Nowhere Land

by K. A. Applegate

  No air, no air, no air. His eyes were open, blind, nothing but brown silt, swirling mud choking him.

  Then he felt it, the slide of flesh over flesh, the slimy touch of it across his belly. He slashed with the boomerang and came within an inch of gutting himself.

  Yago screamed into the water and kicked against nothing.

  Something grabbed his arm and pulled. He broke the surface, gasped, and tried to shake loose D-Cafs grip.

  Let go of me, you moron! he yelled. He lowered his legs and touched ground. The water was up to his chest, no more.

  You were kind of splashing a lot, D-Caf said, giving him a sideways look. He held up the boomerang. I got this back. You must have dropped it.

  One of those things attacked me, Yago said.

  D-Caf held out the boomerang, ready to surrender it again.

  Keep it, Yago said. No way could he act as if the blade meant something. No way could he put himself any more in D-Cafs debt.

  Rather than risk hitting another hole, Yago leaned into a swim. He was a strong swimmer, though only on the surface not underwater and he was soon well ahead of D-Caf.

  The little twitch had seen him panic. Okay, everyone was panicking, but D-Caf had been calm and hed seen that Yago was not. That was bad. No one could know about the claustrophobia. It was a glaring weakness. Someone would use it. Maybe even D-Caf himself. He was a twitch, but he was also the one whod shot one of the Mayflower pilots. If youd do that, youd lock someone in a box without a second thought, lock them in a closet with no light and no handle on the door, bury them alive in a casket and . . .

  Get a grip, Yago, he told himself. Get a grip. Youre Yago. Youre Yago , man.

  Yago went through his ego mantra: Yago was the First Son. Son of the first African-American female President. He held undisputed title to hottest teen in America. The world. Everyone loved him, or else feared him. How many letters from how many girls? Hundreds of thousands. Millions. I want a picture, a lock of hair, a worn T-shirt, to see you, kiss you.

  Hed been on the cover of just about every magazine. TeenPeople had named him Sexiest Teen Alive. The New York Times Magazine had called him the Brat-in-Chief. When hed changed his hair to spring green, half the kids in the country had followed suit. When hed had the cat-DNA eye treatment, it had suddenly become one of the most common cosmetic procedures.

  He was Yago, after all. Even here, even with no White House, no magazines, no fans, no letters, no . . . he was still Yago.

  The mantra calmed him. The claustrophobia terror had replaced the fear of whatever was in the water. And now, with the suffocation fear receding, he could see the other fear more objectively. The herd was still in full flight, wallowing heavily toward the island. Jobs and his little gaggle were vectoring in, too, the fear having proven contagious.

  Yago slowed his pace. You didnt want to be the last person out of the water but, he sensed, you also didnt want to be the first person to step on that island.

  He bobbed high, looking for Tamara Hoyle. She was moving at a leisurely pace, carrying the baby up on one shoulder. She wasnt worried about whatever was in the water. And she was in no hurry to reach the island. In fact, she was slowing down.

  Yago stopped dead. He tread water till he realized he was now in shallows, less than waist high.

  Yagos instinct for survival was ringing a big, loud bell. Tamara knew something. He didnt know how, but she knew something more than any of the rest of them did. Her and that mutant, eyeless freak of a baby.

  He was a hundred feet from the islands edge. The sun was coming up behind it but the mist still seeped through the strange trees and alternately revealed and concealed it.

  Wylson, Burroway, and Tate reached the island at about the same moment. They climbed soggily up onto the shore and immediately came the earsplitting metallic shriek of a Rider.

  Two of the alien monsters appeared, stomping on foot through the mist. They stood there, staring balefully down at the humans with their faces full of insect eyes.

  Wylson raised her hands as if in surrender. We dont want to fight, we dont want to fight, she practically sobbed.

  The humans still in the water froze. Even Tamara was stock-still, waiting, watching. She seemed to feel Yagos eyes on her and turned to glare at him.

  Suddenly, a sharp pain on the back of his thigh. He flailed, reached around, and touched something slime-coated and powerful.

  It had him.

  CHAPTER FOUR THE UNHUMAN LIVES.

  Chirismontak Hadad-Chirismon, Warrior of the Vanascom Clan, Acolyte of the Unseen Star God, had fought the human-not-human and survived. Others had not. This was destiny. The Gods chose some to burn in the fire, chose others to drown or behead or feed to the worms or invert.

  Death came from the Gods and was many-form and beautiful. Rebirth was a birth into a new death, and each new death would bring greater pain until the end, when the cleansed and renewed warrior would become one of the Sanctified Ancestors.

  Chirismontak had gone into the battle with the human-not-human expecting death. The human-not-human creature, the Unhuman as some were calling her, the dark-skinned female who drew her power from the smaller Unhuman, had already defeated great warriors. Chirismontak had known only two deaths himself. He was no great warrior, not compared to warriors who had already died a dozen deaths.

  Greater warriors had been killed by the Unhuman, to their great honor. Chirismontak had been spared by the sudden collapse of Mothers artificial environment.

  They had all fallen through the air. The mounts couldnt fly so high, of course, but the fall had not been far. The surviving battle-partners had repaired to their lands to dismount and reflect.

  It was puzzling. The Clan had attacked the human invaders, knowing them to be the cause of Mothers betrayal. Mother had changed the world for the benefit of these interlopers. So had warned the heralds of the Bonilivak Clan who had first met the human creatures. The herald Sincomantak Hadad-Sincoman had the first human kill. He had said the humans were slow and weak. And yet Mother had remade the world for them. Mother was a Great God, but the Gods were to be feared, not obeyed. A warrior stood strong against the Gods when the Gods turned against the Clan.

  In the Clan Council there had been agreement: Destroy the humans and Mother would restore the world as it should be, the world of the Riders. But they had not destroyed the humans and yet Mother had restored the world.

  It was a mystery.

  And now the humans, including the Unhuman and the smaller Unhuman, were wallowing in the water, unable to float, with no mounts to ride.

  They seemed defeated, Chirismontak said to his battle-partner, Demscatilintak Hadad-Demscaltilint.

  The Unhumans live, Demscatilintak said. The humans live. And yet, the world is restored.

  Mother has given us back our world.

  In Clan Council we said that Mother would not relent until the humans were destroyed. And yet, Mother has given us back our world.

  It is troubling, Chirismontak agreed.

  Mother had surrendered, and the thought stuck hard in Chirismontaks mind that the victory had been no victory, that the Clans courage had been . . . irrelevant.

  Victory comes from courage and death, Demscatilintak said. What courage? What death?

  This was a victory granted from some other cause.

  The humans sloshed closer. They were speaking now in their barbaric, grunting, and slithering tones. The Unhuman was there, plain to see through the mist. The power radiated from her, from the baby. It was a halo of red and green. A bright red arc connected the two of them. Much brighter than the dull lights that waxed and waned around the other humans.

  But now Chirismontak saw a different light. One of the humans was floating at rest, it seemed, silent. Around him a halo of pale blue. A single color.

  Tell me what your God Eye sees, Demscatilintak.

  Demscatilintak peered closer, then he looked back at his companion. My God Eye sees what cannot be.

  We
must tell the Council. A single-hued halo from that human. Maybe one of the great warriors can . . . Chirismontak couldnt complete the thought: He knew that not even one of the many-deaths would have seen such a thing.

  They approach. They hurry. Are they attacking? Should we kill them?

  Chirismontaks eating head snapped greedily, but his soul felt troubled. His board, at rest, leaning against a tree, hummed in response to his distress.

  He and Demscatilintak could attack the Unhuman now and kill her. The water would hinder her movements. The humans were rushing but were still very slowly going through the water. They were vulnerable.

  Maybe.

  But how could a good battle come from a troubled soul?

  See: They have a fish.

  CHAPTER FIVE IF WE HAD A ROPE . . .

  Ah! Help! Someone help! Yago screamed.

  Yago twisted, twirled crazily, as absurd as a dog chasing its tail.

  D-Caf watched, amazed. There was nothing he could do. If he tried to help, then Yago would yell at him.

  D-Caf looked past Yago and saw that the two Riders were watching, too, staring. Watching and beginning to tremble. The bifurcated legs were wobbling; seams that joined the two halves of their beetle carapace creaked. The teeth-gnashing mouth/ head even stopped gnashing.

  Theyre laughing, D-Caf realized with sudden insight. The Riders were laughing as Yago did his mad dance.

  The baby joined in with a high-pitched squeal and Tamara grinned reluctantly. Her grin was for the Riders. She came striding over, shaking her head ruefully.

  Tamara grabbed Yago by the neck with one hand and bent him forward across her bent knee. This shoved him facedown in the water and the reaction was instantaneous: He slapped the water with his hands and tried to kick.

  Tamara grabbed the gray thing attached to Yagos thigh. It was two feet long, a sort of eel, D-Caf supposed. Like an eel with an oversized sucker mouth.

  Tamara gave the eel a practiced twist and it came loose with a wet, sucking pop . She released a spluttering, cursing Yago. She gave a slight nod toward the two Riders and then heaved the eel through the air.

  The eel looked as though it would land in the mud. At the last second one of the Riders snatched it out of the air with one four-fingered hand, ripped the slimy thing in half, handed one piece to his companion, and tossed the rest into his own mouth.

  The mouth/head chomped sloppily, noisily, as the main head stared impassively. The mouth/head then disgorged a tangle of clean bones.

  If I were you, Id get off their island, Tamara said.

  Wylson, Burroway, and Tate all complied instantly.

  The two Riders watched as the humans began to move away.

  D-Caf wasnt sure if he should catch up to Yago or not. Yago was touchy, probably on account of his claustrophobia. Yago thought no one knew, but D-Caf had noticed it before. D-Caf noticed a lot of things other people missed. For one thing, he had known Edward was becoming some kind of chameleon long before anyone else noticed.

  D-Caf had been raised by his brother, Mark. Their parents had died and Mark had managed to maintain the household by himself through deception and manipulation. D-Caf would always be grateful to Mark for that, for not being sent away to live with relatives or even to end up in foster care.

  But Mark had his problems. And D-Caf had learned to get along with his mercurial, amoral older brother. And now, Yago. Not so different from Mark.

  D-Caf knew how to take abuse. And he knew how to keep his focus on the big picture. Yago was not his brother, or even his friend, but Yago needed him in a way, and no one else did. No one else would ever look past the killing the panicked, accidental killing of that shuttle pilot.

  The group sloshed away from the island, wandered on without a goal, then, as individuals began to stop, the group came to a halt, centered around Wylson.

  D-Caf was surprised by this. He knew that Yago had betrayed Wylson. He and Anamull both were present when 2Face made the case for trading her own life for Wylsons. Yet the group still gravitated to Wylson as leader, not to Yago.

  D-Caf waded closer, instinctively moving toward Yago and Anamull. He watched Wylson closely. He had both her and her daughter, Miss Violet Blake, in the same frame. Once Wylson had looked much harder than her daughter. But now that difference was gone, almost reversed. Wylson had scared eyes now. She was uncertain. Insecure. She glared suspiciously at Yago. But interestingly, she seemed to be ignoring 2Face. She didnt know, D-Caf realized. She didnt know that 2Face had hit her from behind.

  Miss Blake still wore the lace and frills of a Jane, but the effect was completely ruined now. Her pale hair hung long and wet, with strands plastered on her cheeks. The dress was tatters and shreds. Everyones clothes looked bad, but there was something especially noticeable in the decay of such a feminine garment.

  The Janes visible restraint, the deliberately portrayed self-possession, and the dont-touch-me aura were mostly gone. Violet Blake had lost a finger, nothing left but a filthy red bandage. She had also lost most of her reticent mannerisms. She was thin and tall, and before she had looked like someone who could snap in two or at least faint. She was still thin and tall, maybe thinner, like all of them had become, but now she definitely didnt look like shed faint.

  Maybe it was the pain, D-Caf thought. Maybe the pain from her hand had changed her. Or else what shed seen and done since waking to the nightmare of this world.

  Have I changed like that? D-Caf wondered. He didnt think so. He still felt awkward and inappropriate. Yago called him Twitch.

  Why havent I changed like that? he wondered.

  We have to find some dry land, Burroway said. The waters warm, but the human body cant survive half-submerged forever. We need dry land.

  D-Caf thought of a joke. At least now we can pee without having to go and . . .

  The joke was not welcome. Burroway, the cranky old professor of whatever, looked as if hed like to strangle D-Caf.

  See? D-Caf told himself. Inappropriate.

  We should pick a direction, fan out, keep moving, and search for dry land without Riders, Yago said forcefully.

  It sounded good to D-Caf.

  Shut up, Wylson snapped at Yago. Her teeth were actually bared. Like a dangerous animal. Yago recoiled.

  Wylson stepped closer to Yago. You dont think I know what you did? You hit me from behind. You knocked me out. You dont think I know, you manipulative little monster?

  Yago didnt take another step back. He stood his ground now. Youre paranoid, Wylson.

  You tried to feed me to the baby!

  Yago laughed. What, are you nuts? You were trying to feed 2Face to the baby. Dont you remember? The fall must have scrambled your brain. You told me to grab 2Face and I said you had to do it yourself, and when you tried, 2Face nailed you.

  Liar! Wylson said, but without as much conviction as might be expected.

  Yago sensed it, too, and shook his head sadly. You were sacrificing 2Face and ended up almost getting sacrificed yourself. So dont go all outraged on us, Wylson.

  Wylsons gaze flickered over to 2Face, who stared stonily.

  D-Caf knew hed made the right choice: Wylson was smart, but Yago was more ruthless and determined. D-Caf needed a protector, and only Yago would do.

  I saw it, D-Caf said, speaking up despite worry about yet again saying the wrong thing. It was just like Yago said.

  Wylson frowned. She wasnt sure. Yago was impassive. And D-Caf felt a rush of pleasure: Hed said the right thing. Yago would be pleased.

  Violet Blake said, I have an idea: How about if no one eats anyone? I cant believe you, Mother. Youre sickening.

  It was the baby, Wylson said, seeming to collapse into herself. Tamara and the baby. We had no choice. The Riders . . .

  I think we should focus on what to do now, Olga Gonzalez said quietly, scarcely concealing her disgust.

  Her son, MoSteel, pointed. Whats that?

  The sun coming up, Tate answered. Or whatever they have for a sun here. />
  No. No. Something moving. MoSteel shaded his eyes. Like a . . . like a hippopotamus or something. Jobs, man, up on my shoulders.

  Jobs climbed onto his friends shoulders, the better to see. Hey, it is moving. More than one. Like . . . like blimps or something. Maybe coming this way. I cant tell how far away they are because I dont know the scale.

  Jobs slid back down into the water. In response to all the silent stares he shrugged. I dont know what they are.

  Wylson tried to regain control of the situation and formulate a plan, but all the focus was on the Blimps now. The sun was up, the sea was taking on the color of a new penny, and the Blimps were coming closer, ever closer, and could be clearly seen.

  Maybe we can hitch a ride on . . . whatever they are. If we had a rope . . . 2Face said.

  Lasso it? Jobs asked. Theyre the size of blue whales.

  Pitons, MoSteel said. You cant rope it, but if you had something sharp, a rock-climbing rig or, you know, spikes, or . . . He shrugged.

  How about one of those Rider boomerangs? D-Caf suggested.

  Yago rounded on him, furious. In a flash D-Caf had undone all his good work with Yago.

  Okay, give it to him, Yago snarled.

  CHAPTER SIX I THINK THIS IS OUR BUS.

  MoSteel knew he shouldnt be happy. It was wrong. Clearly wrong.

  But, man, whatever else negative you could say about Mothers world, there were some omnipotent rushes to be had here. He was playing matador to bulls the size of cruise ships.

  They were cool creatures, the Blimps. One had come bouncing past, too far off to reach. They were a hundred feet tall and twice that in length and yet they bounced as lightly as balloons. Clearly they were filled with air or gas or something other than flesh and blood, because nothing that big and solid could do anything but sink and squash.

  They had a few hundred very short legs, like cilia, under the back third of their bodies. The creepy thing was that the cilia were about the size and about the color of a Caucasian human leg, so they looked like someone had attached a hundred amputated limbs onto the bottom of the Blimp. These motored wildly, undulating in sequence. Each time the Blimp touched down, the cilia would hit the water and paddle the beast into its next forward bound.