still tightened. It became a straight line.

  And Astrid, to her eternal horror, saw Hunter lifted off his feet.

  But the fight over the rope had turned nastier. Kids were pummeling one another, shouting, swinging wild fists.

  The rope slackened. Hunter’s kicking feet touched the ground.

  Kids rushed to pull on the rope. Others blocked their way. It was becoming a kind of full-scale riot. And then a couple of kids rushed at the meat, pushing past Antoine and Hank and Turk, literally walking over them in their desperation.

  Astrid took advantage of the melee to climb to her feet.

  Zil, enraged at losing control, at seeing the venison snatched away by desperate hands, shoved her hard.

  “Down on the ground, you freak-lover!”

  Astrid spit at him. She could see the color drain from Zil’s furious face. He grabbed a baseball bat, raised it over her. And then he flew into the air.

  In his place stood Orc.

  Zil was dangling from his fist. Orc drew Zil to within an inch of his own frightening face. “No one hurts Astrid,” Orc bellowed so loud, Zil’s hair was blown back.

  Orc took a slow spin. Then a second, faster one, and launched Zil through the air.

  “You okay?” Orc asked Astrid.

  “I guess so,” she managed to say. She knelt beside Little Pete and touched the egg-sized lump on his head. He moved slightly, then opened his eyes.

  “Petey. Petey. Are you okay?” There was no answer, but for Little Pete, that wasn’t abnormal. Astrid looked up at Orc. “Thanks, Charles.”

  Orc grunted. “Yeah.”

  Howard appeared, threading his way through the scattering mob. “My man, Orc,” he said, and slapped Orc on his massive granite shoulder. Then, to the fleeing crowd, many loaded down with chunks of venison, he yelled, “Yeah, you better run away. You are some sorry fools messing with Sam’s girl. If Orc doesn’t get you, Sammy will.”

  He winked at Astrid. “Your boy so owes us.”

  “Yeah,” Orc agreed. “Someone better beer me pretty soon.”

  “What happened to Edilio?” Brianna demanded. He was lying on the ground. Silent. Not even the sound of breathing.

  Quinn answered. “Edilio’s been shot. I don’t think he has long.”

  “I can’t believe Dekka let him get hurt,” Brianna said. “Where is she?”

  Quinn’s involuntary glance was all Brianna needed. She flew to where Dekka lay, crumpled like a doll someone had tossed aside.

  Brianna breathed hard. Stared. There was a rushing waterfall in her ears. A roar. Then a blur as the world around her screamed past and she hit Caine with all the speed and fury at her command. Caine went sprawling.

  Brianna was on him before he could draw breath, and now a rock was in her hand.

  “Breeze! No!” Sam yelled.

  Brianna froze. Caine was on his back. He did nothing. He did not raise his hands. Barely seemed to notice her as she squatted, poised to hit him with the rock, poised to hit him a hundred times before he could flinch.

  “No, Breeze,” Sam said. “We need him.”

  “I don’t need him,” Brianna hissed.

  “Breeze. Dekka’s gone. Edilio will be dead in a few minutes. If he isn’t already,” Quinn said, speaking for Sam, who was clenching his teeth with such force that Brianna thought his molars might splinter. “And Sam…”

  “What can this piece of filth do?” Brianna demanded.

  “We need Lana,” Sam managed to say.

  Caine picked himself up and brushed the dirt from his shirt. “Diana is dying. The Mexican kid is dying. Dekka, well, you saw her. And Sam doesn’t look too good,” Caine said. “Lana’s in there.” He jerked his head toward the collapsed mine shaft.

  “What I don’t get,” Caine continued, “is how we’re getting in there to find her. The whole mine collapsed. It will take me a lot longer to dig out than it did to collapse it. I pull stuff out, more falls in.”

  “Duck,” Sam said. “He’s going to drill a tunnel.”

  “Um…what?” Duck said.

  “Like when they rescue miners,” Sam said. “They drill a shaft down to the original shaft.”

  “Um…what?” Duck repeated.

  Quinn explained to an obviously baffled Caine, “It seems Duck has the power to sink right down through the ground.”

  “I don’t really think I’m…,” Duck said.

  “He can control his density,” Brianna confirmed. “That’s why I could carry him here. It was like carrying a backpack. But with more wind resistance.”

  “He drills,” Sam said. “We go in. You’ve been down there, haven’t you, Caine? Is there a place where—” A spasm of pain rocked him so hard, he seemed to lose consciousness for a minute.

  “Guys, I don’t really…,” Duck said.

  “Don’t you want to be a hero?” Quinn asked.

  “No,” Duck said honestly.

  “Yeah, me neither,” Quinn admitted. “But, Edilio, he’s a hero. He’s the real thing. And, Sam…well, I don’t have to tell you what Sam has done for all of us.” Quinn took Duck’s arm and said, “We need you, Duck. Only you. Only you can do this.”

  “Dude, I mean, I want to help, but…”

  “You get the next fish I catch,” Quinn said.

  “Not if I’m buried alive,” Duck argued.

  “Fried. Fried up so tender and flavorful.”

  “You can’t buy me with food,” Duck huffed. “I…I want a swimming pool, too.”

  FORTY-FOUR

  7 MINUTES

  THE MINE SHAFT was collapsed.

  Lana stood facing a wall of debris. And for a fleeting moment, she felt hope that this, at last, spelled the end of the monster that had enslaved her.

  But from that wall, the battered, blunted end of the fuel rod protruded.

  The billions of crystals that were all the body the gaiaphage had swarmed over the spilled uranium pellets.

  Lana felt the gaiaphage’s anticipation, its rush of bliss. The fear of destruction drained from the creature. And for a while, Lana’s mind was almost her own as the gaiaphage reveled in its dark joy.

  It was no blessing recovering her senses. Lana knew now beyond any doubt that it had been she who had pulled the trigger and shot Edilio. She who had failed to blow up the cave. She who had allowed this to happen.

  Too weak.

  A fool, easily manipulated into delivering herself into the service of the monster. Too weak to resist it.

  And as it grew stronger, as its fear ebbed, it would reach into her mind again and use her power to build the body that would emerge from this lair. Burying the creature would not stop it. It would create the body that could tunnel its way out, the cunningly designed monster-within-monster nesting doll that could never be killed.

  She was the key now. Lana knew that. The tunnel had been shut with a tremendous crash that would seal the gaiaphage in unless she gave it the key to escape.

  Only her own
death could stop it.

  Her will was too weak. Her only hope was delay. The uranium, surely it would kill her. Surely it would destroy her if she did nothing to heal herself.

  But would it happen quickly enough?

  And would the gaiaphage know what was happening to her and force her to save herself? Did the creature understand that its food was her death?

  Duck stood on the hillside. He was a hundred feet or so above the mine shaft. They had made a guess, hoping that this would position him above what Caine said was a wide subterranean chamber.

  All guesswork, of course. If Duck didn’t eventually fall into an open chamber, he would have to do it again. And again.

  Quinn was all but carrying Sam, holding him up with his arms as Sam endured wave after wave of pain.

  “The morphine is wearing off,” Sam said. “Hurry.”

  Caine stood ready. Brianna had run off to fetch rope. But when she returned she had fallen to her knees and vomited violently, heaving up nothing.

  “Have to do this now,” Sam said. He was panting. Holding on by his fingernails.

  “Do it, Duck,” Quinn urged.

  They were all waiting for him. Looking to him. So many lives on the line, and they were looking to him. To Duck Zhang.

  “Oh, man. It better be really good fish,” Duck said.

  And then he was falling through the ground. Falling and falling, and waving his arms as he went, tunneling through rock as if it were no thicker than pudding.

  Falling and flailing, falling and flailing. Knowing he would be able to float back up and out into the air, but not 100 percent sure. Mostly. Not totally sure. Maybe this time—

  Duck slipped suddenly as he fell through the ceiling of the mine shaft. He stopped his fall only after sinking two feet into the mine shaft’s floor.

  Duck breathed a sigh of relief. He was not in a wide, open chamber, just in a narrow mine shaft. A miracle he’d hit it.

  He wondered if there were bats in here. Well, judging by the scared looks of all the others up above, there was something much worse down here. So maybe bats wouldn’t be a bad thing. Maybe bats would be a good sign.

  “Okay!” he yelled up.