Hunger (38 page)

And she saw Edilio fall straight back.

She saw him land on his back.

His head bounced as he hit.

Lana shifted her aim. Sights lined up on Dekka who seemed paralyzed in shock.

Lana squeezed the trigger.

Click.

Click.

Dekka raised her hands. Her expression was furious, determined. But she did not use her power. Her eyes flickered. She lowered her hands and rushed to Edilio.

Dekka knelt over Edilio. She gasped. Pressed her hand against the wound in his chest. Trying to hold the blood in.

“Lana. Lana,” Dekka pleaded with tears running down her cheeks. “Help him.”

Lana stood confused. The gun wasn’t working. Why wasn’t it working? The question was not hers, the thought not her thought.

The gaiaphage was confused. Why did the weapon not kill? It did not understand. So much it knew. But not everything.

The gun slipped from Lana’s fingers. She heard it clatter on stone.

“Lana, you can save him,” Dekka pleaded.

I can save no one, Lana thought. Least of all myself.

Lana took two steps back.

The last thing she saw was Dekka rushing to Edilio.

Lana returned to her master.

38
MINUTES

THE SUN WAS
sinking into the sea. Shadows were lengthening in Perdido Beach. The plaza was full of kids, far more kids than Zil could possibly feed with one deer.

It worried him at first. But then he realized the simple solution: Those who would take part in the sacrificing of Hunter would eat. Those who would only watch, would not.

Those who laid hands on Hunter would be a part of Zil’s group. They would have demonstrated their loyalty beyond all doubt. Their bridges would be burned. He would own them, body and soul after that.

They would be lifetime members of the Human Crew.

A big fire had been built in the dried-out fountain. Someone clever had raided the hardware store and had rigged a spit onto which big hunks of the deer, chopped into slabs with an ax, were roasting.

The smell was amazing.

Turk had grabbed spray cans and tagged the fountain and
some of the sidewalks with Lisa’s stylized “HC” logo.

“How we doing this, man?” Antoine asked.

“Doing what?” Zil answered.

“Hunter. How we doing it?”

Hunter had recovered a little from the hit to the head. He had tried to free his hands, but Hank had smacked him good. Cheers had risen from some of the crowd. Others had looked queasy.

“Yank,” Turk said, and made a comic hanging motion.

“Where? Is what I mean, man,” Antoine said. He was slurring badly, almost to the point of not being intelligible. Drunk.

“There.” Lance pointed to the tumbled-down church.

“Where the door used to be? It makes an arch. You can pass a rope up through that hole. One end around Hunter’s neck, right? The other end can be really long. You can extend it all the way down through the square, so you could have, like, a hundred kids pulling on it.”

He frowned and glanced back and forth. “Pull him up, then you can tie the rope off to one of the trees, around the base.”

Zil considered Lance curiously. It seemed strange to find this popular kid getting involved, actually coming up with a plan for an execution. Weird. Lance had none of Hank’s seething, crazy rage. None of Turk’s desperate toadying. He wasn’t a pathetic burn-out like Antoine.

“That’s a good plan, Lance,” Zil said.

Hank’s eyes glittered dangerously.

“If we’re going to do this, we better get on with it,” Turk
said. “Astrid’s a freak-lover. And that Brianna. She could be bringing Sam.”

“Sam’s busy. Besides, I’m not afraid of Sam. We have all these kids with us,” Zil said, sounding far more confident than he felt. “But yeah, let’s get this thing going. Hank. Lance. Start stringing the rope.”

Zil climbed up onto the trunk of the convertible. “Everybody! Everybody!”

He had everyone’s attention almost instantly. The crowd was hungry, desperate, and very impatient. Several kids had tried to rush at the meat and grab some right from the flames. They’d had to be beaten back by Hank and a group of kids he’d enlisted as bodyguards.

“The food is ready,” Zil announced to loud cheers.

“But we have something more important to do, first, before we can eat.”

Groans.

“We have to carry out some justice.”

That earned a silent stare until Turk and Hank started raising their hands and yelling, showing the crowd how to act.

“This mutant, this nonhuman scum here, this freak Hunter…” Zil pointed, arm stretched out, at his captive. “This chud deliberately murdered my best friend, Harry.”

“Na troo,” Hunter said. His mouth still didn’t work right. Brain damage, Zil supposed, from the little knock on his head. Half of Hunter’s face drooped like it wasn’t quite attached right. It made it easier for the crowd of kids to sneer at him, and Hunter, yelling in his drooling retard
voice, wasn’t helping his case.

“He’s a killer!” Zil cried suddenly, smacking his fist into his palm.

“A freak! A mutant!” he cried. “And we know what they’re like, right? They always have enough food. They run everything. They’re in charge and we’re all starving. Is that some kind of coincidence? No way.”

“Na troo,” Hunter moaned again.

“Take him!” Zil cried to Antoine and Hank. “Take him, the murdering mutant scum!”

They seized Hunter by the arms. He could walk, but only by dragging one leg. They half carried, half marched him across the plaza. They dragged him up the church steps.

“Now,” Zil said, “here is how we’re going to do this.” He waved his hand toward the rope that Lance was unspooling back through the plaza.

An expectant pause. A dangerous, giddy feeling. The smell of the meat had them all crazy. Zil could feel it.

“You all want some of this delicious venison?”

They roared their assent.

“Then you’ll all grab on to the rope.”

A dozen or more kids leaped forward to seize the rope. Others hesitated. Glanced toward the church. Glanced toward Hunter being held by Zil’s crew.

Lance had tied a noose.

Hank now pushed it down over Hunter’s head and tightened it around his neck.

But there was a disturbance in the crowd. Someone was
pushing through. Kids were yelling at the intruder. There was shoving. But finally Astrid appeared, disheveled, flushed, furious. She wasn’t hauling a wagon anymore. And she didn’t have John with her, which was good, Zil thought: Mary and John were popular. A lot of these kids had little brothers and sisters at the day care.

Astrid was a different story. She was tied to Sam, and a lot of kids thought she was too full of her own self. Plus, she had her creepy little brother with her. And no one liked him. Rumor had it that he was some kind of powerful freak himself. But was too retarded to do anything much about it.

Waste of time keeping a retard alive when humans were starving.

“Stop this!” Astrid cried. “Stop this now!”

Zil looked down at her. He was almost surprised to realize that he was not intimidated by her. Astrid the Genius. Sam’s girlfriend. One of the three or four most important people in the FAYZ.

But Zil had the power of the crowd behind him. He felt it in his heart and soul, like a drug that made him all-powerful. Invincible and unafraid.

“Go away, Astrid,” he said. “We don’t like traitors here.”

“Oh? And how do we feel about thugs? How do we feel about murder?” She was really very pretty, Zil noticed. Much hotter than Lisa. And now that he was taking over…

“We’re here to execute a murderer,” Zil said, pointing at Hunter. “We are bringing justice in the name of all normals.”

“There’s no justice without a trial,” Astrid said.

Zil grinned. He spread his hands. “We had a trial, Astrid. And this chud scum was found guilty of murdering a normal.

“The penalty,” he added, “is death.”

Astrid turned to face the mob. “If you do this, you’ll never forgive yourselves.”

“We’re hungry,” a voice cried, and was immediately echoed by others.

“You’re going to murder a boy in a church?” Astrid demanded, pointing toward the church. “A church? In God’s house?”

Zil could see that those words had an effect. There were some nervous looks.

“You will never wash the stain of this off your hands,” Astrid cried. “If you do this, you will never be able to forget it. What do you think your parents would say?”

“There are no parents in the FAYZ. No God, either,” Zil said. “There’s just humans trying to stay alive, and freaks taking everything for themselves. And you, Astrid, are all about helping the freaks. Why? I really wonder why?”

He was starting to genuinely enjoy this. It was great fun to see pretty, smart Astrid looking helpless.

“You know what I think, people?” Zil said. “I think maybe Astrid has some powers she hasn’t told anyone about. Or else…” He paused for dramatic effect. “Or else it’s the little retard who has the powers.”

He saw the fear dawn on her face. Righteous anger surrendering to fear.

So smart, so quick, Astrid was. So dumb, too, Zil thought.

“I think,” Zil said, “we may have another couple of freaks at our little picnic.”

“No,” Astrid whispered.

“Hank,” Zil said, and nodded.

Astrid turned too late to see Hank behind her. He swung. Astrid felt the blow as if it had hit her.

It hit Little Pete.

He fell like a marionette with the strings cut.

“Now!” Zil said. “Grab her.”

Diana could hardly believe it. They had moved quickly, easily up the side of the hill overlooking the power plant and had found the fuel rod.

It had not been hard to find. A fire had started in the dry brush where it hit. Just a low, scurrying fire. Caine was able to pluck the fuel rod up with ease and hold it high in the air.

Jack stood beneath the fuel rod, sweating from the heat, sweating too from fear, Diana guessed. The only light came from the fire.

“I don’t see anything popped or broken,” Jack said. He pulled something that looked like a yellow remote control out of his pocket and stared at it.

“What’s that?”

“It’s a dosimeter,” Jack said. He thumbed a switch. Diana heard an irregular clicking sound. Click. Clickclick. Click. Clickclickclick.

“We’re okay,” Jack said, and breathed a relieved sigh. “So far.”

“What’s that clicking?”

“Whenever it detects a radioactive particle, it clicks. If it starts clicking constantly, we’ll have a problem. There’s a tone when it gets to dangerous levels.”

Even now, Jack loved showing off his geek knowledge. Even knowing what was happening, what had happened. Guessing, at least, what was ahead.

“What you hear now is just background radiation.”

“Let’s get out of here,” Caine said. “Fire climbs. We need to stay ahead of it.”

They climbed the hill. The fire did not catch them. It didn’t seem to be spreading. Maybe because there was no wind.

Down the other side to the highway.

No one had come after them. Sam was nowhere to be seen.

They rested—collapsed was more like it—inside an Enterprise Rent-a-Car office. The two soldiers went on a search through dusty desks and file cabinets, looking for food.

One triumphantly produced a small tin of hard peppermints. There were nine mints. Enough for everyone to have one, and then to salivate over the remaining four.

“Time to get a car,” Caine announced. He had “parked” the fuel rod outside, leaning it against the exterior wall. “We need something with an open top.”

He held up one of the peppermints for the two soldiers to see. “This goes to whoever finds me the best vehicle, with keys.”

The two thugs raced for the door. Diana’s stomach cramped, wringing a cry from her. A small piece of candy
did not cure hunger, it sharpened it.

There were no lights in the office. None on the highway outside. Darkness in every direction except for the pale light of non-stars and a non-moon.

They slumped on sagging office chairs and propped weary feet on the desks.

Diana began laughing.

“Something funny?’ Caine asked.

“We’re sitting in the dark, willing to sell our souls for another peppermint, with enough uranium to give a terrorist a wet dream.” She wiped tears from her eyes. “No, nothing’s funny about that.”

“Shut up, Diana,” Caine said wearily.

Diana wondered if using his telekinetic power to “carry” the fuel rod was tiring him out. Maybe.

Diana forced herself to stand up. She went to Caine and put her hand on his shoulder. “Caine.”

“Don’t start,” Caine said.

“You don’t have to do this,” Diana said.

Caine didn’t answer.

One of the soldiers stuck his head in. “I found an Escalade. Keys are inside, but it’s locked.”

“Jack? Go open the car for him,” Caine ordered. “While you’re at it, rip the roof off.”

“Do I get a mint?” Jack asked.

Diana laughed out loud, a borderline hysterical sound.

“What do you think your little friend in the desert will do once you’ve given it what it wants?” When Caine didn’t answer, Diana said, in a puzzled tone, “By the way, should I
be saying ‘it,’ or is it a ‘he’?”

Caine covered his face with his hands.

“Does he have a nickname?” Diana went on remorselessly. “I mean, ‘gaiaphage’ is so long. Can we call him phage? Or maybe just ‘G’?”

From outside came the sound of metal ripping, glass shattering. Jack converting an SUV into a convertible.

“The ‘G’ monster,” Diana said.

Seconds later, the door burst inward. Jack.

“Someone’s coming,” Jack said urgently. “Coming right down the road.”

“Driving?” Caine demanded, leaping up.

“No. We just heard footsteps, like someone running.”

Diana’s heart leaped. Sam. It had to be Sam.

But at the same time, she felt dread. She wanted Caine stopped. She did not want him killed.

Caine ran outside, Diana right behind him, and gunfire erupted. The two soldiers firing blindly down the highway. Bright yellow fire from the muzzles, a deafening noise, and off in the impenetrable gloom the sound of a voice cursing, yelling at them to stop it, followed by furious cursing.

“Stop shooting, you stupid idiots!” Caine roared.

The firing stopped.

“Is that you, Drake?” one of the soldiers called out, shaky and scared.

“I’m going to whip the skin off you!” Drake bellowed.

The gaunt psychopath appeared, eyes glittering in moonlight, hair wild. He was moving strangely, cradling his whip hand with his other hand.

There was something odd about it. Diana couldn’t figure out what.

“What kept you?” Caine asked.

“What kept me? Sam. I took him down,” Drake said. “Me. I whipped him and tore him up and he will never recover, never, not after what—”

“Whoa,” Jack said, so shocked, he dared to interrupt Drake in mid-rant. “Your…your thing.”

Diana saw then the way Drake’s tentacle ended in a flat surface, a stump.

And then, to Diana’s astonishment, Drake sobbed. Just once. Just one stifled sob. He is human, after all, Diana thought. Barely. But capable of fear, capable of feeling pain.

“You didn’t kill him?” Caine asked Drake.

“I told you,” Drake yelled. “He’s done for!”

Caine shook his head. “If you didn’t kill him, he’s not done for. In fact, it looks kind of like the last time you fought Sam: you with part of you missing.”