Lies

by Michael Grant

  The sun set in a blaze of red.

  Orsay sat very still on her rock. She seemed not to be moving a muscle. Her eyes were closed.

  Below her stood Jill, the Siren, seeming lost, scared, a wobbly silhouette against the light show in the west.

  “Are we going down to the beach, Mother Mary?” a little girl asked.

  “I didn’t bring my baving suit,” another said.

  It was just minutes away now, Mary knew. Her fifteenth birthday. Her Mother’s Day birthday.

  She glanced at her watch.

  She should be troubled, she knew, afraid. But for the first time in so very, very long Mary was at peace. The children’s questions didn’t reach her. The concerned, anxious, upturned faces were far away. Everything was finally going to be okay.

  The Prophetess did not stir. She sat so calmly, unmoved by the madness around her, indifferent to cries and pleas and demands.

  The Prophetess has seen that we will all suffer a time of terrible tribulation. This will come very soon. And then, Mary, then will come the demon and the angel. And in a red sunset we will be delivered.

  Orsay’s prophecy, as told to Mary by Nerezza.

  Yes, Mary thought. She truly is the Prophetess.

  “I can climb down to the beach,” Justin said bravely. “I’m not scared.”

  “No need,” Mary said. She ruffled his head affectionately. “We’ll fly down.”

  FORTY

  16 MINUTES

  THE CLIMB DOWN to the yacht, the Fly Boy Too, had been enough to take a year off Sanjit’s life. Twice he’d almost dropped Bowie. Pixie had banged her head and started crying. And Pixie could do some serious howling.

  Peace had been peaceful, but fretful. Which was normal enough under the circumstances.

  And then had come the part about getting them up onto the yacht. Easier than getting down the cliff, but still not a day at the beach.

  Man, wouldn’t a day at the beach be great? Sanjit wondered as he and Virtue shepherded the kids aft toward the helicopter.

  A day at the beach. That would be so much better than glancing up at that looming cliff and knowing he was getting ready to fly them all straight into it. Assuming he even got the helicopter up off the helipad.

  Most likely he wouldn’t make it far enough to worry about killing everyone on the cliff. More likely he’d get just enough altitude to plunge into the sea.

  No point thinking about it. There was no staying here now. Not even if he set aside his worries about Bowie. He’d seen what Caine could do.

  He had to get the kids off the island. Away from Caine. Virtue said there was something deep-down evil about Caine. Sanjit had seen Caine’s eyes when he had talked back to him.

  Sanjit wondered if Diana was right, that Virtue had some kind of mutant power to judge people. More likely he was just judgmental.

  But Virtue had been right talking about evil coming. Caine had been within a heartbeat of smashing Sanjit against a wall. No way a creature like Caine was going to tolerate Pixie and Bowie and Peace, let alone Choo. He wasn’t going to share a dwindling food supply with them.

  “Like things will be any better on the mainland,” Sanjit muttered.

  “What?” Virtue asked him distractedly. He was busy trying to strap Bowie into the back seat of the helicopter. There were only four seats altogether, the pilot and three passengers. But they were adult-size seats so the two in the back would be room enough for the three youngsters.

  Sanjit climbed into the pilot’s seat. The leather was creased and well-worn. In the movie the seat had been fabric. Sanjit remembered that very clearly. It was about all he remembered.

  He licked his lips, no longer able to put off the rickety fear that he was about to get them all killed.

  “You know how to do this?” Virtue asked him.

  “No! No, of course I don’t!” Sanjit yelled. Then, for the benefit of the youngsters he twisted half way around and said, “Totally. Of course I know how to fly a helicopter. Duh!”

  Virtue was praying. Eyes closed, head bowed, praying.

  “Yeah, that’ll help,” Sanjit said.

  Virtue opened one eye and said, “I’m doing what I can.”

  “Brother, I wasn’t being a smart ass,” Sanjit said. “I mean I am hoping to God or gods or saints or anything else you got.”

  Virtue closed his eyes.

  “Should we pray?” Peace asked.

  “Yeah. Pray. Everyone pray!” Sanjit yelled.

  He pushed the ignition.

  He didn’t know a particular god he should pray to, he was Hindu but only by birth, he hadn’t exactly read the holy books or whatever. But Sanjit whispered, “Whoever You are, if You’re listening, now would be a good time to help us out.”

  The engine roared to life.

  “Wow!” Sanjit cried, surprised. He’d half expected, half hoped the engine wouldn’t even start.

  It was shockingly loud. It shook the helicopter amazingly.

  “Um…I think I pull this,” Sanjit yelled.

  “You think?” Virtue mouthed, the sound of his voice swallowed by the engine noise.

  Sanjit reached over and put his hand on Virtue’s shoulder. “I love you, man.”

  Virtue put a hand over his own heart and nodded.

  “Great,” Sanjit said aloud though only he could hear his own voice. “And now that we’ve had that touching scene, it’s time for our heroes to go out in a flaming ball of glory.”

  Virtue frowned, trying to hear.

  “I said,” Sanjit shouted at the top of his lungs, “I’m invincible! Now let’s fly!”

  Dekka saw Zil’s crew split into two groups, to left and right of the road. An ambush.

  She hesitated. It would be good right about now to be Brianna. Breeze wasn’t bulletproof, but she was awfully hard to hit when she was going three hundred miles an hour.

  If she kept going, they would shoot her down.

  Where was Brianna? Still too sick to move, no doubt, otherwise she’d be in the middle of it. Brianna was not one to miss a fight. Dekka simultaneously missed her and hoped she stayed safely at home. If anything ever happened to Brianna, Dekka didn’t know how she would go on living.

  But where was Sam, that was the big question? Why was it Dekka’s job to walk this road? She didn’t even know that she had to. Maybe nothing would happen. Maybe Drake, rampaging up from the beach, would take on Zil and the two of them would finish each other off.

  Dekka would like to see that. Right about now. Right now before she had to keep walking up the road to Clifftop.

  “Yeah, that would be great,” Dekka said.

  Zil’s punks were losing patience. They weren’t waiting. They were working their way toward her on both sides of the road. Clubs. Bats. Crowbars.

  Shotguns.

  She could run. Live. Get away. Find Brianna and say, “Breeze, I know you probably aren’t going to feel the same way, and maybe this will just gross you out and you’ll hate me for saying it, but I love you.”

  Her body tingled with fear. She closed her eyes for a second and felt in that temporary darkness what it would feel like, death. Except that you couldn’t really feel death, could you?

  She could run away. Be with Brianna.

  Except no, that wasn’t ever going to happen. She was going to live out her days loving Brianna from a distance. Probably never even tell her how she really felt.

  Out of the corner of her eye Dekka saw Edilio running straight at Drake from behind. He was alone, the crazy boy, going after Drake. Farther away, moving much too slowly, Orc.

  Edilio could have decided to hang back, wait for Orc. Maybe wait too long as Drake laid into terrified children. But Edilio had not made that decision.

  He wasn’t waiting for Orc.

  “And I’m not waiting for Sam,” Dekka decided.

  She started walking.

  The first gun fired. That creep Turk. It was as loud as the end of the world. Dekka saw the fire spray from the muzzle. Ho
t lead pellets hit the concrete before her. Some bounced up and embedded themselves in her legs.

  Hurt. Hurt more later.

  Dekka couldn’t reach Turk or Lance or Zil with her powers. Not from this distance.

  But she could make it really hard for them to aim.

  Dekka raised her hands high. Gravity failed.

  Dekka walked forward behind a wall of dirt and dust and swirling cacti.

  Sam was just at the twisted metal gate of the nuclear plant when he heard a rush of air and saw a blur.

  The blur stopped vibrating and became Brianna.

  She was holding something. Two somethings.

  Sam stared at the objects in her hands. Then he stared at her. Then back at the objects in her hands.

  He waited until she was done coughing, bent over.

  “No,” he said.

  “Sam, they need you. And they can’t wait for you to snail walk all the way back.”

  “Who needs me?” Sam asked skeptically.

  “Astrid told me to get you. No matter what it took.”

  Sam could not help but be pleased. “So. Astrid needs me.”

  Brianna rolled her eyes. “Yeah, Sam, you’re still necessary. You’re like a god to us mere mortals. We can’t live without you. Later we’re going to build you a temple. Satisfied?”

  Sam nodded, not meaning to agree, just meaning that he understood. “Is it Drake?”

  “I think Drake is just part of it,” Brianna said. “Astrid was scared. In fact, I think your girlfriend may have had a really bad day.”

  Brianna dropped the skateboard in front of Sam. “Don’t worry: I won’t let you fall off.”

  “Yeah? Then why did you bring the helmet?”

  Brianna tossed it to him. “In case you fall off.”

  Edilio had trouble running in the sand. But maybe that wasn’t why he couldn’t seem to catch up with Drake.

  Maybe he didn’t want to catch up with Drake. Maybe he was scared to death of Drake. Orc had fought Drake to a draw once. Sam had fought him and come out on the losing end.

  Caine had killed him.

  And yet, there was Drake. Alive. As Sam had known he was. As Sam had feared. The psychopath lived.

  Edilio stumbled and tripped in the sand. His automatic rifle hit muzzle first and fired, BAM BAM BAM into the sand as Edilio accidentally squeezed the trigger.

  Edilio stayed on his knees. Get up, he told himself. Get up, this is what you do. Get up.

  He got up. He started running again. Heart pounding like it would tear itself loose.

  Drake wasn’t far away now, just a hundred feet, maybe, not far. Whipping some poor kid who’d run too slowly.

  Edilio had seen the results of that terrible whip. It had broken something in Sam, the pain of that whip.

  But Edilio moved closer. The trick would be to get close enough…not too close.

  Drake still had not seen him. Edilio raised the rifle into firing position. Fifty feet. He could hit Drake from here, but there were a dozen other kids in range just beyond him. Bullets didn’t always go exactly where you aimed them. He could kill Drake. He might also kill the fleeing children.

  He had to stall until the kids got out of range.

  He lined Drake up in the sights. Aiming was hard with the weapon on automatic. The kick would be ferocious. You could aim the first shot, but after that it would be like spraying a fire hose.

  Had to get Drake to stop. Had to let the kids get away.

  “Drake,” Edilio said. But his mouth was as dry as the sand. What came out was a barely audible rasp.

  “Drake!” Edilio yelled. “Drake!”

  Drake froze. He turned, not in a hurry, slow. Languid.

  Drake smiled his feral smile. His eyes were blue and empty of anything but amusement. His dark hair was matted and filthy. His skin seemed to be smeared with mud. There was dirt in his teeth.

  “Why, Edilio,” Drake said. “Long time, wetback.”

  “Drake,” Edilio said, his voice failing him again.

  “Yes, Edilio?” Drake said with exaggerated politeness. “Something you wanted to say?”

  Edilio’s stomach heaved. Drake was dead. Dead.

  “You…you’re under arrest.”

  Drake barked a surprised laugh. “Under arrest?”

  “That’s right,” Edilio said.

  Drake took a step toward him.

  “Stop. Stop right there!” Edilio warned.

  Drake kept moving. “But I’m coming to surrender, Edilio. Slap the cuffs on me, officer.”

  “Stop! Stop or I’ll shoot!”

  Kids beyond Drake were still running. Far enough? Edilio had to give them all the time he could.

  Drake nodded, understanding. “I see. You’re such a good boy, Edilio. Making sure the kiddies get out of the way before you gun me down.”

  Edilio guessed that Drake’s whip would reach ten, maybe twelve feet. He was no more than twice that distance now. Edilio aimed for the center of Drake’s body, the largest target, that’s what he’d read you were supposed to do.

  Another step. Another. Drake advanced.

  Edilio stepped backward. Again.

  “Oh, no fair,” Drake mocked. “Keeping me out of range like that.”

  Drake moved suddenly, with shocking speed.

  BAM!

  Click!

  The first round hit Drake in his chest. But no other bullets flew.

  Jammed! The gun was jammed. The sand was in the firing mechanism. Edilio yanked the bolt back, trying to—

  Too late.

  Drake lashed him, curled his whip around Edilio’s legs and suddenly Edilio was on his back, gasping for breath and Drake was standing over him.

  The serpentine hand wound its way around Edilio’s throat. Edilio thrashed. He tried to swing the gun like a club, but Drake blocked it easily with his free hand.

  “I’d whip you, Edilio, but I don’t really have time for fun,” Drake said.

  Edilio’s brain swirled, crazy, fading. Through blood-reddened eyes he saw Drake’s smile inches from his face, savoring the close-up joy of watching Edilio die.

  Drake grinned. And then, as Edilio lost consciousness, as he fell into a pit of blackness, he saw metal wires growing across Drake’s mud-flecked teeth.

  FORTY-ONE

  12 MINUTES

  SANJIT HAD FORGOTTEN every single thing he thought he had learned about flying a helicopter.

  Something about a lever that changed the pitch of the rotor blades.

  Something about angle of attack.

  A cyclic. Pedals. A collective. Which was which?

  He tried the pedals. The tail of the helicopter swung violently to the left. He took his feet off the pedals. The helicopter had almost spun off the deck.

  “Well, that works okay!” Sanjit shouted, desperately hoping to reassure the others.

  “You should probably go up first, before you try turning!” Virtue yelled.

  “You think?”

  Now he remembered something. You twisted something to make the rotors give you lift. What was there he could twist?

  Left hand. The collective. Or was it the cyclic? Who cared, it was the only thing that twisted.

  He twisted it. Gently. Sure enough, the engine noise increased and changed in pitch. And the helicopter lifted off.

  Then it began to spin. The helicopter drifted toward the bow, toward the superstructure while the tail spun the helicopter like a top, clockwise.

  Like a Tilt-A-Whirl.

  Pedals. Had to use them to…

  The helicopter stopped spinning clockwise. It hesitated. Then it began to spin counterclockwise.

  Sanjit was distantly aware that several voices were screaming. Five kids in the chopper. Five screams. Including his own.

  Pedals again. And the helicopter stopped spinning. It was still drifting toward the yacht’s superstructure, but now it was doing so backward.

  He twisted the collective all the way, all the way, baby, and the helicop
ter shot upward. Like a ride Sanjit had been on in Las Vegas once. Like the helicopter was on a string and someone was yanking it toward the clouds.

  Up and over the superstructure. Sanjit saw it pass beneath his feet.

  WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!

  The rotors had hit something. Bits of wire and metal poles flew away. The yacht’s radio antenna.

  The helicopter was still rising and still drifting backward toward the cliff.

  The other thing. The watchamacallit the cyclic the stick the thing near his right hand grab it grab it do something something something push it forward forward forward. Spinning again! He’d forgotten the pedals the stupid pedals and his feet couldn’t find them now and the helicopter had spun 180 degrees and with the cyclic tilted forward was now zooming straight for the cliff wall.

  It was maybe a hundred feet away.

  Fifty feet.

  In a split second they would be dead. And there was nothing he could do to stop it happening.

  Diana ran across the overgrown lawn. Caine was ahead of her, faster, she had to catch him.

  The sound of the helicopter engine was growing louder, closer.

  Caine stopped at the edge of the cliff. Diana reached it, panting, a dozen feet away from Caine.

  In a flash Diana understood what Sanjit had been hiding. Far below a white yacht lay crumpled against the rocks. A helicopter struggled aloft, spinning crazily this way and then that.

  Caine’s face formed a wicked smile.

  Penny was just laboring up behind. Bug, well, he might be there, too. No way to know.

  Diana rushed to Caine. “Don’t do it!” she cried.

  He turned a furious face to her. “Shut up, Diana.”

  As they watched, the helicopter spun again and surged toward the cliff.

  Caine raised his hands and the helicopter stopped moving forward. It was so close that the rotor hacked apart a bush that clung to the cliff face.

  “Caine, don’t do this,” Diana pleaded.

  “What do you care?” Caine asked, genuinely puzzled.

  “Look! Look at them. They have little kids in there. Little children.”

  The bubble canopy of the helicopter was no more than a rock throw away. Sanjit struggled with the controls. Virtue beside him, gripped his seat cushion. Three smaller kids were huddled in the back seat, screaming, covering their eyes, not so young they didn’t know they were a split second from death.