Hunger_A Gone Novel

by Michael Grant

  They drove down pitch-black streets to the plaza. It was

  eerie. Like the whole town had died. Quinn wondered if that’s

  what had happened. He wondered if the FAYZ was in some

  new phase. Just he and Albert left, now.

  Quinn pulled the truck up in front of the McDonald’s.

  But just as Quinn was pulling up to park, he spotted something. He turned the truck around to aim the headlights at town hall.

  There, spread across one wall, in letters two feet tall, was

  spray-painted graffiti. Bloodred paint on the pale stone.

  “‘Death to freaks,’” Quinn read aloud.

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  16 HOURS, 38 MINUTES

  T H E P I C K U P T R U C K ’ S battery was dead. It had been sitting for more than three months.

  But Hermit Jim was a prepared guy. There was a gasoline-

  powered generator and a charger for the battery. It took an

  hour for Lana and Cookie to figure out how to start the generator and hook up the battery. But finally Lana turned the key and after several attempts the engine sputtered to life.

  Cookie backed the truck up to the gas tank.

  It took some hard, sweaty work to shift the tank into the

  truck’s bed.

  By the time they were done, so was the night. Lana cautiously opened the warehouse’s door and looked outside.

  In the shadow of the hills it wasn’t possible to speak of true

  dawn, but the sky was tinged with pink, and the shadows,

  still deep, were gray and no longer black.

  A dozen coyotes lounged in an irregular circle, a hundred

  feet away. They turned to stare at her.

  364 M I C H A E L

  G R A N T

  “Cookie,” Lana said.

  “Yeah, Healer?”

  “Here’s what I want you to do. I’m taking the truck, right?

  You should hear an explosion. Wait ten minutes after that. I’ll

  be back. Maybe. If not, well, you need to wait until the sun is

  all the way up—coyotes are more dangerous at night. Then

  walk back to the cabin, and from there head home.”

  “I’m staying with you,” Cookie said firmly.

  “No.” She said it with all the finality she could manage.

  “This is my thing. You do what I say.”

  “I ain’t leaving you to those dogs.”

  Lana said, “The coyotes won’t be the problem. And you

  have to leave. I’m telling you to. Either the explosion happens

  or it doesn’t. Either way, if I don’t come back, I need you to get

  to Sam. Give him the letter.”

  “I want to take care of you, Healer. Like you took care

  of me.”

  “I know, Cookie,” Lana said. “But this is how you do it.

  Okay? Sam needs to know what happened. Tell him everything we did. He’s a smart guy, he’ll understand. And tell him not to blame Quinn, okay? Not Quinn’s fault. I would

  have figured out some other way to do it if Quinn and Albert

  hadn’t helped.”

  “Healer . . .”

  Lana put her hand on Cookie’s beefy arm. “Do what I ask,

  Cookie.”

  Cookie hung his head. He was weeping openly, unashamed.

  “Okay, Healer.”

  H U N G E R

  36

  5

  “Lana,” she corrected him gently. “My name is Lana. That’s

  what my friends call me.”

  She knelt down and ruffled Patrick’s fur the way he liked.

  “Love you, boy,” she whispered. She hugged him close and he

  whimpered. “You’ll be okay. Don’t worry. I’ll be right back.”

  Quickly, before she could lose her resolve, she climbed into

  the truck. She fired up the engine and nodded to Cookie.

  Cookie swung open the creaking door of the warehouse.

  The waiting coyotes got to their feet. Pack Leader ambled

  forward, uncertain. He was limping. The fur of one shoulder

  was soggy with blood.

  “So, I didn’t kill you,” Lana whispered. “Well, the day is

  young.”

  She put the truck into the lowest gear and took her foot off

  the brake. The truck began to creep forward.

  Slow and steady, that would be the way, Lana knew. The

  pathway to the mine entrance was a mess of potholes, narrow, crooked, and steep.

  She turned the wheel. It wasn’t easy. The truck was old

  and stiff with disuse. And Lana’s driving experience was

  extremely limited.

  The truck advanced so slowly that the coyotes could keep

  up at a walk. They fell into place around her, almost like an

  escort.

  The truck lurched crazily as she pulled onto the path.

  “Slow, slow,” she told herself. But now she was in a hurry. She

  wanted it to be over.

  She had an image in her mind. Red and orange erupting

  366 M I C H A E L

  G R A N T

  from the mouth of the mine. Debris flying. A thunderclap.

  And then the sound of collapsing rock. Tons and tons and

  tons of it. Then billowing dust and smoke and it would be

  over.

  Come to me.

  “Oh, I’m coming,” Lana said.

  I have need of you.

  She was going to silence that voice. She was going to bury

  it beneath a mountain.

  There was a sudden jolt. Lana glanced into her mirror

  and saw the deformed, scarred face of Pack Leader. He had

  jumped into the back of the truck.

  “Human not bring machine,” Pack Leader said in his

  unique snarl.

  “Human do whatever she likes,” Lana yelled back. “Human

  shoot you in your ugly face, you stinking, stupid dog.”

  Pack Leader digested that for a while.

  The truck lurched and wallowed and crept up the hillside.

  More than halfway now.

  Come to me.

  “You’re going to be sorry you invited me,” Lana muttered.

  But now, with the mine shaft entrance in view, she found she

  could scarcely breathe for the pounding in her chest.

  “Human get out. Human walk,” Pack Leader demanded.

  Lana couldn’t shoot him. That would break the window

  behind her and that would allow the coyotes to come at her.

  She had reached the entrance.

  She put the truck into reverse. She would have to turn the

  H U N G E R

  36

  7

  truck around. Her hands were white, tendons straining, as

  she gripped the steering wheel.

  Pack Leader’s evil face was in her way as she turned to

  check her backward course. He was inches away, separated

  by nothing but a pane of glass.

  He lunged.

  “Ahh!”

  His snout hit the glass. The glass held.

  Lana was sure the glass would hold. The coyotes had not

  yet grown hands or learned to use tools. All they could do

  was bang their snouts into the glass.

  You are mine.

  “No,” Lana said. “I belong to me.”

  The bed of the truck crossed the threshold into the mine.

  Now the coyotes were getting frantic. A second coyote leaped

  and landed on the hood. He got the windshield wiper in his

  teeth and ripped savagely at it.

  “Human, stop!” Pack Leader demanded.

  Lana drove the truck backward. The back wheels rolled up

  and over the mummified corpse of the truck’s owner.

  The truck wa
s all the way inside now, as far as it would

  go. The mine shaft ceiling was mere inches above the cab.

  The walls were close. The truck was like a loose cork in the

  shaft. The coyotes, feeling the walls closing in, had to decide

  whether to be trapped by the truck. They opted to slither out

  of the way, back to the front of the truck where they took

  turns leaping on and off the hood, snarling, snapping, scrabbling impotently at the windshield with their rough paws.

  368 M I C H A E L

  G R A N T

  The truck stopped moving, held tight. The doors would no

  longer open.

  That was fine. That was the plan.

  Lana twisted around in her seat, aimed carefully to avoid

  hitting the big tank in the back, and fired a single shot.

  The rear window shattered into a million pieces.

  Shaking with fear and excitement Lana crawled gingerly

  out of the cab into the bed of the truck. This excited the

  coyotes even more. They tried to shove themselves through

  the gap between the sides of the truck and the mine shaft

  walls, trying to get at her. One furious head jammed sideways

  between roof and a crossbeam.

  They yapped and snarled and Pack Leader cried, “Human,

  stop!”

  Lana reached the valve of the LPG tank. She twisted it

  open. Immediately she smelled the rotten-egg odor of the

  gas.

  It would take a while for the gas to drain out. It was heavier

  than air, so it would roll down the sloping floor of the mine

  shaft, like an invisible flood. It would sink toward the deepest

  part of the mine. It would pool around the Darkness.

  Would he smell it? Would he know that she had sealed his

  fate? Did he even have a nose?

  Lana paid out the fuse she’d made. It was a hundred

  feet of thin rope she’d soaked in gasoline. She’d kept it in

  a Ziploc bag.

  She took a coil and tossed it into the dark of the mine. It

  didn’t have to reach far.

  She carried the rest with her, back into the cabin of the

  H U N G E R

  36

  9

  truck. She stepped on the brake, turning on the brake lights

  and illuminating the shaft in hellish red. It was impossible to

  see the gas, of course.

  Lana waited, hands gripping the steering wheel. Her

  thoughts were a jumble of disconnected images, wild jump-

  cuts of her captivity with the coyotes and her encounters with

  the Darkness.

  The first time she had—

  I am the Gaiaphage.

  Lana froze.

  You cannot destroy me.

  Lana could barely breathe. She thought she might pass out.

  The Darkness had never before spoken its name.

  I brought you here.

  Lana reached into her pocket and fingered the lighter. It

  was simple physics. The lighter would light. The gasoline-

  soaked rope would burn. The flame would race down the

  rope until it reached the gas vapor.

  The gas would ignite.

  The explosion would shatter the ceiling and walls of the

  shaft.

  It might even incinerate the creature.

  It might kill her, too. But if she survived, she would be able

  to heal any burns or injuries. That was her bet: if she could

  simply stay alive for a few minutes, she would be able to heal

  herself.

  And then she would be truly healed. The voice in her head

  would be gone.

  You do my will.

  370 M I C H A E L

  G R A N T

  “I am Lana Arwen Lazar,” she cried with all the shrill force

  she could manage.

  “My dad was into comic books, so he named me Lana for

  Superman’s girlfriend Lana Lang.”

  You will serve me.

  “And my mom added Arwen for the elf princess in The

  Lord of the Rings.”

  I will use your power as my own.

  “And I never, ever do what I’m told.”

  Your power will give me shape. I will feed. Grow strong

  again. And with the body I will form using your power, I will

  escape this place.

  Your power will give me freedom.

  Lana was shaking. The gasoline smelled, and the fumes

  were making her woozy.

  Now or never. Now.

  Never.

  “Pack Leader!” Lana shouted. “Pack Leader! I’m going to

  blow this mine to hell, Pack Leader. Do you hear me?”

  “Pack Leader hears,” the coyote sneered.

  “You get yourself and your filthy animals out of here or

  you’ll die with the Darkness.”

  Pack Leader leaped heavily onto the hood. His fur was up,

  the ripped mouth slavering. “Pack Leader fears no human.”

  Lana snapped the pistol up and fired. Point-blank range.

  The sound was stunning.

  In the glass there was a hole surrounded by a star pattern,

  but the glass did not blow out like the rear window had.

  Blood sprayed across the glass.

  H U N G E R

  371

  Pack Leader yelped and jumped clumsily from the hood,

  hit. Hurt.

  Lana’s heart jumped. She’d hit him. A solid, direct hit this

  time.

  But the glass was still there. It was supposed to shatter. It

  was her only escape route.

  Your power will give me freedom.

  “I’ll give you death!” Lana raged.

  Lana took the pistol and used it like a hammer, beating on

  the glass, breaking it out, but only a little at a time. She kicked

  at it, frantic. It gave, but too slowly.

  The coyotes could take her if they made a concerted

  attack.

  But the coyotes held off. The injury of their leader had left

  them confused and rudderless.

  Lana kicked, crazy now, panicked.

  You will die.

  “As long as you die with me!” Lana screamed.

  A big section of the safety glass gave way, folding out like

  a stiff-frozen blanket.

  Lana began pushing through. Head. Shoulders.

  A coyote lunged.

  She fired.

  She pushed the rest of the way out, scratched, skin ripped,

  oblivious to the pain. On hands and knees on the hood. She

  had to fumble for the rope. Rope in one hand, greasy. Gun in

  the other, stinking of cordite.

  She fired wildly. Once, twice, three times, bullets chipping

  rock. The coyotes broke and ran.

  372 M I C H A E L

  G R A N T

  She laid the pistol on the hood.

  She fumbled the lighter from her pocket.

  No.

  She struck the lighter.

  The flame was tiny and orange.

  You will not.

  Lana brought the flame toward the rope’s end.

  Stop.

  Lana hesitated.

  “Yes,” Lana breathed.

  You can not.

  “I can,” Lana sobbed.

  You are mine.

  The flame burned her thumb. But the pain was nothing,

  nothing next to the sudden, catastrophic pain like an explosion in her head.

  Lana cried out.

  She clasped her hands over her ears. The lighter singed her

  hair.

  She dropped the rope.

  She dropped the ligh
ter.

  Lana had never imagined such pain. As if her brain had

  been scooped out and her skull filled with burning, white-hot

  coals.

  Lana screamed in agony and rolled off the hood.

  She screamed and screamed and knew that she would

  never stop.

  TWENTY-NINE

  16 HOURS, 33 MINUTES

  “ W E C A N W A I T him out,” Edilio said to Sam. “Just sit tight

  here. You could even catch a few Zs.”

  “Do I look that bad?” Sam asked. Edilio didn’t answer.

  “Edilio’s right, boss,” Dekka said. “Let’s just sit tight and

  wait. Maybe Brianna will . . .” She couldn’t finish, and turned

  away quickly.

  Edilio put his arm around Sam’s shoulders and drew him

  away from Dekka, who was now sobbing.

  Sam gazed up at the massive pile of cement and steel that

  was the power plant. He scanned the parking lot, looking past

  the parked cars to the sea beyond. The black water twinkled

  here and there, faint pinpoints of starlight, a rough-textured

  reflection of the night sky.

  “When’s your birthday, Edilio?”

  “Cut it out, man. You know I’m not stepping out,” Edilio

  said.

  “You don’t even consider it?”

  374 M I C H A E L

  G R A N T

  Edilio’s silence was answer enough.

  “Where’s this all end, Edilio? Or does it never end? How

  many more of these fights? How many more graves in the

  plaza? You ever think about it?”

  “Sam, I dig those graves,” Edilio said quietly.

  “Yeah,” Sam said. “Sorry.” He sighed. “We’re not winning.

  You know that, right? I don’t mean this fight. I mean the big

  fight. Survival. We’re not winning that fight. We’re starving.

  Kids eating their pets. We’re breaking up into little groups

  that hate each other. It’s all going out of control.”

  Edilio glanced at Howard, who was a discreet distance

  away but listening in. Two of Edilio’s guys were within earshot as well.

  “You need to cut this out, Sam,” Edilio said in an urgent

  whisper. “These people are all looking to you, man. You can’t

  be talking about how we’re screwed.”

  Sam barely heard him. “I need to get back to town.”

  “What? Are you messing with me? We’re kind of in the

  middle of something here.”

  “Dekka can keep an eye on Caine. Besides, if he busts out,

  that’s good, right?” Sam nodded as if he had convinced himself. “I need to see Astrid.”

  “You know, maybe that’s not a bad idea,” Edilio said. He left