Lies: A Gone Novel (3 page)

THEY BROUGHT HIM
a leg. A calf, to be specific. Caine was still the leader of the dwindling tribe of Coates kids, after all. Down to fifteen of them now, with Panda gone.

Bug had found a wheelbarrow and rolled Panda to the school. He and some of the others had built a fire of fallen branches and a few desks.

The smell had kept everyone awake through the rest of the night.

And now, in the hour before dawn, their own faces smeared with grease, they'd brought him a leg. The left one, Caine guessed. A token of respect. And an unspoken desire that he join them in their crime.

As soon as Bug left, Caine began trembling.

Hunger was a very powerful force. But so were humiliation and rage.

Down in Perdido Beach the kids had food. Not much,
maybe, but Caine knew that the threat of starvation had receded for them. They weren't eating well in Perdido Beach. But they were eating much better than the kids at Coates.

Everyone who could have defected from Coates already had. Those who were left were kids with too many problems, too much blood on their hands….

It was down to Caine and Diana, really. And a dozen creeps and losers. Only one was any real help in the event of trouble—Penny. Penny, the monster bringer.

There were days when Caine almost missed Drake Merwin. He'd been an unstable mental case, but at least he'd been useful in a fight. He didn't make people think they were seeing monsters, like Penny. Drake
was
the monster.

Drake wouldn't have stared at this…this thing on the table. This all-too-recognizable object, charred and blackened. Drake wouldn't have hesitated.

An hour later, Caine found Diana. She was sitting in a chair in her room, watching the sunlight's first rays touch the treetops. He sat on her bed. The springs creaked. She was in shadow, almost invisible in the faint light, nothing but the glitter of her eyes and the outline of a hollow cheek.

In the dark, Caine could still pretend that she was her old self. Beautiful Diana. But he knew that her luscious dark hair was brittle and tinged with rust. Her skin was sallow and rough. Her arms sticks. Her legs unstable pins. She didn't look fourteen anymore. She looked forty.

“We have to give it a try,” Caine said without preamble.

“You know he's lying, Caine,” Diana whispered. “He's never been to the island.”

“He read about it in some magazine.”

Diana managed an echo of her old snarky laugh. “Bug read a magazine? Yeah. Bug's a big reader.”

Caine said nothing. He sat still, trying not to think, trying not to remember. Trying not to wish there had been more to eat.

“We have to go to Sam,” Diana said. “Give ourselves up. They won't kill us. So they'll have to feed us.”

“They will kill us if we give ourselves up. Not Sam, maybe, but the others. We're the ones responsible for turning out the lights. Sam won't be able to stop them. If not freaks like Dekka or Orc or Brianna, then Zil's punks.”

The one thing they still had at Coates was a pretty good idea of what was going on in town. Bug had the ability to walk unseen. He was in and out of Perdido Beach every few days, sneaking food for himself, mostly. But also overhearing what kids were saying. And supposedly reading torn magazines he didn't bother to sneak back to Coates.

Diana let it go. Sat quietly. Caine listened to her breathing.

Had she done it? Had she committed the sin herself? Or was she smelling it on him now and despising him for it?

Did he want to know? Would he be able to forget later that her lips had eaten that meat?

“Why do we go on, Caine?” Diana asked. “Why not just lie down and die. Or you…you could…”

The way she looked at him made him sick. “No, Diana.
No. I'm not going to do that.”

“You'd be doing me a favor,” Diana whispered.

“You can't. We're not beat yet.”

“Yeah. I wouldn't want to miss this party,” Diana said.

“You can't leave me.”

“We're all leaving, Caine. All of us. Into town to be taken out one by one. Or stay here and starve. Or step outside as soon as we get our chance.”

“I saved your life,” he added, and hated himself for begging. “I…”

“You have a plan,” Diana said dryly. Mocking. One of the things he loved about her, that mean streak of mockery.

“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah. I have a plan.”

“Based on some stupid story from Bug.”

“It's all I've got, Diana. That, and you.”

 

Sam walked the silent streets.

He felt unsettled by his encounter with Orsay. And unsettled, too, by his encounter with Astrid in his bedroom.

Why hadn't he told her about Orsay? Because Orsay was saying the same thing Astrid was saying?

Let it go, Sam. Stop trying to be all things to all people. Stop playing the hero, Sam. We're past all that.

He had to tell Astrid. If only to have her walk him through it, make sense of this thing with Orsay. Astrid would analyze it clearly.

But it wasn't that simple, was it? Astrid wasn't just his
girlfriend. She was the head of the town council. He had to officially report on what he had learned. He was still getting used to that. Astrid wanted laws and systems and logical order. For months Sam had been in charge. He hadn't wanted to be, but then he was, and he'd accepted it.

And now he was no longer in charge. It was liberating. He told himself that: it was liberating.

But frustrating, too. While Astrid and the rest of the council were busy playing Founding Mothers and Founding Fathers, Zil was running around unopposed.

The thing with Orsay at the beach had shaken him. Was it possible? Was it even slightly possible that Orsay was in contact with the outside world?

Her power—the ability to inhabit other's dreams—was not in doubt. Sam had once seen her walking through his own dreams. And he had used her to spy on the great enemy, the gaiaphage, back before that monstrous entity had been destroyed.

But this? This claim that she could see the dreams of those outside the FAYZ?

Sam paused in the middle of the plaza and looked around him. He didn't need the pearly light to know that weeds now choked the formerly neat little green spaces. Glass was everywhere. Windows not broken in battle had been shattered by vandals. Garbage filled the fountain. On this site the coyotes had attacked. On this site Zil had tried to hang Hunter because Hunter was a freak.

The church was half destroyed. The apartment building
had burned down. The storefronts and town hall steps were covered with graffiti, some just random, some romantic, most of it messages of hate or rage.

Every window was dark. Every doorway was in shadow. The McDonald's, once a sort of club run by Albert, was closed up. There was no electricity to play music anymore.

Could it be true? Had Orsay dreamed his mother's dreams? Had she spoken to Sam? Had she seen something about him that he had failed to see in himself?

Why did that thought cause him such pain?

It was dangerous, Sam realized. If other kids heard Orsay talking that way, what would happen? If it was bothering
him
this much…

He was going to have to have a talk with Orsay. Tell her to knock it off. Her and that helper of hers. But if he told Astrid, it would all get too big. Right now he could just put a little pressure on Orsay, get her to stop.

He could just imagine what Astrid would do. Make it all about free speech or whatever. Or maybe not, maybe she'd see the threat, too, but Astrid was better with theories than she was with just walking up to people and telling them to stop.

In one corner of the plaza were the graves. The makeshift markers—wooden crosses, one inept attempt at a Star of David, a few just boards shoved upright into the dirt. Someone had knocked most of the headstones over and no one had yet had time to put them back.

Sam hated going there. Every kid buried in that
ground—and there were many—was a personal failure. Someone he had not kept alive.

His feet stepped onto soft earth. He frowned. Why would there be dirt clods?

Sam raised his left hand over his head. A ball of light formed in his palm. It was a greenish light that darkened shadows. But he could see that the ground was disturbed. Dirt everywhere, not piled up, more like clods and shovels full had been thrown.

In the center, a hole. Sam brightened the light and held his hand over the hole. He peered down inside, ready to strike if something attacked. His heart was hammering in his chest.

Movement!

Sam leaped back and fired a beam of light down into the hole. The light made no sound, but the dirt hissed and popped as it melted into glass.

“No!” he cried.

He tripped, fell on his rear in the dirt, and already he knew he'd made a mistake. He'd seen something move, and when he fired the searing light he'd seen what it was.

He crawled back to the edge of the hole. He looked over the edge, illuminating the scene with one cautious hand.

The little girl looked up at him, terrified. Her hair was dirty. Her clothes were muddy. But she was alive. Not burned. Alive.

There was tape over her mouth. She was struggling to breathe. She had a doll clutched tight. Her blue eyes pleaded.

Sam lay flat, reached down, and took her outstretched hand.

He wasn't strong enough to lift her cleanly up. He had to drag and haul, reposition, haul some more. And by the time she made it up out of the hole she was covered in dirt from head to toe. Sam was almost as dirty, and panting from the effort.

He pulled the tape from her face. It wasn't easily done. Someone had wound it around and around. The little girl cried when he pulled the tape from her hair.

“Who are you?” Sam asked.

He noticed something strange. He raised the level of light. Someone had written in magic marker on the girl's forehead.

The word was “Freak.”

Sam's palm went dark. Slowly, careful not to scare her, he put his arm around the girl's heaving shoulders.

“It will be okay,” he lied.

“They…they said…why…” She couldn't finish. She collapsed against him, weeping onto his shirt.

“You're Jill. Sorry, I didn't recognize you at first.”

“Jill,” she said, and nodded and cried some more. “They don't want me to sing.”

Job one, Sam told himself: take care of Zil. Enough. Whether Astrid and the council liked it or not, it was time to take care of Zil.

Or not.

Sam stared at the hole from which he'd pulled Jill, really seeing it for the first time. A hole in the ground where none should be. Something about it…something terribly wrong.

Sam gasped, sucked air sharply. A chill ran up his spine.

The horror here was not that a little girl had fallen into a hole. The horror was the hole itself.

SAM TOOK JILL
to Mary Terrafino at the day care. Then he found Edilio, woke him up, and walked him to the town plaza. To the hole in the ground.

Edilio stared at it.

“So the girl fell in, walking around in the night,” Edilio said. He rubbed sleep out of his eyes and shook his head vigorously.

“Yeah,” Sam said. “She didn't make the hole. She just fell in.”

“So what made the hole?” Edilio asked.

“You tell me.”

Edilio peered more closely at the hole. From the first need, Edilio had taken on the grim duty of digging the graves. He knew each one, knew who was where.

“
Madre de Dios
,” Edilio whispered. He made the sign of the cross on his chest. His eyes were wide as he turned to Sam. “You know what this looks like, right?”

“What do you think it looks like?”

“It's too deep for being so narrow. No way someone did this with a shovel. Man, this hole wasn't dug
down
. It was dug
up
.”

Sam nodded. “Yeah.”

“You're pretty calm,” Edilio said shakily.

“Not really,” Sam said. “It's been a strange night. What…who…was buried here?”

“Brittney,” Edilio said.

“So we buried her when she was still alive?”

“You're not thinking straight, man. It's been more than a month. Nothing stays alive that's in the dirt for that long.”

The two of them stood side by side, staring down into the hole. The too-narrow, too-deep hole.

“She had that thing on her,” Edilio said. “We couldn't get it off her. We figured she's dead, so what's it matter, right?”

“That thing,” Sam said dully. “We never figured out what it was.”

“Sam, we both know what it was.”

Sam hung his head. “We have to keep this quiet, Edilio. If we put this out there, the whole town will go nuts. People have enough to deal with.”

Edilio looked distinctly uncomfortable. “Sam, this isn't the old days. We have a town council now. They're supposed to know whatever's going on.”

“If they know, everyone will know,” Sam said.

Edilio said nothing. He knew it was true.

“You know that girl Orsay?” Sam asked.

“Of course I know her,” Edilio said. “We almost got killed together.”

“Do me a favor and kind of keep an eye on her.”

“What's up with Orsay?”

Sam shrugged. “She thinks she's some kind of prophet, I guess.”

“A prophet? You mean like those old dudes in the Bible?”

“She's acting like she can contact people on the other side. Parents and all.”

“Is it true?” Edilio asked.

“I don't know, man. I doubt it. I mean, no way, right?”

“Probably should ask Astrid. She knows this kind of stuff.”

“Yeah, well, I'd rather wait on that.”

“Hey, hold up, Sam. Are you asking me to not tell her about that, either? You got me hiding two big things from the council?”

“It's for their own good,” Sam said. “And for everyone's good.” He took Edilio's arm and drew him close. In a low voice he said, “Edilio, what kind of experience do Astrid and Albert really have? And John? Not to mention Howard, who we both know is just a jerk. You and me, we've been through every fight there's been since the FAYZ came. I love Astrid, but she's so into her ideas about how we have to get everything organized that she's not letting me do what I need to do.”

“Yeah, well, we kind of do need some rules and stuff.”

“Of course we do,” Sam agreed. “We do. But in the meantime, Zil is kicking freaks out of their homes, and someone
or something just dug its way up out of the ground. I need to be able to deal with stuff without everyone looking over my shoulder all the time.”

“Man, it isn't cool to lay this on me,” Edilio said. Sam did not respond. It would be lousy to pressure Edilio any further. Edilio was right: it was wrong to ask this of him.

“I know that,” Sam said. “It's just…look, it's temporary. Until the council gets its act together and comes out with all its rules, someone still has to keep things from falling apart. Right?”

Finally Edilio sighed. “Right. Okay, I'll get us a couple shovels. Fill this in quick before people start coming out.”

 

Jill was too old for the day care. Sam had known that. But he had dumped her in Mary's lap, anyway.

Great. Just what Mary needed: one more kid to look after.

But it was hard to say no. Especially to Sam.

Mary cast a weary glance around the day care. What a mess. She'd have to round up Francis and Eliza and some of the others and take another shot at bringing some order to this disaster. Yet again.

She glanced with bitterness at the milky plastic sheet that covered the blown-out wall between the day care and the hardware store. How many times had Mary asked for some help dealing with it? The hardware store had been looted many times and the axes and sledgehammers and blowtorches were mostly gone, but there were still nails and screws and tacks strewn everywhere. Kids had to be watched
constantly because they absolutely would crawl under the plastic and end up poking one another with screwdrivers and then crying and fighting and demanding Band-Aids, which had run out long ago and…

Mary took a deep breath. The council had a lot to do. A lot of problems to deal with. Maybe this wasn't their top priority.

Mary forced a smile for the girl, who watched her solemnly and clutched her doll.

“I'm sorry, sweetie: what's your name again?”

“Jill.”

“Well, it's nice to meet you, Jill. You can stay here for a while until we work something else out.”

“I want to go home,” Jill said.

Mary wanted to say,
Yeah, we all do, honey. We all want to go home.
But she had learned that bitterness and irony and sarcasm didn't really help when dealing with the littles.

“What happened? Why were you out on the streets?” Mary asked.

Jill shrugged. “They said I had to go.”

“Who?”

Jill shrugged again, and Mary gritted her teeth. So sick of being understanding. So deeply, deeply sick of being responsible for every stray child in Perdido Beach.

“Okay, then, do you know why you left your house?”

“They said they would…hurt me, I guess.”

Mary wasn't sure she wanted to pry any deeper. Perdido Beach was a community in a permanent state of fear and
worry and loss. Kids didn't always behave too well. Older brothers and sisters sometimes lost it when dealing with their siblings.

Mary had seen things…things she would never have believed possible.

“Well, you can stay with us for a while,” Mary said. She gave the girl a hug. “Francis will tell you the rules, okay? He's that big kid over in the corner.”

Jill turned away reluctantly and took a couple of hesitant steps toward Francis. Then she turned back. “Don't worry: I won't sing.”

Mary almost didn't respond. But something about the way Jill had said it…

“Of course you can sing,” Mary said.

“I better not,” Jill said.

“What's your favorite song?” Mary asked.

Jill looked bashful. “I don't know.”

Mary persisted. “I'd like to hear you sing, Jill.”

Jill sang. A Christmas carol.

And the world stopped.

Later—how much later, Mary could not know—Jill sat
down on an unoccupied cot, cradled her doll close, and fell to sleep.

The room had fallen silent as she sang. Every child standing stock-still, as if they'd been frozen. But everywhere eyes were alight and mouths formed dreamy half smiles.

When Jill stopped singing, Mary looked at Francis.

“Did you…”

Francis nodded. There were tears in his eyes. “Mary, you need to catch some sleep, hon. Eliza and I will handle breakfast.”

“I'm just going to sit down, rest my feet for a while,” Mary said. But sleep took her, anyway.

Francis woke her what seemed like mere minutes later. “I have to go,” he said.

“Is it time?” Mary shook her head to clear it. Her eyes didn't seem to want to focus.

“Soon. And I have some good-byes to say first,” he said. He put his hand on her shoulder and said, “You're a great person, Mary. And another great person has come to see you.”

Mary stood up, not really following what Francis was saying, just knowing that someone was there to see her.

Orsay. She was so slight and fragile looking Mary instinctively liked her. She seemed like one of the kids, almost, one of the littles.

Francis touched Orsay's hand and almost seemed to bow his head as if in prayer for a moment. “Prophetess,” he said.

“Mother Mary, the Prophetess,” Francis said, performing a
very formal introduction. Mary felt like she was meeting the president or something.

“Orsay, please,” Orsay said in a soft voice. “And this is my friend, Nerezza.”

Nerezza was very different from Orsay. She had green eyes and olive skin and hair that was black and lustrous, gathered in a sort of loose wave on one side. Mary did not recall having seen her before. But Mary was trapped in the day care most of the day; she didn't socialize much.

Francis grinned a little nervously, it seemed to Mary.

“Happy
rebirth
day,” Nerezza said.

“Yes. Thank you,” Francis said. He squared his shoulders, nodded to Nerezza, and to Orsay said, “I have some more people to see, and not much time. Prophetess, thank you for showing me the way.” And with that, he turned away quickly and left.

Orsay seemed almost sickened. As though she wanted to spit something out. She nodded tersely to Francis's back and gritted her teeth.

Nerezza's face was unreadable. Deliberately, Mary thought, as though she was concealing an emotion she felt strongly.

“Hi…Orsay.” Mary wasn't quite sure what to call her now. She'd heard kids talking about Orsay being some kind of prophet and she had dismissed it. People said all kinds of crazy things. But clearly she'd had some profound effect on Francis.

Orsay didn't seem to know what to say next. She looked at Nerezza, who quickly filled the void. “The Prophetess
wishes to help you, Mary.”

“Help me?” Mary laughed. “I actually have enough volunteers for once.”

“Not that.” Nerezza waved that off, impatient. “The Prophetess would like to adopt a recently arrived child.”

“Excuse me?”

“Her name is Jill,” Orsay said. “I had a dream about…” And then she trailed off, as though she wasn't quite sure what the dream was. She frowned.

“Jill?” Mary repeated. “The little girl who was terrorized by Zil? She's only been here a few hours. How did you even know she was here?”

Nerezza said, “She was forced out of her home because she was a freak. Now her brother is too scared and weak to care for her. But she's too old for the day care, Mary. You know that.”

“Yes,” Mary said. “She's definitely too old.”

“The Prophetess would care for her. It's something she wants to do.”

Mary looked at Orsay for confirmation. And after a few seconds, Orsay realized it was her turn to speak and said, “Yes, I would like to do that.”

Mary didn't feel quite right about it. She didn't know what was going on with Orsay, but Nerezza was clearly a strange girl, brooding and even, it seemed to Mary, a little tough.

But the day care didn't take older kids. It couldn't. And this was hardly the first time Mary had temporarily sheltered an older kid who then found another place to get her meals.

Francis seemed to have been vouching for Orsay and Nerezza. He must be the one who had told Orsay about Jill while Mary was sleeping.

Mary frowned, wondering why Francis had been in such a hurry to leave.
Rebirth
day? What was that supposed to mean?

“Okay,” Mary said. “If Jill agrees, she can live with you.”

Orsay smiled. And Nerezza's eyes glittered with satisfaction.

 

Justin had wet his bed sometime in the night. Like a baby. He was five years old, not a baby.

But there was no denying he had done it.

He told Mother Mary and she told him it was no big deal, it happened. But it didn't used to happen to Justin. Not when he had a real mommy. It had been a long time since he had peed the bed.

He cried when he told Mother Mary. He didn't like telling her because Mother Mary seemed like she might be getting sick or something. She wasn't as nice as she used to be. He usually told Francis if he had to. Some nights he didn't pee because he didn't drink any water for practically all day. But last night he'd forgotten about not drinking water. So he had, but just a little.

He was five now, older than just about all the kids at the day care. But he was still wetting his bed.

Two big girls had come and taken the singing girl away. Justin had no one to take him away.

But he knew where his house was, his real house with his old bed. He never used to wet that bed. But now he had a stupid bed on the floor, just a mattress, and other kids stepped all over it, so that was probably why he was wetting his bed again.

His old house wasn't very far away. He'd gone there before. Just to look at it and see if it was real. Because sometimes he didn't believe it was.

He had gone to check and see if Mommy was there. He hadn't seen her. And when he opened the door and went inside he had gotten too scared and he had come running back to Mother Mary.

But he was older now. He'd only been four and a half then, and now he was five. Now he probably wouldn't be scared.