Applegate, K A - Remnants 04 - Nowhere Land

by Nowhere Land (lit)

  Look for other REMNANTS titles by K.A. Applegate:

  #1 The Mayflower Project

  #2 Destination Unknown

  #3 Them

  Also by K.A. Applegate

  A NIMORPH S ®

  REMNANTS

  NOWHERE LAND

  K. A. APPLEGATE

  * * *

  AN APPLE PAPERBACK

  * * *

  SCHOLASTIC INC. New York Toronto London Auckland Sydney Mexico City New Delhi Hong Kong Buenos Aires

  Dedicated to Michael from me, from Michael to me, from both of us to Jake, and from the three of us to all of you.

  Contents

  CHAPTER ONE IVE CROSSED THE EMPTINESS.

  CHAPTER TWO ALL YOU NEEDS A SCREWDRIVER, DUCK. A SCREWDRIVER AND SOME DUCT TAPE.

  CHAPTER THREE THE SUN RISES, AND WITH IT, HOPE.

  CHAPTER FOUR THE UNHUMAN LIVES.

  CHAPTER FIVE IF WE HAD A ROPE . . .

  CHAPTER SIX I THINK THIS IS OUR BUS.

  CHAPTER SEVEN MAYBE THEYRE BUFFALO.

  CHAPTER EIGHT ACT AS IF ITS REAL.

  CHAPTER NINE THATS STILL A FART, DUCK.

  CHAPTER TEN WE HAVE TO TAKE IT AWAY FROM THEM. WE HAVE TO MAKE IT OURS.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN GOOD NIGHT, BEULAH.

  CHAPTER TWELVE ITS GOING TO END HERE.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN DO THESE BOARDS ROCK, OR WHAT?

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN I THINK WHATEVERS IN HERE IS GETTING TO US.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN I SURFED HURRICANE TONYA BACK IN 09.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN ITS A BEAUTIFUL MACHINE, BUT ITS JUST A MACHINE.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN WE NEED TO SLOW THIS BIG GIRL DOWN.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN ANOTHER METAPHOR FOR LIFE.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN I THINK THATS COMING THIS WAY.

  CHAPTER TWENTY IF WERE GOING INTO A BATTLE, I WANT TO BE ABLE TO SHOOT BACK.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE WELL, MO, YOU PUSHED IT TOO FAR THIS TIME.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO YOU MEAN, LIKE CAVALRY COMING TO THE RESCUE?

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE IF YOU CAN KEEP YOUR HEAD WHILE ALL THOSE ABOUT YOU ARE LOSING THEIRS . . .

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR ARE YOU STILL A HUMAN BEING, BILLY?

  K.A. APPLEGATE REMNANTS 5 Mutation THE MOST WE CAN DO IS OFFER A PRAYER .

  CHAPTER ONE IVE CROSSED THE EMPTINESS.

  He had dreamed in the year 2011.

  Five hundred years had passed since Billy Weirs dream. Five hundred years since he had dreamed of a loneliness so profound that no human had ever before experienced the like. Five hundred years since he had dreamed of the copper-colored sea and the huge, bouncing creatures and the sails, the white sails, and a grinning, wild-eyed kid hanging from the rigging and yelling at the top of his lungs.

  A lot had happened since that dream.

  The asteroid had destroyed Earth, broken it apart, obliterated all hope of human survival.

  The Mayflower had departed only hours ahead of that catastrophic finale, carrying its hastily assembled human cargo.

  Five hundred years since the still-experimental hibernation equipment had experienced failures that left some of the people shriveled and desiccated like mummies; caused others to sprout a persistent mold that ate the corpse; nurtured the growth of a mutated worm that tunneled through bodies, making Swiss cheese of loved ones.

  For Billy Weir the failure had been different. The hibernation equipment had shut down his heart, lungs, kidneys. It had stopped cell division. For all intents and purposes, it had killed him as it was designed to do. But where the others all lay unconscious, unaware of the worms, the mold, the dehydration, the impact of micrometeorites, unaware even of their own deaths, Billy Weir had remained awake.

  For five centuries of silence he lay completely paralyzed, incapable of even the slightest movement, but awake, alert, aware of his own predicament.

  In that time he had dredged through every memory in his own mind. He had even so he believed, anyway found a way to tap into the minds of his fellow human Remnants.

  Certainly he had changed in some profound way. From this unique life he had acquired abilities no human had ever owned.

  He looked no different, as far as he knew. He was still slight, dark-haired, pale, with sunken dark eyes and a determined mouth. He was still the gloomy Chechnyan orphan who never quite became the sunny Texan his adopted parents hoped for.

  Others had changed, too. Some didnt even know it, yet. But five centuries of radiation combined with the hibernation equipments questionable reliability had caused mutations.

  Or perhaps something else entirely had caused the mutations. Billy wasnt sure. During the long emptiness he had crossed and recrossed the line into madness. Sane, mad, normal, real, and unreal were all obsolete terms for Billy.

  Billy had slowed down. Way down. When at last the Mayflower was captured by the impossibly vast ship the Blue Meanies called Mother and the survivors were revived, they seemed to Billy like buzzing flies. They flitted by at speeds so great he could hardly track them. They spoke in blurts of hyper-speech.

  Billy knew things had changed. He knew he was off the Mayflower. He knew that Jobs and MoSteel had carried him on a stretcher for a long time. He remembered draining the life from his pain-wracked, worm-eaten adoptive father, Big Bill. He remembered the way he could transmit Jobss speech to the Blue Meanie back in the Tower of Babel.

  But Billy also remembered other things: growing vast golden wings and flying into the sun; seeing his fingers and toes become roots and branches of a tree that then withered and died; listening to his birth mothers voice telling him to rise up and destroy the invader.

  He remembered things that may have happened, and things that probably did not. He no longer had any way to know which was which.

  Billy Weir knew he was insane. But then how could a madman know he was mad?

  He had dreamed of copper seas and vast, bouncing creatures as big as blimps. He had dreamed of tall masts with vast sails and MoSteel yes, it had been MoSteel in the dream, he saw that now shouting from the rigging, shouting at the wind.

  Ive crossed the emptiness, he told himself. The circle is closing. Or maybe Im still on the Mayflower, and none of this is real.

  And maybe it doesnt matter.

  CHAPTER TWO ALL YOU NEEDS A SCREWDRIVER, DUCK. A SCREWDRIVER AND SOME DUCT TAPE.

  Jobs!

  2Face almost collapsed with relief. Shed hoped it was him, but in the gloomy light, and with only glimpses through the low, swirling fog, she couldnt be sure. Now the intelligent face, the distracted, slightly bulging brown eyes that gave Jobs the look of a person surprised in the middle of doing something else, the mess of blond hair were clearly visible.

  Hi, 2Face. Is Edward with you?

  2Face nodded. Edward is fine.

  We saw Riders chasing you guys. I thought . . . it looked like they . . .

  Were all still alive, 2Face said. She could have added more. Still alive didnt exactly bring Jobs up to date on what had happened. But not right now. There was just too much to tell.

  Jobs waded slowly through chest-deep water. Just behind him, partly hidden from view, was MoSteel. They were rarely far apart. 2Face knew they were best friends. MoSteel had dark eyes, hair, and complexion. His face was broad, eyes far apart. He was an altogether less serious-looking person than Jobs. He seemed to vibrate with energy, like he was bouncing even when he was standing still.

  Jobs and MoSteel had something between them, a floating log maybe. And coming up behind MoSteel were Violet Blake Miss Blake, as she liked people to address her and Olga Gonzalez, MoSteels mother.

  Whats up, 2Face? MoSteel asked cheekily, as though theyd all just run into one another at the
mall.

  Nothing good, 2Face answered.

  The log between Jobs and MoSteel was no log. It was a human being, a pale, skinny boy named Billy Weir. He was floating faceup, presumably alive. Or what passed for life in Billys case.

  2Face had the thought that it was a pity Billy hadnt been with her and the others earlier, back on the tower. When it had come time to feed a living sacrifice to the baby, he would have been a natural victim.

  An unworthy thought, she knew. But then again, shed been the babys original designated victim, and she figured she had a right to try and live, whatever the cost to someone else.

  It had been a bad time.

  And things werent much better now. The Remnants, both groups, were wading through a seemingly endless marsh. The water was as deep as seven or eight feet in places, as low as two feet elsewhere, but generally about chest-high.

  Here and there were islands. The fog would part to reveal them for a moment, then whisk them away, a magicians cape. The islands were little more than sandbars clotted with drifting vegetation, clumps of reeds, and some bizarre trees that looked a little like skittish palm trees, overreacting to every hint of a breeze. The trees were always swaying wildly, inappropriately, drooping way over before springing back.

  A small fire had been seen on one island. No doubt it was the Riders. If the Riders came after them now, not even Tamara and the baby would be able to save them. The Riders skimmed about on hoverboards. They were formidable enough on dry land. With the humans all wallowing in the thick, warm water, the two-headed Riders would be entirely in charge.

  Jobs stopped. He kept a hand on Billy Weirs foot. They werent carrying the boy, just guiding him. He was rigid, lying straight and flat and somehow riding too high in the water, as if he werent a real person at all with a real persons mass, but an inflated doll of himself.

  What are you doing out here by yourself? Jobs asked 2Face.

  2Face raised the eyebrow on the unburned side of her face. You want a wisecrack or the truth? The truth will take a while.

  Jobs focused past her, taking in the huddle of humans perhaps fifty yards farther on.

  Is Edward with them?

  2Face shook her head. This would be interesting. Hes right here. Edward, quit playing around, say hi to your brother.

  Hi, Sebastian, a voice said.

  Even knowing where she had left him, 2Face couldnt immediately make Edward out. He was a wispy little kid and short enough that only his head was above water.

  2Face was gratified to see Jobss blank stare. Then the wide look of surprise when Edward moved and at last he could see his little brother.

  What is that, camouflage? Jobs asked.

  Im the Chameleon, Edward said proudly. Its like a superhero.

  This is something you do ? Jobs asked.

  Olga Gonzalez said, A mutation? Like the baby?

  Im going to change my name, Edward said. From now on everyone has to call me Chameleon.

  Dont be stupid, youre not changing your name to Chameleon, Jobs snapped.

  Why not? Edward wailed, outraged. You changed your name, Sebastian . If you can call yourself Jobs I can call myself Chameleon.

  Hes got a point there, Duck, MoSteel said to his friend.

  2Faces name used to be Essence, Edward said helpfully.

  How about if we dont do this right here and right now, standing up to our teeth in water? Jobs said. I got stabbed in the butt and it hurts. Whats left of Violets finger is still a mess. Mos cut and all burned and

  2Face saw him glance guiltily at her own half-melted face. She didnt have time for his pity. Her face had almost gotten her killed, and might still. No more time for pleasantries. 2Face had to ensure that Jobs and MoSteel and Olga and Violet were on her side.

  Things have gone bad with us, 2Face said in a low, hurried voice. Yago is trying to divide us, make us fight amongst ourselves. He tried to set up me and Edward for being . . . for being different. Tamara and the baby. . . She took a deep breath and glanced anxiously over her shoulder. Tamaras the only one who can fight the Riders. The baby, it has some kind of power or something, it can make her almost invincible. I saw her kick butt on six Riders. But the baby . . . you think Im crazy, dont you?

  Violet Blake laughed dryly. Weve just come from hell as conceived by Hieronymus Bosch. We escaped with the help of a Blue Meanie who blew himself up to shut down some kind of node thats part of a big computer he calls Mother. Maybe we should agree that none of us is crazy.

  2Face frowned. As crazy as her own story sounded, theirs sounded crazier. Maybe they were all crazy.

  2Face stabbed these two monsters with a spear, Edward said. They were hurting me.

  Jobs looked sharply at 2Face and nodded in recognition. 2Face was relieved that Edward had brought it up. She had saved Edwards life. She wanted Jobs to feel obligated.

  The baby demanded food. Human food. Meat, 2Face said quietly.

  What?

  Yago wanted to sacrifice me. I . . . I convinced him otherwise. How much should she tell? The truth? All of it? Or a lie that was close to the truth? He changed his mind and decided to make it Wylson.

  Okay, slow down here, Olga said. She gave a little, nervous laugh. You sound like youre talking about the baby consuming someone. A person.

  It almost did. 2Face nodded. It almost ate your mom, Miss Blake. But then the whole tower just disappeared and we were falling through the air and landed here in the Dismal Swamp.

  How is my mom? Violet asked, showing no readable emotion.

  I think shes okay. But I think maybe she got the idea I was responsible. You know, since it was supposed to be me, and it ended up being her, 2Face said in a rush. Then, to keep them from asking questions, questions that might uncover the fact that 2Face had set up Wylson, had in fact delivered the treacherous blow that had felled Wylson Lefkowitz-Blake and left her helpless before the baby, she asked her own question.

  Whats this about a Blue Meanie?

  His name was Four Sacred Streams, MoSteel answered solemnly. He destroyed the node, which is the only reason any of us is alive right now.

  And whats this about his mother?

  Not his mother. Mother. Jobs waved his arm around. All of this is Mother. This ship, inside and out, is Mother. All of it operated by a computer that hasnt had so much as a scan in probably thousands of years. Mother is a computer. A messed-up computer thats been loaded with all the cultural and historical data we brought on the Mayflower .

  2Face felt the strangest flicker of hope. Youre some kind of big computer genius, right, Jobs? Thats your thing, right? Youre a hard-core techie.

  If it runs on electricity, my boy Jobs can fix it, MoSteel said proudly.

  Jobs snorted dismissively. Yeah, Im a real techie genius. Just one thing: Mother is about a million years more advanced. Its almost certainly some sort of quantum computer, with some unimaginable number of Qu-bits. Me fixing its like some caveman who is real good at making stone wheels suddenly deciding he knows how to fix a car.

  All you needs a screwdriver, Duck, MoSteel said, and laughed. A screwdriver and some duct tape. Fix Mother right up. Thats what we do.

  CHAPTER THREE THE SUN RISES, AND WITH IT, HOPE.

  Yago saw them coming: Jobs, his creepy mutant brother, his monkey-boy pal, MoSteels mother, the lovely and definitely time-worthy Miss Blake, Billy Weird, and, of course, 2Face.

  What to do now? That was the question. What to do, and who to do it to.

  How to play it? Like he and 2Face were allies? Or should he try to switch back to Wylson? And what about his two toadies, D-Caf and Anamull?

  Hard to know how it was all going to play out.

  Mostly, Yago realized, he was wet.

  This is so weird, D-Caf said.

  You think? Yago said with nasty sarcasm.

  The sun is coming up, D-Caf offered helpfully.

  Yes. The sun rises, and with it hope. Hope for a better world. Hope for peace and love and uncomplicated happiness.

&
nbsp; Really? D-Caf asked.

  Yago glared at him. Are you the dumbest human being left alive? Were up to our armpits in water. Were lost and probably surrounded by Riders. We have a leader who thinks shes running a business seminar and our only fighter is an alien baby who likes meat . We have no food, no weapons. . . .

  D-Caf grinned and raised something from below the surface of the water. I have a weapon. Do you want it?

  Yago stared. A Rider boomerang. It was a cruel-looking thing, toothed blades all along one edge.

  When everything was dissolving and right before we fell, I picked it up, D-Caf explained.

  Give it here, Yago said, but without any great pleasure. He wasnt a weapons person. He had no clue how to throw the thing. In fact, it seemed likely hed end up cutting off a few of his own fingers.

  On the other hand, it was probably a good thing to

  Aaahhh! Aaaahhhh!

  A cry of shrill panic.

  Yagos head snapped around, looking for the cause. It was Roger Dodger, a kid, going wild, slapping at the water and looking like he wanted to jump up out of it.

  The kid went still. He said, I . . . I felt something.

  You nearly gave me a stroke! Burroway snapped.

  Maybe it wasnt anything, Roger Dodger said doubtfully.

  Then Burroway shrieked. Something bit me! Its in the water, something in the water bit me.

  There was a pause, everyone waiting, staring, all conversation done for now. And then it was Shy Hwang yelping and holding up a bloody arm with something still attached, something squirmy and muscular. Panic took hold and everyone was running, Yago included, running through the water, an absurd slo-mo parody of actual running.

  At first the herd of people had no direction; it darted and circled like a flock of startled birds, then headed toward the nearest of the low islands.

  Hwang kept shouting, complaining, yelling, though Yago could see that whatever had grabbed his arm had let go now.

  My leg! someone screamed.

  Yago splashed, digging his arms in to propel himself forward, taking giant moon-gravity steps. His leading foot landed on nothing and he plunged facedown into the water. He sank beneath the surface. Claustrophobia shot syringes of adrenaline into his bloodstream and his brain began to slip gears, catching, slipping again.