Fear

by Michael Grant

  The open top had the disadvantage that the heads of tall people could be seen. The advantage, however, was that the smell of the septic tank wasn’t trapped in a closed space.

  The individual outhouses had benches made of desk tops brought from the Air National Guard base. Sam had burned holes in each of these, and Blake and Bonnie had thoughtfully attached actual toilet seats to these.

  There was something pleasant—once you got used to it—about relieving yourself under the stars or sun. Except for the lack of toilet paper.

  Blake and Bonnie solved this problem—partly—by selling various leaves, official reports and records from the Air National Guard facility, and out-of-date reference books.

  And, of course, the two Bs were responsible for keeping the facility clean. This wasn’t terribly hard usually, because Bonnie in particular had no reluctance to call someone out for making a mess.

  And the hours weren’t bad. Since absolutely no one wanted their jobs, Blake and Bonnie were given plenty of time off. And since they were seven and six years old, respectively, they spent their time off swimming, collecting rocks, and playing a more or less continuous game of war that involved various action figures, the severed heads of Bratz dolls and interesting insects.

  That was what they were doing, playing war in the sandpit they’d excavated a hundred feet or so away from the Pit. In fact, they were arguing over whether a battered Bratz head had or had not gotten the drop on a group of three mismatched beetles.

  Two of the outhouses were occupied: number one by Pat and number four by Diana. Diana was there frequently as a consequence of being pregnant.

  Blake grabbed the Bratz doll head angrily and said, “Okay, if you won’t play by the rules—” This happened about six times a day. There weren’t really any rules.

  Bonnie was just about to hotly deny that she was cheating, when her face smeared. Like her face was a still-wet painting and someone had dragged a brush through it.

  Blake stared at the most familiar face in his world and saw it flatten, like it was suddenly just two-dimensional. And something that was transparent, but not somehow invisible, pierced her through.

  Bonnie jerked to her feet like a puppet on a string. Her eyes went wide and her face smeared again as her mouth dripped down her chin.

  A finger made of air, as big as a tree, swept over her, came back to touch her, and then disappeared.

  Bonnie gave a single terrible spasm, then stopped moving, fell over, and landed atop her army.

  Blake stood staring at something that was no longer Bonnie. No longer anything he had ever seen before. What lay there in the dirt had one arm and half a face, and the rest—no more than two feet long—looked exactly like a rotted dead log.

  Blake started screaming and Diana and Pat moved as fast as they could, but Blake was not one to just stand and scream; he took action. He grabbed the log with half a human face by its one arm and threw it as hard as he could toward the Pit.

  It didn’t go far, so he grabbed it again, screaming all the while at the top of his lungs, and dragged it toward the number five as Diana and Pat both shouted for him to stop, stop, stop, but he couldn’t stop; he had to get rid of it, this thing, this monster that had replaced his friend.

  Diana almost reached him. But not quite.

  Blake threw the thing into the hole of the number five outhouse.

  “What is going on?” Pat demanded, rushing up.

  Blake was silent.

  “He had some kind of…” Diana began. She made a face, then added, “I don’t know what it was.”

  “It was a monster,” Blake said.

  “Jeez, dude, you scared me half to death,” Patrick said. “I mean, enjoy your game or whatever, but don’t be screaming when I’m doing my business.” He stomped off down the hill toward the lake.

  Diana didn’t yell at Blake. “Where’s the other one of you? What’s her name? The girl?”

  Blake shook his head dully. A veil went down over his eyes. “I don’t know,” he said. “I guess she’s gone.”

  Orc sat reading.

  That fact, the sight of Orc sitting on a rock with a book in his hands, was still inexplicable to Howard.

  Orc and Howard had gone with Sam to Lake Tramonto during the Big Split. Sam was a pain in the butt, but he wasn’t likely to decide to throw you through a wall, like Caine might.

  The only problem with the lake was that most of the drinking and drugging population had stayed in Perdido Beach. Howard operated a whiskey still at Coates, but traveling from Coates to the lake was not exactly an easy trip. And Howard couldn’t do it with more than about a dozen bottles in a backpack.

  Orc could carry far more, of course. But Orc wasn’t helping anymore. Orc was reading. He was reading the Bible.

  Orc drunk was depressed, dangerous, unpredictable, and occasionally murderous. But Orc sober was just useless. Useless.

  Orc had been given the job of guarding Sinder’s little farm. Mostly this involved sitting on a rock outcropping and reading.

  Sinder’s farm wasn’t much bigger than a good-size backyard, a wedge-shaped piece of land that had once been a streambed back when rain still fell in the mountains and sent streams to replenish the lake. Orc had helped them dig a web of shallow canals that brought lake water in to water the neat rows.

  Sinder and Jezzie spent all day, every day, planting and tending. Orc spent as much time. In fact, he had set up a little tent just beside the rock and he slept there most nights.

  Howard had spent a couple of nights there as well, trying to keep alive his friendship with Orc, trying to get Orc past this whole newfound sobriety thing.

  It wasn’t that Howard liked Orc drunk. (Orc had no money, so whatever he drank came straight out of Howard’s profits.) It was just that sober, Bible-reading Orc was useless to Howard. Useless for intimidation and debt collection, and useless for hauling booze.

  “What’s ‘meek’ mean?” Orc asked Howard. Then he spelled it, because he wasn’t sure if he was saying it right. “M-E-E-K.”

  “I know how to spell ‘meek,’” Howard snapped. “It means wimpy. Weak. Pathetic. Pitiful. A sucker. A victim. A stupid, Bible-reading, monster-looking fool, that’s what it means.”

  “Well, it says here they’re blessed.”

  “Yeah,” Howard said savagely, “because that’s the way it always works out: wimps always win.”

  “They’re gonna inherit the earth,” Orc said. But he seemed doubtful about it. “What’s that mean, ‘inherit’?”

  “You are sucking the life right out of me; you know that, Orc?”

  Orc shifted and turned his book to get better light. The sun was going down.

  “Where are the girls? Farmer Goth and Farmer Emo?”

  “Went to get Sam.” Orc grunted.

  “Sam? Why didn’t you tell me, dude?” Howard glanced around for a place to hide his backpack. He was on a delivery run. And while Sam didn’t go out of his way to try to shut down Howard’s business, he could get it into his head to confiscate Howard’s product.

  “I think ‘inherit’ means take over, like,” Orc said.

  Howard slung his pack behind a bush and stepped back to see if it was still visible. “Yep. Take over. The meek. Just like rabbits take over from coyotes. Don’t be an idiot, Orc.”

  Howard would never have insulted Orc back in the old days. Back when Orc was Orc. Even now he saw Orc’s eyes narrow—they were one of the few remaining human parts of him. Orc was a slag heap of living gravel with a patch of human skin where his mouth and part of one cheek were.

  Howard almost wished Orc would get up and pound him. At least he’d be Orc again. Instead Orc narrowed his eyes and said, “You know, there’s a lot more rabbits than there are coyotes.”

  “Why are the girls getting Sam?” Howard glanced back toward the marina, the center of life at the lake. Sure enough, Sam, Jezzie, and Sinder were coming along at a quick walk.

  “‘Blessed are they who hunger and thirst f
or justice,’” Orc read in his slow, laborious way.

  “You want to ask me what that means, Orc?” Howard snapped. “Because I think justice may not be something you want to see so much.”

  Orc’s face wasn’t capable of showing much emotion. But Howard could see that the shot had hit home. In a drunken rage Orc had accidentally killed a kid back in Perdido Beach. No one but Howard knew about it.

  “What’s that?” Howard asked, pointing. He had just noticed a discoloration of the dome behind Orc.

  “That’s why they went for Sam.”

  At that moment Sam and the girls came up. Sam nodded to Howard and said, “Orc, how’s it going?”

  Sam went straight to the barrier and stood looking at the black peak thrusting up behind Orc’s rock.

  “Have you seen this anywhere else?” Sam asked Sinder.

  “We never go anywhere else,” Sinder said.

  “I appreciate the time you put in,” Sam said. But he wasn’t paying any attention to Sinder or Jezzie. He walked along the barrier toward the lake.

  Howard fell in beside him, relieved that Sam hadn’t spotted his backpack.

  “What do you think it is?” Howard asked.

  “There. Another one.” Sam pointed at a much smaller dark bump rising from the dirt. He marched on and they reached the lake’s edge. Here again was a low, undulating ridge of black stain.

  “What the…,” Sam muttered. “You see anything like this, Howard?”

  Howard shrugged. “I probably wouldn’t notice it. Anyway, I don’t walk by the barrier that much.”

  “No,” Sam agreed. “You just go back and forth to your still at Coates.”

  Howard felt a sudden chill.

  “Of course I know about your still,” Sam said. “You know it’s on the other side of the line. It’s Caine’s territory. He catches you over there, you won’t like it, unless you’re sharing your profits with him.”

  Howard winced and decided to say nothing.

  Sam stood looking at the stain. “It’s growing. I just saw it grow. Just now.”

  “I saw it, too,” Sinder said. She looked to Sam for reassurance. Weird, Howard realized: he, too, was looking to Sam for reassurance. As much as he and Sam had been enemies at times, and still were, more or less, he wanted Sam to have some quick answer to this stain thing.

  The troubled look on Sam’s face was not reassuring.

  “What is it?” Howard asked again.

  Sam shook his head slowly. His tanned face looked suddenly so much older than his barely fifteen years. Howard had a vision of Sam as an old man, hair gray and thin, face creased with deep worry lines. It was a face marked by all the pain and worry Sam had endured.

  Howard had the sudden, ridiculous urge to offer Sam a drink. He looked like he could use it.

  SEVEN

  36 HOURS, 19 MINUTES

  ASTRID STOOD GAZING down at the lake from the heights to the west. The barrier went straight into the lake, of course, cutting it roughly in half. The lake’s shoreline bulged out so that she could no longer keep following the barrier without going out of her way. Anyway, soon it would be too dark to see the stain. Time to turn toward the human habitations.

  The sun was down and a small, far-off bonfire was burning in a circle of tents and trailers. Astrid couldn’t see the kids around the fire, but she could see shapes occasionally crossing in front of the flames.

  Now that she was here she could no longer even pretend to suppress her emotions. She was going to see Sam. Others, too, and she would no doubt have to endure stares and greetings and probably insults.

  All that she could handle. But she was going to see Sam. That was the thing. Sam.

  Sam, Sam, Sam.

  “Stop it,” she told herself.

  A crisis was coming. She had a duty to help her friends understand it.

  “Weak,” she muttered.

  The suspicion had been growing in her head that she was just coming up with an excuse to see Sam. At the same time she suspected that she was looking for an excuse to back off and avoid her duty to help.

  It occurred to Astrid that in days gone by she might have prayed for guidance. It brought a wistful smile to her lips. What had happened to that Astrid? Where had she gone to? Astrid hadn’t prayed since…

  “‘Put aside childish things,’” she quoted mentally. A Bible quote, which was ironic, she supposed. She shifted her pack and slipped her shotgun off her sore right shoulder onto her left. She started toward the fire.

  On the way she worked out a simple method for measuring the spread of the dark stain on the barrier. If someone had a functioning digital camera it would be easy enough. She ran the math in her head. Maybe five sample locations. Calculate the progression day by day and she would have pretty good data.

  Numbers still gave her pleasure. That was the great thing about numbers: it required no faith to believe that two plus two equaled four. And math never, ever condemned you for your thoughts and desires.

  “Who’s there?” a voice cried from the shadows.

  “Take it easy,” Astrid said.

  “Who is it or I shoot,” the voice said.

  “It’s Astrid.”

  “No way.”

  A boy, probably no older than ten, stepped out from behind a bush. He had a rifle leveled, with his finger near but not directly on the trigger.

  “Is that you, Tim?” Astrid asked.

  “Whoa. It is you,” the boy said. “I thought you were dead.”

  “You know what Mark Twain said? ‘Reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated.’”

  “Yep. That’s you, all right.” Tim shouldered his weapon. “I guess you’re okay to go on in. I’m not supposed to let anyone pass unless I know them. But I know you.”

  “Thanks. Good to see you well. Last time I saw you, you had the flu.”

  “Flu’s all gone now. Hope it doesn’t ever come back.”

  Astrid walked on, and now the trail was clearer and easier to follow, even as evening crept closer.

  She passed a few tents. An old-fashioned Airstream trailer. Then she reached the circle of tents and trailers that ringed the bonfire. She heard kids laughing.

  She approached nervously. The first to see her was a little girl, who nudged the older girl beside her. Astrid instantly recognized Diana.

  Diana looked at her without showing the least surprise and said, “Well, hello, Astrid. Where have you been?”

  Conversation and laughter died, and thirty or more faces, each lit orange and gold, turned to look.

  “I’ve been … away,” Astrid said.

  Diana stood up and Astrid realized with a shock that she was pregnant.

  Diana saw the look on Astrid’s face, smirked, and said, “Yes, all kinds of interesting things have happened while you were away.”

  “I need to see Sam,” Astrid said.

  That drew a laugh from Diana. “No doubt,” Diana said. “I’ll take you.”

  Diana led the way to the houseboat. She still moved with unself-conscious grace despite the bulge. Astrid wished she moved like that.

  “By the way, you didn’t happen to see a kid, a girl, on your way here, did you? Her name is Bonnie. About seven, I think.”

  “No. Is someone missing?”

  Edilio was sitting in a folding chair on the top deck, keeping watch over the scattered tents, trailers, Winnebagos, and boats. He had an automatic rifle on his lap.

  “Hi, Edilio,” Astrid said.

  Edilio jumped up and clambered down to the dock. He swung his rifle out of the way and threw his arms around Astrid. “Thank God. It’s about time.”

  Astrid felt tears forming. “Missed you,” she admitted.

  “I guess you’re here to see Sam.”

  “Yes.”

  Edilio nodded to Diana, dismissing her. He drew Astrid up onto the boat and then into the empty cabin. “There’s a little problem with that,” Edilio said in a whisper.

  “He doesn’t want to see me?”
/>
  “He’s, um… He’s out.”

  Astrid laughed. “I assume from your conspiratorial look you mean he’s up to something dangerous?”

  Edilio grinned and shrugged. “He’s still Sam. He should be back by morning. Come on; let’s get you something to eat and drink. You can sleep here tonight.”

  The pickup truck crept down the road. Crept for many reasons: First, it saved gas. Second, they were driving with the lights out because headlights would be visible a long way off.

  Third, the road from the lake down to the highway was narrow and only sketchily paved.

  And fourth: Sam had never really learned to drive.

  Sam was behind the wheel. Dekka was beside him. Computer Jack was in the cramped space behind the front seat, wedged in and not happy.

  “No offense, Sam, but you’re going off the road. Off the road! Sam! You’re going off the road!”

  “No, I’m not; shut up,” Sam snapped as he guided the huge truck back onto the road, narrowly avoiding overturning in the ditch.

  “This is how I’m going to die,” Jack said. “Crammed in like this in a ditch.”

  “Oh, please,” Sam said. “You’re strong enough to tear your way out even if we did crash.”

  “Do me a favor and rescue me, too,” Dekka said.

  “We’re fine. I have this down now,” Sam said.

  “Coyotes will totally eat us,” Jack said. “Tear our guts open and…” He fell silent.

  Sam glanced in the rearview mirror and saw Jack mouth the word “sorry.”

  Dekka sighed. “I hate when you guys do that. Stop treating me like I’m going to fall apart. Not helpful.”

  Saving Dekka’s life from the infestation of bugs had meant cutting her open. Lana had been there to heal her, but Dekka had not come through unscathed. She put on a good act, but Dekka was no longer the fearless, indestructible girl she had once seemed to be.

  That and Brianna’s obvious rejection of her had left her withdrawn, defeated. Hopeless.

  “I hope Brianna’s okay,” Jack said. “She shouldn’t be running around in the dark.”

  “As long as she sticks to the road and takes it slow she’ll be all right,” Sam said, hoping to forestall any further conversation about Brianna. Jack was extremely intelligent in areas having to do with technology. But he could be completely, steadfastly clueless when it came to humans.