Shadows (21 page)

What Spider did instead was smile, and that was somehow much worse, because her grin was slow and so satisfied Alex halfexpected the girl to purr. Spider’s was the kind of gleeful smirk every kid’s seen a hundred times on the lips of the most popular girl in school:
So sucks to be you.

A minute later, after Spider and Leopard had closed the door again, Slash led her to the threshold of the room at the very end of the hall. Here, the odors were very strong, too: a boy’s sweat and blood and . . .

Oh God.
Her heart tried climbing out of her chest, and for just a moment, the slightly metallic aftertaste of prefab spaghetti sauce took on a rankness that brought a surge of sour bile into her throat.

Because now she thought she understood just exactly why Spider had smiled.

Slash left a few seconds later, probably heading downstairs to knock back a few, hook up, make up for lost time. That she left Alex alone should have made her less anxious—
nothing to see here, folks, move along
—but Alex could feel the tension fizzing on her skin like an electrical charge.

Just take it easy.
She wet her lips, grateful for the taste of her own salt. Anything was better than the scummy sludge coating her tongue.
It might be nothing. There are so many of them in the house, the stink’s everywhere.

This room, she saw, had belonged to a boy with eclectic tastes. A poster of LeBron James competed for space with Derek Jeter. A baseball mitt butted tennis balls. There was a red and white electric guitar in a corner. A poster of some drummer she’d never seen playing in a band she’d never heard of was taped to a closet door.

Daniel was on the bed, propped against the headboard in a tumble of blue and brown striped sheets that his blood had stained dark purple. A Coleman lantern fizzed on a nightstand. In the harsh, unforgiving white light, the shadows beneath his eyes were black. His eyes were distant and unfocused and did not meet hers even when she said his name twice and touched his face. His skin was waxen and greasy with sweat.

Daniel’s wound was low on his left flank, a through-andthrough, which probably accounted for why he was still alive. Working as gently as she could, she cleaned away the blood on his stomach, most of which had dried to a crust and now peeled away in large rust-flakes. She splashed peroxide over the purple lips of the entry wound. The liquid hissed and bubbled into pink foam. Daniel reacted to that. His lids twitched, and something fleet and fast chased over his face. His eyes ticked away from whatever horror they were watching, swept past her face, then wavered back.

“Hi,” he said.

That settled something in her mind. Daniel was right here, right now, and he needed her help. Besides, her brain kept snagging on what Daniel had said on the snow:
You said you’d let him go.
If Daniel
could
actually hear and talk to the Changed, that alone was worth the risk.

“Hi,” she said. “Can you roll onto your side? I want to clean off your back. I’m pretty sure the bullet went right through, but I want to be certain.”

“Sure.” Wincing, he eased over. From the way his flesh jumped, she knew the peroxide hurt, but he said nothing. The Coleman’s light bleached his skin bone-white. The quarter-sized exit wound stared at her like a wet, black fish eye. After patting the wound dry, she smeared on antibiotic ointment and used surgical tape to tack down gauze. She fed him an erythromycin, then made him drink half a bottle of water in small sips. With the remaining water, she wet one of the towels and sponged his face.

He said, thickly, “It was my fault.”

She paused, the cool cloth pressed to his cheek. “Because you led the ambush?”

“Yeah.” His eyes stumbled to her face. “Mellie told me not to do anything stupid, but I did.”

“Mellie?”

“The woman who gathered us all together. Kind of like the mom in the
Terminator
movies, you know? Only more like a group grandmom.”

“She taught you how to fight?” When Daniel nodded, she asked, “Where’d you get all the guns?”

“Oh, lying around.” Daniel sounded as used up as old chewing gum. “You can find almost anything you want. We even got some grenade launchers.”

She remembered those Uzis and that kid from Leopard’s crew with the bandolier. Definitely loaded for bear. “Where’s Mellie now? Is she dead?”

“No.” Daniel’s head rolled on the pillows. “Gone.”

“Why’d she leave?”

“She said she’d lost a couple kids before we joined up with her outside Hurley.”

“Where’s that?”

“Wisconsin. At the border. Bounty hunters is what she thought.”

“Bounty hunters?” Scooping up kids as barter made a terrible kind of sense. Harlan had seen Spared as a meal ticket, and that was months ago. Rule certainly thought Spared, especially girls, were of immense value. “For whom?”

“Depends. There are so many stories, I never know what to believe. Some said military, like . . . you know . . . army? One girl, Sandra, thought people were trying to figure out why
we
were still okay. Like, experimenting.”

Her stomach dropped. It suddenly occurred to her that maybe, for all its problems, Rule had the right idea. There had been no question that she was safer in the village than outside, and the Changed were only one of many enemies.

Wait, what am I thinking? Lena was right. The Council saw us as baby-makers. We were still barter, something to be used.

“So they got rewarded for bringing kids in?” she asked.

“Uh-huh. I was the oldest, so Mellie left me in charge. She said to take the others to this camp she knew about, where we’d be safe.”

And how, she thought, would Mellie know? The idea of a grandma scooping up kids and leading them to sanctuary gave her pause. What made Mellie more trustworthy than any other oldster? Probably best to save those particular questions. Secondguessing wouldn’t do Daniel a whit of good, and she needed information. “Camp? Where? What kind?”

“With other kids here, in Michigan, but way south of where you . . . we are now. Maybe . . .” Daniel’s eyebrows tented with effort. “Another week? On foot?”

Other kids. Sharon had talked about groups of children fighting the Changed. So they were gathering together? And south meant
they’d
gone north, but how far? “So where are we, exactly? I mean, are we close to any towns? Because I’ve lost track. We’ve been on the move for . . .” She thought back to the notch she’d made that morning. “Eight days. Nine, now. It must be past midnight, and Sunday now. I figure we went six or maybe seven miles a night, depending.”

“I don’t know much about Michigan. I’m from way west, in Wisconsin, near Mellen?” When she shook her head, Daniel added, “About halfway between Clam Lake and Hurley?”

The names meant nothing to her. Other than her aunt’s hometown of Sheboygan, the rest of Wisconsin was just a through state, a long expanse of highway she blasted through to get from Chicago to Michigan. “Why come here? Why not stay in Wisconsin?”

“We heard it was better, safer in the U.P.”

Well, not so much.
“Okay. So where are we?”

“Real close to the border. Maybe . . .” Daniel let out an almost disinterested sigh, as if the math was just too much. “Two days away? On foot?”

She hated peppering him with questions, but she had to know. “Which direction? Do you remember any towns? Is the border west?” Wisconsin was due west of Rule. “North?” She thought that might be right. Was Hurley west of the Waucamaw? God, she wished she’d paid closer attention to the maps she and Tom had found.

“We’re east of the border now. Wisconsin’s a straight shot due west,” Daniel said. “The camp we were heading to is”—his parched lips moved as he did a mental tally—“about a week out and south of this old mine, which Mellie said was where all these Chuckies were hanging out and—”

“What?” Hadn’t Chris’s grandfather operated a mine? Yes, that was right; some of the older miners had been living in a wing of the hospice. Chris read to them when he was in town. “Do you know the name of the mine?”

“No. Just some old iron mine, I guess. I had a map, but I lost it somewhere. All I know is we’re about five days northwest of the mine, and there are supposed to be a ton of Chuckies there, too.”

“You mean, like a big tribe?”

“More like a lot of smaller groups moving in and out. Kind of like a home base, I guess. Mellie said they probably chose the mine because they knew it from before and mines are warmer the deeper you go.”

She thought about that. Would Spider and Leopard circle south, too? Go hang with their friends, maybe toss back a couple brews and carve up some nice juicy steaks, throw some hamburgers on the grill? There was no way to know the answers, and in some sense, it didn’t matter. Without Wolf, Alex thought her time was nearly up. Spider needed her for Daniel—no question about that— and in more ways than one. Unless the Changed figured on Alex becoming their camp nurse, Spider had no incentive to let her live indefinitely. But if this was the Rule mine Daniel was talking about, they were still relatively close to the village.

Got to figure out where I am.
Her mind was already leapfrogging ahead, ticking off the steps.
This might be my best and last chance. Even a rough map will do.
Her eyes settled on that desk across the room. “If I got paper and pencil, could you draw it from memory?”

His head made a weary shake. “I’m not so good with that.” She squelched a pulse of irritation. “Could you at least try?”

“Can we not do this right now?” Daniel’s lips trembled. His face was pinched, the strain and his grief carved in deep lines across his forehead and along his nose. “Can’t we do this later?”

She had to snatch back the impulse to grab him by the shoulders and give him a good shake:
No, don’t you
get
it? We really can’t. But
she forced herself to slow down. “I know it’s hard, but this is important, Daniel. I know you feel bad. I’ve lost people, too. There was this little girl and then . . .” She felt her eyes welling. “Then I failed someone I really cared about, and I tried the best I could, but it still wasn’t good enough, and he’s dead now because of me. So I
do
know what it’s like to want to give up, I really do. But you can’t. Please.” She put a trembling hand on his chest. “Please, Daniel. Think. Try to remember. Where’s the camp?”

The boy’s eyes were pools. “Alex, I . . . I don’t know, I really don’t. I wish I did, but all I remember is that once we got across the border, Mellie told me to keep heading south.”

“Did she say why?”

“Only that going too far east and deeper into Michigan would be bad. I didn’t think to ask any more. I thought there was plenty of time, and I was so tired out and scared. Jack and me, we were on our own for so long. It was a relief to have someone tell me what to do. I only wish I’d really listened.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean . . . ,” he began, then stopped. A huge tear trembled at the corner of his left eye.

“Daniel?” When he still didn’t reply, she touched his cheek. His skin was clammy and slick as cold marble. “Daniel?” she said softly. “What did you mean? Why didn’t you listen to Mellie? Why didn’t you do what she said?”

She watched the tear swell then splash to his cheek, and the sour scent of his loss and despair—and, worse, the scorch of his self-contempt—balled in her throat.

“Because I . . . I just c-couldn’t,” he choked. “Not after I saw you.”

That knocked her back. 

“Me? What are you talking about?” 

“I . . . we spotted your guys—the wolf-people? Like three days ago, and then we . . .” His streaming eyes meandered away a moment then drifted back. “We tracked you.”

“You—” she began, then stopped. Three days ago, Brian was still alive. “Are you kidding me? You tracked us? For three
days
?”

She wanted to slap his face:
You had guns! You had grenade launchers! 
What the hell were you waiting for, an engraved invitation?
“Why?” 

“I told you.” Daniel lifted a quivering hand to his lips. “I tracked you because I saw you. I couldn’t let the Chuckies have someone normal. You’re one of us. I . . . I couldn’t let them just
have
you. So we followed you and then waited for an opportunity to take them out.”

Oh my God.
Daniel had talked the other kids into a rescue mission. Kids would want to save their own. The really young ones, not yet old enough to understand how bad things could get, might’ve been pumped. For them, a rescue would be like playing a kick-ass video game.

“What I don’t get is how the wolf-people knew we were coming.”

Daniel’s said. “We stayed downwind and everything, just like Mellie taught us. That other tribe—”

“Tribe.” 

Sure, like Wolf ’s pack, Leopard’s crew might be called a tribe. “The kids in white?”

“Yeah. They came out of nowhere. We only got off a couple shots and then Jack . . .” He put an arm over his eyes and turned his head toward the far wall.

Her anger vanished. What the hell was she doing? She had no right. Daniel was no older than she, and all he’d tried to do was help her—and look how well that turned out. She felt sick again, and weak. This really wasn’t her fault. She wasn’t to blame. She couldn’t control everything. Shit happened.

Yeah, right. God, first Tom, then Chris gets hurt because of me. And 
now Daniel’s friends get themselves killed, and Jack—

Daniel reeled in a watery breath. “They surprised that wolfguy, too.”

Through the bitter fog of her guilt, it took her a second to register. “The guy. You mean, Wolf ?” The sudden tightness in her chest was something she could’ve done without. Why she should care about a monster was still beyond her. “You saw him?” 

“Yeah. The girl, the one with the face.” He tapped his cheek. “She shot him.”

“Shot . . .” The word dried up on her tongue. “Spider
shot
him?”

When he threw her a questioning look, she added, “It’s what I call her. She’s got that designer gear, so . . . Why did she shoot him? What for?”