Survival

Survival Page 8

by K. A. Applegate

> she said. <>

  Duncan is gone, Tate thought. Gone. He wouldn’t be bothering her anymore.

  All of the slime creatures were gone.

  All of the Riders and Meanies were gone.

  Jobs, Mo’Steel, 2Face, Violet, Edward, and the others — all gone.

  Tate was alone with the voices in her head.

  She didn’t know where she was.

  She had no idea of what to do next.

  The enormity of it pressed Tate down. Made getting up off the floor unthinkable. She lay down flat and stared at the glass ceiling. She was the last human alive in the universe. She was too tired to move. Her foot hurt. She let her head fall slightly to the right, closed her eyes, and slept.

  Tate dreamed.

  The dusty landscape, the bands of travelers plodding hopelessly along, the hidden destination.

  Tate’s mind was hyperalert. She struggled to solve the puzzle. Was the journey a metaphor for something? Maybe it stood for hope, a journey toward a better life. Or maybe it stood for just the opposite — inevitability, the march toward death.

  Was the number of travelers important? Tate tried to count them, but she couldn’t tell them apart, couldn’t concentrate long enough to be sure exactly how many there were.

  She felt she was grasping at smoke. Trying to find meaning where maybe none existed. It was a dream, nothing more.

  Nobody could be sending her messages because nobody else was alive.

  CHAPTER 14

  “DON’T WORRY.”

  Sixty-one cycles later

  Tate woke.

  She was staring at the ceiling. She tried to close her eyes, go back to sleep, return to her dream

  —

  But her eyes wouldn’t respond.

  They were no longer under her control.

  Gravity was gone.

  The ache in her foot was barely there.

  Tate thought she’d been prepared for this moment — she knew one of the others would attack her eventually — but the sudden loss of control was still shocking, horrifying.

  It’s Amelia, Tate told herself angrily. It has to be Amelia. Stupid! I was stupid to let her have a taste of control, even for a minute.

  <> Tate asked with as much swagger as she could muster. She had to know. She had to be sure it was Amelia and not Yago. She had to know that Yago hadn’t betrayed her.

  That his friendship hadn’t been a trick.

  “Hello,” a strange voice whispered back. It was her own voice and yet it was somehow —

  Charlie’s. Charlie,

  Now, this Tate had never imagined. Charlie. Charlie — who was so fearful, so paranoid.

  She’d never guessed Charlie would want control of her body, much less do anything about it.

  He was getting up out of bed. He began to make her body pace the perimeter of her bedroom.

  “That feels good,” Charlie moaned happily. “I’ve had such bad leg cramps. I know it’s silly. I don’t actually have legs anymore, but —”

  Then Charlie giggled — a creepy, not-quite-right-in-the-head sound. “Actually, I guess I do have legs now. Again. Whatever. Ask me, Tate, you sit still too much. And you sleep way too much. What have you got against moving?”

  <> Tate said carefully. She was desperately trying to figure out how to play this, how to get control back again. How could she plan strategy when there were so many unknowns? Did Charlie have Amelia and Yago on his side? Why weren’t they saying anything?

  Did they feel as unsure as she did?

  Should she try to grab control back now — while Charlie still seemed uncertain about controlling her body? Or was it better to wait until Charlie was sleeping?

  Suddenly Charlie was shouting. “Stop it! I’m warning you — stop it right now or — or else!”

  <> Tate wasn’t sure what had happened. Had she unconsciously reached out with her mind and wiggled a finger or toe? Had Amelia done something? Or Yago?

  Maybe. Or maybe Charlie had just exploded for no reason.

  <> Yago said soothingly. <>

  <> Amelia said.

  Suddenly Tate was watching her body thrash madly — arms twitching, legs flailing, head snapping around, eyes shifting all over the place. Amelia was making her grab for power Charlie wasn’t letting go easily.

  “Daughter!” Charlie shouted. “A knife!”

  <> Tate yelled. But it was no use. Daughter couldn’t hear her. Her voice was audible only within her own head.

  Tate saw the knife appear in her hand. She watched as that hand held the knife to her own throat.

  “Back down,” Charlie said with cool fury. “Back down now or what happens next is going to be very messy.”

  The next two cycles passed slowly.

  Tate felt like a hostage. One false move and Charlie could kill them all. Mostly, Tate and Yago and Amelia kept quiet. Tate spent the time planning what she’d say to Yago and Amelia when she got the chance.

  Charlie paced and paced and paced and paced. He had tucked the knife into the waistband of Tate’s pants. He refused to lie down on Tate’s bed — or even get too near it. Too tempting, apparently.

  “If I sleep, you’re going to attack,” Charlie muttered out loud as his exhaustion grew. Unlike him, they didn’t need sleep. They had no bodies to rejuvenate. Without this weakness, Charlie never would have been able to steal control from Tate.

  <> Tate said soothingly. <>

  Charlie laughed. “You think I trust you I may be slightly crazy, but I’m not stupid.”

  <> Tate said. She knew Charlie would have to sleep eventually. All she needed was patience.

  Finally, well into the second cycle, Charlie slumped against the laboratory wall and let Tate’s eyes close. Before long, Tate could hear his soft snores.

  <> Tate whispered.

  <> Amelia said.<>

  <> Yago said, <>

  <> Tate demanded.

  A short pause.

  Then Tate couldn’t contain herself any longer. <> she demanded curi-ously. <>

  <> Amelia whispered reluctantly. <>

  <>

  <> Yago said sternly.

  <> Amelia said doubtfully.

  <> Tate demanded irritably, fighting to keep her voice as quiet as Amelia’s. <>

  <> Amelia said. <> Tate didn’t like what she was hearing. She’d been planning to attack Charlie while he was asleep. If that wouldn’t work, she’d have to go to Plan 2 — and she didn’t like Plan 2. It required teamwork and the last thing she wanted to do now was rely on Amelia and Yago.

  <> Tate asked bitterly. <>

  <> Amelia demanded. <>

  <> Tate shouted.

  <> Amelia said sullenly.

  <> Yago said. <>

  <> Tate said. <>

  <> Yago said casually.

  <> Amelia said.

  < of consideration?>> Tate asked warily.

  <> Amelia said.

  <> Tate said, speaking out of instinct. <>

  Amelia snorted. <>

  <> Tate said, trying to sound persuasive. <>

  <> Amelia said coldly. <>

  <> Tate said.

  <>

  <> Tate made it sound like a fact. She wasn’t sure it was.

  <> Amelia said confidently. <>

  <> Yago said bitterly. <>

  <> Amelia shrieked. <>

  <> Yago said. <>

  “Wh — what?” Charlie mumbled in a confused, sleepy tone. Their screaming fight — the only kind they could have — had finally awakened him. “What are you guys doing?” he asked with a soft giggle. A rhetorical question. “Forming coalitions?” He began to laugh harder

  “Trying a little diplomacy, Tate?”

  Tate didn’t bother to answer. She settled in to think and to wait for the next time Charlie fell asleep.

  The days with Charlie in charge took on their own rhythm. Early in the cycle, he would spend hours searching Daughter’s databases for information about the American Civil War.

  He was obsessed with the Battle of Antietam. Or, as Yago called it, the Battle of Tedium.

  He’d skip dinner because around that time he’d be busy singing the few Motown hits he could remember. Target practice began after dinner and lasted well into the night. He changed Mother’s course daily. “To keep them confused,” he explained. Nobody but Charlie knew who

  “they” were.

  On the fifth night, Charlie came very close to puncturing the hull with a machine gun blast as he ran through the ship doing a poor imitation of the Rider battle cry.

  <> Amelia said as soon as Charlie had passed out. <>

  <> Yago asked.

  <> Tate said.

  <> Amelia said. <>

  <> Tate said.

  <> Yago said flatly.

  <> Tate agreed.

  <> Yago asked. Again, his tone was neutral.

  <> Tate said, feeling terrible about the cruelty of her suggestion. <>

  <> Amelia said thoughtfully

  <>

  <> Yago said. <>

  <> Yago said harshly.

  <> Tate wanted to reassure Yago. <>

  <> Amelia said. <> Tate felt a chill imagining all of that silence. It would be like being dead herself.

  <> Yago asked.

  <> Amelia suggested, <> Tate showed her agreement by saying nothing.

  Three cycles later.

  “Weakness,” Charlie said, feeling devilish, planning to be as insulting as possible. “The weakness is unmistakable. It’s the first thing you notice. My old body was much more powerful. I was always having to hold myself back, control some impulse coursing through my muscles. A desire to smash someone’s head or pound a tennis ball through my neighbor’s window or — well, Yago, you know what I mean.” Charlie chuckled uneasily. He paused — hoping Yago would join in.

  Silence.

  Charlie took a deep breath and went on. “This body feels so — calm,” he said, his voice slowing down as he carefully considered what he was saying. “Weak and calm. Weird, right?

  You wouldn’t expect those two to go together.”

  Charlie trailed off. This conversation — this monologue — wasn’t going at all the way he’d planned. He was starting to creep himself out. That had been happening a lot lately.

  He sat quietly.

  The immense ship stretched out on all sides of him. His ears strained for some sound, any sound —

  He heard nothing.

  “Yago, please,” he whispered. “Talk to me.” Nothing.

  “Tate, please, I can’t stand this.” Charlie could feel the silence swallow up his words.

  Nothing.

  Charlie took a deep, shaky breath. “Amelia? Amelia, are you there? Amelia, please —”

  Yago was right.

  It took longer than Tate had imagined. Much longer.

  It was the most dreadful part of Tate’s life, and that was saying a lot. She missed her dreams dreadfully.

  There were days when Tate’s thinking mind disappeared. When she believed she was truly just some sad part of the mutated human named Charlie.

  There were days when she’d almost convinced herself it was time to break the silence that had dragged on and on. She wasn’t sure what stopped her from giving in.

  Desperation.

  Competitiveness.

  Fear.

  Shame.

  How could she face Charlie when she knew her silence was slowly driving him mad? Better to stay hidden until he was dead. Better to never speak of what she had done to him.

  Better not to think of how very long it took.

  Charlie knew the others were still there.

  That was what was so infuriating.

  They were like a persistent itch that you can never quite find and so you scratch your arm and nothing and twist around to try and reach that spot on the middle of your back and you finally manage to pop your shoulder out of the socket and reach it and nothing and so you try your belly and — the itch is still maddeningly real and yet unreachable.

  And so your fingers keep scratching, moving over your skin even after it’s raw and bleeding.

  You can’t give up.

  You itch.

  And itch.

  And itch.

  And —

  Finally, it was over.

  Finally, Tate was able to reach out with her mind and take control of her body again.

  She had a mouth. She could talk. “Ollie, ollie, all come free,” she whispered.

  Silence.

  Tate’s heart nearly stopped from fear. And then

  <> Yago said.

  <> Amelia asked.

  And then they were all laughing.

  CHAPTER 15

  THIS WAS A DREAM.

  20,842 cycles later

  Tate stood calf-deep in black goo — a sticky, oily mud that covered this entire nameless planet. Okay, it wasn’t entirely nameless. Tate called it Gooville.

  She hated the tarlike stuff. Somehow it always worked its way into her boots and drenched her socks. Back on the ship, she’d have to scrub for hours to get it off, and the rotten excuse for soap Daughter produced always gave her a rash.

  Still, Tate crouched down in the goo, keen for any movement. She ignored the ache in her thighs, her knees, her back, her neck. The pa
ins had accumulated slowly over many years. They were almost like a background hum she didn’t notice anymore.

  <> Yago said.

  “I see it,” Tate said happily. She watched as a bug the size of her hand leisurely poked its horned face into the air like a dolphin surfacing to breathe. Its front claws looked lobsterlike as it hauled its shiny body out of the goo.

  Tate pulled a camera out of her exploring suit and snapped a few photos. She couldn’t see the bug’s face from where she was standing. With effort, her knees popping, she pulled her boots loose from the clinging goo and scurried around in front of it. She wanted all the angles.

  “Was the shell this shiny last time?” she asked.

  <> Yago said. <>

  “I’m not,” Tate said. “I remember writing down ‘dull black,’ and this definitely isn’t what I’d call dull.”

  <> Yago asked doubtfully.

  “It wasn’t that long ago,” Tate said.

  <> Yago said.

  “That long?” Tate tried to ignore how the years had begun rushing by. The speed frightened her.

  <> Yago challenged with mild enthusiasm.

  <> It was Amelia.

  For a moment, Tate and Yago were stunned into silence.

  As usual, Yago was the first to recover. <> he said warmly. <>

  Tate was also pleased.

  Amelia had been silent for at least ten cycles, maybe more. Tate had gotten used to her pouting over the years, of course, but the long silences still worried her. After Charlie — well, Tate didn’t understand how Amelia could bear to be silent for so long. Of course, it was still her only means of protest, of punishment.

  <> Amelia said with disgust. <>

  “Evolution often makes surprising moves,” Tate said patiently. She chose her words carefully, not wanting to say the wrong thing and force Amelia back into silence. “A change in the shell’s sheen could suggest a great number of adaptations —”

 

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