“So that’s what this is about?” Dekka asked. “Your religion?”
“Everyone’s religion is against suicide,” Astrid snapped.
“I’m against it, too,” Dekka said defensively. “I just don’t want to be getting dragged into the middle of some kind of religious thing.”
“Whatever Orsay represents, it’s not a religion,” Astrid said icily.
Sam heard Orsay’s voice in his head. Let them go, Sam. Let them go and get out of the way.
His mother’s words, if Orsay was telling the truth.
“Let’s give it a week,” Sam said.
Dekka took a deep breath and blew it out all at once. “Okay. I’ll go with Sam on this. We lie. For a week.”
The meeting broke up. Sam was the first out of the room, suddenly desperate for fresh air. Edilio caught up to him as he was running down the steps of town hall.
“Hey. Hey! We never told them about what you and me saw last night.”
Sam stopped, looked toward the plaza, toward the hole they had refilled.
“Yeah? What did we see last night, Edilio? Me, I just saw a hole in the ground.”
Sam didn’t give Edilio the chance to argue. He didn’t want to hear what Edilio would say. He walked quickly away.
EIGHT
55 HOURS, 17 MINUTES
CAINE HATED DEALING with Bug. The kid creeped him out. For one thing, Bug had become less and less visible. It used to be that Bug would do his disappearing act only when necessary. Then he started doing it whenever he wanted to spy on someone, which was pretty frequently.
Now he would become visible only when Caine ordered him to.
Caine was betting everything on Bug’s story. A story of a magical island. It was insane, of course. But when reality was hopeless, fantasy became more and more necessary.
“How much farther to this farmhouse of yours, Bug?” Caine asked.
“Not far. Stop worrying.”
“You stop worrying,” Caine muttered. Bug was walking invisible through open fields. Nothing but depressions in the dirt where he stepped. Caine was all-too-visible. Broad daylight. Across a dusty, plowed field under a bright, hot sun. Bug said no one was in these fields. Bug said these fields had nothing growing and that none of Sam’s people knew about the farmhouse, which was practically unnoticeable, off a dirt road and looked abandoned.
Caine’s first question had been, “Then how do you know about them?”
“I know lots of stuff,” Bug answered. “Besides, a long time ago you said to keep an eye on Zil.”
“So how does Zil know about this farmhouse?”
The voice above the impressions of invisible feet said, “I think one of Zil’s guys used to know these kids. Back in the day.”
Caine’s next question: “Do they have food there?”
“Yeah. Some. But they also have shotguns. And the girl, the sister Emily? She’s some kind of freak, I think. I don’t know what she does, I ain’t seen her do anything freaky, but her brother is scared of her. So is Zil, kind of, only he doesn’t show it.”
“Great,” Caine muttered. He noted that Zil was a kid who wouldn’t let himself show fear. Maybe useful.
Caine shaded his eyes with his hand and scanned around, looking for telltale dust plumes from a truck or car. Bug said the Perdido Beach people were low on gas, too, but still drove when they needed to.
He was confident that he could take on and defeat any one freak from Sam’s group. With the sole exception of Sam himself. But if it was Brianna and Dekka together? Or even that little preppy nitwit Taylor and a few of Edilio’s soldiers?
But right now the real problem was simply that Caine was weak. Walking this distance—miles—was hard. Very hard when his stomach was stabbing him again, and his navel was scraping his spine. His legs were wobbly. His eyes sometimes became unfocused.
One good meal…well, not really a good meal…was not enough. But it was keeping him alive. Digesting Panda. Panda energy flowing from his stomach through his blood.
The farmhouse was hidden by a stand of trees, but otherwise right out in the open. A long way from the road, yes, but Caine couldn’t believe Sam’s people had never found it and searched it for food.
Very strange.
“No closer,” a young male voice called from the front porch of the house.
Bug and Caine froze.
“Who are you? What do you want?”
Caine couldn’t see anyone through the dirty screen.
Bug answered, “We’re just—”
“Not you,” the voice interrupted. “We know all about you, little invisible boy. We’re talking about him.”
“My name is Caine. I want to meet the kids who hang out here.”
“Oh? You do, huh?” the unseen boy said. “Why should I let you do that?”
“I’m not looking for trouble,” Caine said. “But I guess it’s only fair to tell you that I can knock your little house down in about ten seconds.”
Click click.
Something cold touched the back of Caine’s neck.
“Can you? That must be something to see.” A girl’s voice. Not two steps behind him.
Caine had no doubt that the cold object laid against the nape of his neck was a gun barrel. How had the girl gotten so close? How had she snuck up on them?
“Like I said, I’m not looking for trouble,” Caine said.
“That’s good,” the girl said. “You wouldn’t like the kind of trouble I can bring.”
“We just want to…” Caine couldn’t actually think of precisely what it was he just wanted to do.
“Well, come on inside,” the girl said.
There was no movement. No walking, no climbing the steps. The farmhouse seemed to warp for a second, and then it was suddenly around them. Caine was standing in a gloomy living room. There were plastic slipcovers on the sagging couch and on a corduroy La-Z-Boy.
Emily was maybe twelve. Dressed in jean shorts and a pink Las Vegas sweatshirt. As Caine had expected, she was holding a huge, double-barreled shotgun.
The boy came in from outside. He seemed completely unsurprised to see that Caine and Bug were standing in his living room. As though this kind of thing happened all the time.
Caine wondered if he was hallucinating.
“Have a seat,” Emily said, indicating the couch. Caine sat gratefully. He was exhausted.
“That’s a pretty good trick,” Caine said.
“It’s useful,” Emily said. “Makes it hard for people to find us if we don’t want to be found.”
“You have any electricity?” the brother asked Caine.
“What?” Caine peered at him. “In my pocket? How would I have electricity?”
The boy pointed mournfully at the TV. A Wii and an Xbox were attached. All indicator lights off, of course. Game cartridges were stacked high.
“That’s a lot of games.”
“The other ones bring them to us,” Emily said. “Brother likes the games.”
“But we can’t play them,” the boy said.
Caine looked at him closely. He did not strike Caine as any sort of genius. Emily, on the other hand, seemed shrewd and focused. She was the one in charge.
“What’s your name?” Caine asked the boy.
“Brother. His name is Brother,” Emily supplied.
“Brother,” Caine said. “Okay. Well, Brother, those games aren’t much fun if you don’t have electricity. Are they?”
“Those others told me they’d get some of that.”
“Yeah? Well, only one person can bring electricity back,” Caine said.
“You?”
“Nope. A kid named Computer Jack.”
“We met him,” Brother interjected. “He fixed my Wii, long time back. Games still worked back then.”
“Jack works for me,” Caine said. He sat back and let that sink in. It was a lie, of course. But he doubted Emily would know that. She wouldn’t know that Jack was in Perdido Beach. And that according to Bug he wa
s sitting in a squalid room reading comic books and refusing to do anything.
“You can get the lights on?” Emily asked with a glance at her anxious brother.
“I can,” Caine lied smoothly. “It would take about a week.”
Emily laughed. “Kid, you look like you can’t even feed yourself. Look at you. You look like a scarecrow. Dirty, hair falling out. And lying like a rug. What can you do?”
“This,” Caine said. He raised one hand and the shotgun flew out of Emily’s hand. It hit the wall so hard, the barrel stuck in the plaster like a crossbow bolt. The wood stock quivered.
Brother leaped up, but it was like he hit a brick wall. Caine threw him casually through the window. Glass shattered. There was a loud crash as the boy landed on the screened porch.
Emily was up in a heartbeat and suddenly the house disappeared around Caine. He found himself with Bug, standing in the yard.
“That’s definitely a neat trick,” Caine yelled. “Here’s an even better one.”
With hands outstretched he yanked Brother straight through the porch screen. The mesh wrapped around the boy’s body like a shroud. And he began to rise into the air, struggling feebly, calling out to his sister to save him.
Emily was instantly a foot from Caine, face-to-face.
“Try something,” Caine snarled. “It’ll be a long drop for your idiot brother.”
Emily looked up, and Caine saw the fight go out of her. Brother was still rising, higher and higher. The fall would maybe kill him. It would at the very least cripple him.
“See, I haven’t been spending my days and nights here on the farm,” Caine said. “I’ve been in a few fights. Experience. It’s kind of useful.”
“What is it you want?” Emily asked.
“When the others get here, you let them walk on in. I have to have a little conversation with them. Your shotgun has had it. And your little tricks won’t save you or him.”
“I guess you really want to talk to those boys.”
“Yeah. I guess I do.”
Lana heard the knock at the door and sighed. She’d been reading a book. Meg Cabot. A book from a million lifetimes ago. A girl who became a real-life princess.
Lana read a lot now. There were still plenty of books in the FAYZ. Almost no music, no TV or movies. Plenty of books. She read everything from fun chick lit to heavy, boring books.
The point was to keep reading. In Lana’s world there was awake time. And there was nightmare time. And the only thing keeping her sane was reading. Not that she was at all sure she was sane.
Not sure of that at all.
Patrick heard the knock, too, and barked loudly.
Lana assumed it was someone needing healing. That was the only reason anyone came to see her. But from long habit and deeply ingrained fear, she lifted the heavy handgun from the desk and carried it to the door with her.
She knew how to use the weapon. She was very accustomed to the feel of the grip in her hand.
“Who is it?”
“Sam.”
She leaned in to look through the peephole. Maybe Sam’s face, maybe not: there were no windows in the hallway outside, and so, no light. She threw the dead bolt and opened the door.
“Don’t shoot me,” Sam said. “You’d only have to heal me.”
“Come on in,” Lana said. “Pull up a chair. Grab a soda from the fridge and I’ll get the chips.”
“Well, you still have a sense of humor,” Sam said.
He chose the easy chair in the corner. Lana took the chair she had turned around to face the balcony. She had one of the better rooms in the hotel. In the old days it must have cost hundreds of dollars a day with this great view looking out over the ocean.
“So, what’s the emergency?” Lana asked. “You wouldn’t be here if there wasn’t some kind of problem.”
Sam shrugged. “Maybe I’m just here to say hi.”
It had been a while since she had seen him. She remembered the awful damage that had been done to him by Drake. She remembered all too well placing her hands on his flayed skin.
She had healed his body. Not his mind. He was no more completely healed than she was. She could see it in his eyes. It should have created some sympathy between them, but Lana hated seeing that shadow over him. If Sam couldn’t get past it, how could she?
“No one ever comes just to say hi,” Lana said. She pulled a pack of cigarettes from her bathrobe pocket and lit one expertly. She inhaled deeply.
She noticed his disapproving look. “Like any of us are going to live long enough to get cancer,” she said.
Sam said nothing, but the disapproval was gone.
Lana looked at him through a cloud of smoke. “You look tired, Sam. Are you getting enough to eat?”
“Well, you really can’t get enough boiled mystery fish and grilled raccoon,” Sam said.
Lana laughed. Then she sobered. “I had some venison last week. Hunter brought it to me. He wondered if I could cure him.”
“Did you?”
“I tried. I don’t think I helped much. Brain damage. I guess it’s more complicated than a broken arm or a bullet hole.”
“Are you doing okay?” Sam asked.
Lana fidgeted and began stroking Patrick’s neck. “Honestly? And you don’t talk to Astrid about it so she comes rushing over here trying to help?”
“Between you and me.”
“Okay. Then, no, I guess I’m not doing okay. Nightmares. Memories. It’s hard to tell which is which, really.”
“Maybe you should try going out more,” Sam said.
“But none of that is happening to you, right? Nightmares and all?”
He didn’t answer, just dropped his head and looked down at the floor.
“Yeah,” she said.
Lana stood up abruptly and went to the balcony door. She stood there, arms crossed over her chest, cigarette burning forgotten in her hand. “I can’t seem to stand being around people. I get madder and madder. It’s not like they’re doing anything to me, but the more they talk or look at me or just stand there, the angrier I get.”
“Been there,” he said. “Still am there, I guess.”
“See, you’re different, Sam.”
“I don’t make you angry?”
She laughed, a short, bitter sound. “Yeah, actually you do. I’m standing here right now and a part of me wants to grab anything I can put my hands on and smash it against your head.”
Sam got up and went to her. He stood just behind her. “You can punch me, if it helps.”
“Quinn used to come see me,” Lana said, as though she hadn’t heard him. “Then he dropped a glass and I…I almost killed him. Did he tell you? I grabbed the gun and I had it pointed right at his face, Sam. And I really, really wanted to pull the trigger.”
“You didn’t, though.”
“I shot Edilio,” Lana said, still looking down toward the water.
“That wasn’t you,” he said.
Lana said nothing, and Sam let the silence stretch. Finally, she said, “I thought maybe Quinn and I…But I guess that was enough for him to decide to move on.”
“Quinn is working a lot,” Sam said, sounding lame. “He’s out there at, like, four in the morning, every day.”
She slid open the balcony door and flicked the cigarette butt over the rail. “Why did you come, Sam?”
“I have to ask you something, Lana. Something’s going on with Orsay.”
“Yeah.” She pointed toward the beach below. “I’ve seen her down there. It’s been a couple times. Her and some kids. I can’t hear what they’re saying. But they look at her like she’s their salvation.”
“She’s saying she can see through the FAYZ wall. She says she can sense the dreams of people outside.”
Lana shrugged.
“We need to try and figure out if there’s any truth to it.”
“How would I know?” Lana asked.
“One of the possibilities…I mean, I wondered…I mean, if it’s not a l
ie, and maybe Orsay really believes it…”
“Go ahead, Sam,” Lana whispered. “You want to say something.”
“I need to know, Lana: Is the Darkness, the gaiaphage, is it really gone? Do you still hear its voice in your head?”
She felt cold. She crossed her arms over her chest. Squeezed herself tightly. She could feel her own body, it was real, it was her. She felt her own heart beating. She was here, alive, herself. Not there in the mine shaft. Not a part of the gaiaphage.
“Don’t ask me about that,” Lana said.
“Lana, I wouldn’t if it wasn’t—”
“Don’t,” she warned. “Don’t.”
“I…”
She felt her lips twist into a snarl. A wild rage swelled within her. She spun to face him. Stuck her face right in his. “Don’t!”
Sam stood his ground.
“Don’t ever, ever ask me about it again!”
“Lana—”
“Get out!” she screamed. “Get out!”
He backed quickly away. Out into the hallway, closing the door behind him.
Lana fell to the carpeted floor. She dug her fingers into her hair and pulled, needing the pain, needing to know that she was real, and here, and now.
Was he gone, the gaiaphage?
He would never be gone. Not from her.
Lana lay on her side, sobbing. Patrick came over and licked her face.
NINE
54 HOURS, 42 MINUTES
ZIL SPERRY WAS feeling very good. He’d spent the day waiting for the blow to fall. Waiting for Sam and Edilio to show up at his compound. If they had, he could have made a fight out of it, but he wasn’t crazy enough to think he would have won. Edilio’s soldiers had machine guns. Zil’s Human Crew had baseball bats.
He had more serious weapons, too, but those were not in the compound. Not with that freak Taylor able to pop in anywhere, anytime and see whatever she wanted.
And then, there were the other freaks: that glowering lesbian thug Dekka, the brat Brianna. And Sam himself.
Always Sam.
The compound was four houses at the end of Fourth Avenue, past Golding. The street dead-ended there in a sort of cul-de-sac. Four not-very-big, not-very-fancy houses. They’d set up a roadblock of cars to form a wall across Fourth Avenue. The cars had to be pushed into place—the batteries were all dead, all except the few vehicles Sam’s people kept in running condition.
Lies Page 6
