The Fire

by James Patterson

  “That wasn’t my idea of hot … but this is!” Flames erupt from my body as if I’m doused in gasoline. I burn brightly, consumed with fury for this waste of a human being.

  I shove him off me and scramble to hold him down, my fire licking at his face. He doesn’t seem to be burning. He’s not even sweating. I press in and Pearce rolls away, leaping up. I scramble after him to try to fight, but he’s physically stronger than I am and he snatches my arm away.

  And in that stunned moment, I realize my fire is having absolutely no effect. He’s immune. He lunges in and grips my forehead, ready to melt my skull.

  The brief second of contact is all I need.

  Energy explodes between us, and I can instantly feel Pearce’s synapses begin to shut down. His eyes roll back into his head, and foam starts to form at his mouth.

  I’m killing him. Tears rush down my cheeks. He’s evil, I remind myself. He’s a sadist who wants you dead.

  The door to the exit stairwell slams open, and as if in slow motion, I watch Byron running down the hall, his mouth frozen in one long O. Pearce’s hand is still on my head. Byron has seen him liquefy a hundred kids’ faces.

  He thinks Pearce is killing me.

  I put my hand up to flag him, but it’s too late. Byron crashes into Pearce, and the connection is lost.

  I snap out of my trance and rush over to Byron. He’s still shouting furiously, and he doesn’t let Pearce up like I expect him to — instead he punches him in the face over and over. I touch his shoulder, and his fist stops in midair.

  “It’s over, B. He’s not getting up for a while.” He looks at me, confused and emotional, like a little kid. He peers at his bloody fingers and doesn’t seem to understand how they got that way.

  “Come on,” I say gently. “We have to go.” He nods and we take off again, leaving Pearce bruised but breathing, slumped in a corner.

  “I’m sorry, Wist,” Byron says when we’re beyond the compound. “I didn’t understand what you were doing. That you were” — he looks away, swallowing —“going to kill him.” He takes my hand. “I wouldn’t have stopped you if I knew.”

  I shake my head. “I don’t know if I could’ve finished it anyway. But we’re in serious trouble now regardless.”

  Byron raises an eyebrow, questioning.

  “Remember what happened at the music festival when I directed my energy through you?”

  He nods. He’ll never forget that.

  “Well … I think I just made Pearce a whole lot stronger.”

  Chapter 66

  Whit

  WE RUN THROUGH the bone forest in single file, and even Feffer doesn’t whine or make a sound. Celia swears the river can’t be far, but as the air gets thinner and harder to breathe, I’m not sure we’ll make it. Skeletons creak all around us, and arms seemingly come to life and reach for our bodies, wanting to absorb our life.

  Even the trees are instruments of death.

  There is sweat on my brow; I think I’m running a fever. My breath comes in short sips, and I can feel the magic seeping right out of me, draining my body.

  Suddenly there’s a spark flying off my fingertip, like I’m about to short-circuit or something. It’s almost like my power is reacting to other forces here, all buzzing in this spot somehow, like too many wires plugged into one outlet.

  The Shadowland seems to spiral as I hallucinate. I think I see a man’s face in my vibrating vision — a face with sharp, jutting cheekbones and cruel eyes. Almost like The One’s but … older. Warped. But when I blink it’s only a tree skull, laughing at me. I’m losing my mind.

  As if sensing my weakness, one of the younger Resistance kids catches up to me at the front, his skin sallow and his eyes ringed with dark circles. He’s around twelve and has two even smaller children in tow.

  “We’re dying, aren’t we?” The older kid looks at me with frank accusation, and I must seem bewildered. “The Shadowland is where the dead go, so we’re about to die.”

  I close my eyes and try to get my composure together enough to reassure this kid, beaten by the world but surviving, and am unsure of what to say, how to tell him we’ll get out of here, when I don’t know for sure. “What’s your name, kid?”

  “Ragan,” he says gruffly, a tuft of sandy-blond hair falling in his eyes. “Bennett Ragan.”

  “We’re not dying, Ragan.” Yet, at least. “The air here is just making us weak.”

  “Listen, I’ve been taking care of these two for a long time,” he says, scowling. He grips the younger boys’ hands in his. “I just want you guys to be honest with me.”

  As we near the edge of the forest, I’m feeling stronger again, less drugged. More optimistic. I put my hand on his shoulder. “I promise, if things get really bad, I’ll give you a heads-up.” Ragan nods, looking skeptical, and shuffles back to the end of the line.

  As light finally breaks through the trees of the bone forest, we stumble out onto a barren, rocky landscape with steep cliffs. We come to a clearing, a hilltop on the lip of what looks like a huge basin. What I see inside it sweeps my breath away for a moment.

  In the valley below there are thousands of people, some flickering in and out of view, some with a dull half glow like Celia’s.

  Every single one of them is dead.

  “This is the end of the world, Whit,” Celia says. “I mean that literally. Your world ends right here. There, another world begins.”

  I start to race down the slope. If we’re this close to so many dead people, the river can’t be far.

  And neither can my parents.

  The rest of the Resistance follows me, rushing through the eerily lush green field toward our salvation.

  “Wait!” Celia shouts, her voice trembling. “Not that way!” She turns and points at the path behind us. “They’re coming,” she whispers.

  And then I see them, tearing over the hillside, teeth bared. Not dogs, exactly, or even wolves. Beasts.

  Spirit-suckers — nonhuman Lost Ones. Flesh-eating fiends with the body of a beast and the mind of a demon.

  I turn to Ragan. “I promised you I’d tell you if it was bad. Well, we’re there. It’s really, really bad. Run!”

  But there’s no time — they’re already upon us.

  Celia crashes into two of them, her bright light exploding against their evil, but though she’s unharmed, they aren’t afraid of her. They plow through her like air, and one seizes a kid from behind, snarling and thrashing. Celia is pleading in anguish, clawing at the animal’s rank, rotting fur from behind, but she’s too late.

  A scream rips through the air, and I whip around to see a wolf tearing into Janine’s shoulder. I run for her, but Feffer beats me there, lunging at the creature and distracting it from its feast. Feffer is no match for the beast, and she yips in pain as the soul-sucker bites at her legs and locks its jaws on her throat.

  Wisty loved that dog.

  I grab the closest object I can find — a bone — and rush toward them, arms raised. I strike a blow at the soul-sucker and it releases Feffer, lurching instead for me, its yellow eyes cold and calculating. It snaps at me with those long jaws, rows of teeth glistening, but I show no mercy, bashing the monster again and again as it roars at me furiously, until finally it collapses.

  I kneel down to Janine’s crumpled form and turn her over. She blinks up at me. Still breathing.

  “Hey,” I say, emotion warping my voice.

  “Hey,” she responds with a weak smile. “Good to see you.”

  I open up her shirt over her right shoulder, and she winces. The bite is a nasty gash, and the flesh there is shredded. But she’ll live.

  While war between man and beast rages all around us, I try to find calm to repair the damage. I put my hands on Janine’s bloodied shoulder and wait for the power to surge through me, but my magic is only a flicker, the healing energy totally drained.

  I drape Janine’s arm around my neck and look around wildly for help, but most of the Resistance fighters are still
engaged in to-the-death combat, and those who have managed to kill a soul-sucker or escape are far too weak now to help channel my power. Things are getting desperate.

  We really are in hell.

  Chapter 67

  Wisty

  THE STREETS ARE eerily quiet and free of guards as Byron and I sprint away from the palace. It’s looking like a clean getaway, which is just about the only lucky thing that’s happened to me in the last year.

  It’s still dark, but the street kids are already out en masse, their plastic garbage bags slung over their shoulders as they pick through the streets for anything left by the careless rich. The competition is cutthroat, and once they realize we don’t have a bean between us they don’t pay us any mind.

  A black dog noses around in the garbage in the dim light of the alley, and my heart aches for Feffer. The dog’s ragged ears prick up at the distant howl of a pack of N.O. hunting wolves, and his tail goes between his legs.

  We’re barely out of the range of the wolves and searchlights before Byron is wheezing like an asthmatic eighty-year-old smoker after a workout. I notice my own exhaustion for the first time. It’s either keep going or collapse at this point.

  “Do you have any idea where we’re headed anyway?” I ask. I probably would have preferred to ditch the weasel if I wasn’t totally turned around in this maze of N.O. concrete. Without him, I’m sure I’d end up stumbling right back through the palace-compound gates.

  Byron coughs, hands on his knees. “Of course I know where we’re going,” he says indignantly. “There’s a portal I know of, a top secret, intensely complicated gateway that few of the most elite N.O.P.E. members even know about. It leads to the darkest, most terrifying part of the Shadowland.” Byron looks at me gravely.

  Sure, going to the Shadowland always involves a certain amount of risk and trepidation, but the guy can be so dramatic.

  “And your intel says that’s where Whit’s hanging out?”

  “Well, the information is less specific than we’d hope for” (Byron code for No, I’m taking a wild guess here and hope I’m right ) “but there’s evidence to suggest that Whit is highly sought after by the dead, and one can assume that he would be drawn to the more remote areas in his quest to locate your parents,” he reports.

  “Headed for the worst place at the worst possible time? Yeah, that sounds like my brother.” I try to smile, but Byron’s probably right, actually. A tightness closes around my heart. Please let Whit be okay.

  Byron sighs. “And we’re on a deadline. The report said, ‘The end is near,’ whatever that means, so we need to find Whit as soon as possible.”

  I nod. The end has felt near for a very long time.

  “And, Wist? There’s another thing I suspect you’re not going to be rather ecstatic about.”

  Another thing? As in, worse than “the end is near”? I cock an eyebrow, and Byron hesitates.

  “What? Just say it.”

  “The portal is not exactly easy to get through — because it’s underwater.”

  Underwater. My hands start to sweat and my throat goes dry remembering the claustrophobic nightmare of being flushed through the sewer (in fish form) not so very long ago. Great — I’m sure this will be a thrill a minute.

  “If I can handle The One, I think I can manage a little aqua,” I say mildly, but I feel a chill at his words. “The sun’s starting to come up. Can we just get going already?”

  We run for a few more blocks through the rubble of the streets, the cement buildings towering around us like vultures closing in. Byron signals left, and when we turn, a river is just up ahead of us, bisecting the City of Progress.

  Dawn breaks over the water as we approach, and the pink glow makes our ravaged capital look almost beautiful. If I didn’t expect to be shot at any second, if I were a normal girl in normal circumstances, I’d sit right down on this curb and watch as the sun edged up over the horizon.

  “The portal.” Byron nods at the river, snapping me back to reality. I am not a normal girl, after all. Not anymore.

  I want to immediately take off toward the portal and find my brother, but something makes me hesitate — something more than just paranoia about the water. There’s an uncomfortable eeriness that I can’t pinpoint. There are no people out anymore, and the bean-picker children have disappeared completely. No birds, no wind, and the river is barely stirring. The air is still.

  Too still.

  “B., does something feel … off … to you?”

  He eyes the clouds looming above us, unmoving, jaundiced yellow and pregnant with threat. “Uh, yeah. You could say that.”

  A strong wind is already picking back up, and the sky is going dark in a hurry. Byron grabs my hand and we dash forward toward the portal, but the once calm streets turn swiftly into a nightmare of flying debris, and the river’s waves become crashing, deadly rapids. It’s like a hurricane spinning into a tornado.

  Amid the chaos, waves of soldiers start to pour in from the side streets with the wind at their backs. I freeze. It’s not possible: Pearce, racing at the helm, his strong jaw set with determination, his fair, wavy hair trailing behind him in the violent wind.

  And — worse — The One by his side, his face wild with power, lust, and … something else. Fury.

  How have they healed so quickly? I left them both weak and wounded, but now Pearce and The One take command of the swirling skies, a mega-power looms large above us, and nothing has ever felt stronger.

  Including my fear.

  Byron is tugging on my arm, shielding his eyes from the wreckage, but I just stand there, mouth gaping, utterly overwhelmed. The wind whips my long hair and rain batters my face, but I can’t seem to move an inch.

  Both The One’s and Pearce’s eyes are burning white-hot, united with a particular, undisguised hatred for The Fire Girl, The One With The Gift.

  The girl who tried to kill them and might have succeeded.

  The girl who will pay dearly for her sins.

  A mass of dread forms in my stomach, and my body is shaking all over. This is surely my worst nightmare come for me at last.

  Chapter 68

  Whit

  THE SHARP, METALLIC scent of blood hangs in the air, and the hill is crowded with human and animal bodies.

  I spot Ragan picking over the injured, desperation on his face. He looks okay, but as he kneels next to a silent, unmoving form, gathering it up into his arms, I know we haven’t made it through without any losses. The smallest of Ragan’s two charges is next to him, crying. Celia joins them and wraps her arms around the boy, rocking him as he weeps for his brother.

  I feel something harden inside me, and tears don’t come. I’ve seen it all before — orphaned, trusting kids hacked out of existence while trying to find their way home. I think of Pearl Marie’s voice as she talked about Ziggy, and guilt lodges in my gut like a stone. What was I doing making promises to that kid?

  Janine looks at Ragan and then turns her face against my chest, shutting out the scene. Her arm hangs limply at her side, red blooming through her shirt.

  Holding her here on this eerily lush, green hillside surrounded by the macabre reality, I feel like a character on a page ripped from a book, where there’s no time and no ending, no way to move forward.

  I look over Janine’s head into the valley below, seeing the ghostly beings moving around down there, watching us. Expecting … what? Then, just beyond the ambling dead, where the red haze has dissipated the tiniest bit, something sparkles. I put a hand up to shield my eyes, squinting, and think I can make out a thin gray line moving, reflecting the light.

  The river, I mouth, realization dawning on me. The very same river from the vision at Mrs. Highsmith’s apartment — the one where I saw my parents. I motion to the others, pointing. I know we should be celebrating; we finally made it. But when Ragan looks over at me, his eyes swollen and his face bitter, I can only think, At what cost?

  Celia comes up behind us. She puts her hand on my back a
nd rests her head on my shoulder.

  “You think my mom and dad are down there, Celia?” I ask, squinting at the crowd.

  She smiles sadly, still shaken. “I don’t know for sure, but I’ll help you look. Come on.”

  Celia takes my hand, and Janine’s as well. She turns to the others, scattered on the hillside. Sasha and Emmet nod and start across the uneven ground toward us, shoulders heavy, but most of the kids aren’t budging.

  “I know it’s hard, and I know you’re all hurting, but we can’t stop now,” I call.

  “Another battle?” Sasha says, limping over. “Haven’t we been through enough? No offense, but I’m sick of being dragged along and almost killed for your sake. I just want to get us all out of here.”

  Some of the other kids nod in agreement, but Janine speaks up.

  “Whit is one of us,” she says sharply, cradling her arm. “We’re fighting for him, but we’re fighting for the Resistance, too. Have you forgotten why we ended up here in the first place? There’s no safe haven in the Overworld until we face the battles in the Underworld. Would you rather just give up now after coming this far?”

  Sasha sighs, the public scolding obviously stinging him a bit.

  My heart swells with respect for Janine. I know the pain from her shoulder is worse than she’s letting on, but she always has a fighting spirit.

  The rest of the kids reluctantly join the group. The only way out of this nightmare is through it, it seems. Together we look toward the thin river of hope calling to us, promising salvation.

  Chapter 69

  Wisty

  “THIS WILL BE the end of you, girl,” The One howls over the wind, his arms spread out like a maestro directing the scene as he levitates above the violent eye of the storm. “I can promise you that much. Are you ready to be nothing but a memory — and then not even that?”

  Pearce has instructed the troops to block all exit routes, and he strides toward me along the bank, pretentiously flanked on either side by elite N.O. guards, the whites of his wicked eyes flashing furiously at me.