The thought made him sad. He missed the big hunter. Tried not to think of what he must be going through – either a horrible Change to something that would strip him of all that made him so good, or a slow death as he starved without the use of his hands.
He failed.
So many lost. How many more?
Buck reached out a long arm and snagged another tree root. Added his strength to Amulek's. Then Aaron threaded himself into the roots, and then Christopher and Theresa.
Christopher looked around. The river was a good three or four hundred feet across. And fast. There was no way any of them could cross it without some flotation device at the best of times. Let alone crippled, with a few unconscious kids to watch out for.
At his back was the cliff. Twenty feet high. No way up. And even if they could somehow figure out a way to climb, he heard the crack-crackle-pop of the fire above them.
How long until it burns out?
How long can we stay here?
The last was the most important question. His teeth still wanted to click together. And in spite of his best effort, they started chattering. Almost in the same instant, Buck started shivering as well.
Waiting for me to start first, I bet. Real mature, Clucky.
Buck looked at him. Then at Maggie. Her lips were blue. She was shivering. So was Theresa. Amulek seemed unconcerned by the cold water – but then, he'd probably freeze to death with that same impassive look.
"He is Māori."
Shut up, Mo.
Aaron wasn't shivering yet, but Christopher could tell he was going to start soon.
There was a fire above them, separated by a cliff.
The opposite shore was too far to get to – and now that Christopher looked closely, it was scorched and blackened with fire as well. Even if burned over, it was probably too hot to walk across.
The fires of Hell all around.
And in spite of that, they were all going to freeze to death.
78
"How do we get out of here?" said Buck. His teeth turned every other word into a seven-syllable exercise.
Amulek looked up. Shook his head: No clue.
That made Christopher feel oddly better about the whole situation. He had expected the kid to make some sort of floating yurt using fish skins and algae. The fact that even a Māori was lost in this situation….
So me and Buck aren't the only mere mortals in the group, after all.
Of course, that means we're all going to die, so it's kind of a wash.
He turned around. Looking for something that could get them out of this. Not sure what he expected to find – it wasn't like there was a cliff-side Big 5 Sporting Goods along here where he could grab a kayak and a few wet suits.
Behind: a dirt wall. Wet roots and moss wrapping their way up and through the soil.
Everywhere else: rushing water. The only break in the river was a bit of white water with what looked like a gray rock sticking up. When he looked closer he saw it was the back end of the Marauder, just barely peeking above the surface. The valiant thing had given its life to get them this far, and they were all going to freeze to death.
Guess it's better than frying or being Changed.
Only it wasn't. Because if they died, that meant the queens would be reborn – reinserted – in someone else. The king, waiting inside a little boy's body, would have them in his power. Would wait until one killed the other, and then….
Christopher didn't know what would happen next. Maybe there would be some new creature, born inside the bodies of Derek and whatever unlucky host joined in that unholy union. Bursting forth from the children's bodies, shedding them like snakeskins. Beginning a new race – a species so alien that its motivations could never be fully understood.
Perhaps the zombies would remain, roaming the earth. Perhaps they would all die, their purpose fulfilled.
But no matter which it was, the result for humanity would be the same: extinction.
"We're dead," said Theresa. Her gravelly voice sounded lower than usual. Almost ugly in her despair.
Christopher realized he still held her hand in his. He squeezed it. "We're not going to die. You still have to kill me for grabbing your boob again."
She managed a wan smile, though it only turned her upper lip upward. Her lower lip was shivering so hard her jaw looked like it might dislocate. "I think that's a moot point."
"We're not going to die," insisted Christopher.
"Pretty sure of that, aren't you?" said Buck. He was doing what Christopher had done a moment ago: looking around. And Christopher could tell his friend was finding just what he had found: nothing.
"I'm telling you, we're not going to die."
"How can you be so sure?" said Theresa. Her voice was challenging, but at the same time there was something behind the despair, the impotent rage at death come to call.
"Because we can't die." Like the rest of them – other than Amulek – Maggie was shivering. But her voice was firm. Unwavering. No room for doubt in her expression or her voice. She looked at her girls. "If we die, then it's all over."
"Preach it, girl," said Christopher. "We'll make it. Save the world. Be heroes. Free drinks for life. And I'm not the only one who knows it. Right, Aaron?"
He looked around.
Buck, Maggie, Theresa. The girls.
Him. But….
"Where's Aaron?"
79
Everyone looked around.
No one saw anything.
"Where'd he go?" Buck said. He spun in place, looking everywhere, even turning to the cliff as though Aaron might have dug himself in there somehow.
"I don't know!" The conviction that they would make it – somehow – melted away from Christopher in an instant. Aaron was gone. But he couldn't be gone. There was nowhere to go. Unless –
"He got pulled under." Theresa sounded like she was on the verge of crying.
She's become one of us.
Fate.
But how could that be? What was the end-game, if whatever had brought them together was just doing it so they could be torn apart, one at a time?
Christopher wondered if this was God's way of reminding them He existed, then punishing them in the next moment for forgetting the fact in the first place.
The Lord giveth, the Lord taketh away.
If that's the case, then the Lord sucketh.
"Buck, hold onto my leg," said Christopher. For once, the big man didn't argue. Just grabbed Christopher's foot when he lifted it above the water.
Christopher took a breath. Dove.
It was a short dive. Nothing worthy of a pearl diver – or even a kindergartner just learning how to swim. The water was moving too fast. All he saw was a white blur, the occasional fast-moving bit of brown that he suspected was flotsam dragged along in the current.
He surfaced. Gasped a breath that was equal parts air and water. Dove again. Buck was still holding him, so it wasn't like he could go far or deep. But he managed to get below the surface far enough that the turbulence evened out. It was just a slick, unending current, but he could see – at least a few feet.
Debris bounced through the water. Branches and sticks that had been pushed below for a moment before floating up again. A few flurries that he suspected were fish.
He saw the Marauder. At least the general outline. Dark, far too square to be a natural deposit.
But nothing resembling a man. No Aaron.
He surfaced. Buck pulled him back to cliff face, and Christopher caught hold of a root.
"Anything?" asked Maggie.
Christopher shook his head. He was now so cold he could barely talk. "N-n-n-noth-oth-oth-othing."
Buck's gaze fell. "He's gone."
80
Not possible. Aaron can't be gone.
And for some reason, even submerged in water so cold that hypothermia was only minutes away, with the water itself surrounded by nothing but fire, Christopher felt like it was possible his friend would make it through
this.
We've come too far to be stopped now. Not like this.
Something splashed upriver. Everyone looked, and Christopher knew they were all hoping it would be Aaron. Even though that would have meant he swam a good way upstream, then surfaced and somehow jumped off something that was high enough he would come down with a good sized splash. Nothing but impossibilities – but then, Aaron had shown himself able to do the impossible on more than one occasion.
It wasn't Aaron.
It was a zombie. Flame still dancing along its flesh. Then the fire dousing with a sizzle as it tumbled under the water.
It reared up its head. Looked at them. One side of its face was essentially gone – nothing but burnt meat and blackened bone. The other was a mass of burns as well, but retained enough of its form as to be recognizable as human – or once-human – flesh.
Maggie gasped, sounding like she might scream. Buck clasped a hand over her mouth. "Shh," he whispered.
The thing's eyes were gone. Burnt to nothing by the heat of the fire. But even with the small noise Maggie made, the thing turned slightly. It wasn't swimming – nothing so graceful or learned. But it managed an awkward lurch in their general direction before the current grabbed it.
And began pulling it closer to them.
Everyone did the same thing: shrinking back into the cliff face. Dirt and root and rocks bit into Christopher's back as he tried to wedge himself between one particularly large tree root and the wet soil it grew out of.
The zombie came closer. Sinking out of sight, then flopping its way to the surface again. The motion was ugly. Awkward. It served to highlight just how far from human the thing really was.
But it was also strong. And somehow it managed to fight through the current, to push in their general direction. Christopher tried to gauge whether the thing was going to make it over to them or not. He couldn't be sure. Maybe. Maybe it would make it to the cliff face a few feet downriver.
And then what? Would it continue onward? Just floating along and perhaps eventually submerging like the most gruesome mine in all of history? Waiting to pull down any unsuspecting human that might cross this place?
He shivered. The motion was soundless, but it drew attention to the fact that there was a noise. A sound among them.
Buck's teeth. Chattering. He put a hand over his own mouth, but even then the sound kept coming.
He put his hand in his mouth. Bit down. Blood flowed over his hand. Dripped into the river and disappeared.
The zombie stopped lurching. Christopher knew it was listening. The things were strong, near-invincible – and some of them had hearing that made bats seem not only blind but deaf.
It lurched again. And this time Christopher was sure that it was going to pass them by. It couldn't hear them over the sound of the river, the crackles and explosions of the fire above.
Then something broke through the water right next to them.
Aaron.
The cowboy shook his head, flinging droplets of water in every direction. He gasped, gulping down mouthfuls of air.
Christopher wanted to scream the cowboy's name. Not just in happiness that he was back from… wherever he had gone to in the first place, but to tell him to shut up.
Aaron blinked. Saw the creature coming their way. His jaw clamped shut. Tried to bite back the sounds he had already let loose.
Too late.
The zombie turned. Lurched through the water.
Coming toward them.
81
None of them had any weapons. That was the first thing Christopher realized. Everyone had been holding their guns, or had put them on the seats beside them. Even Amulek hadn't worn his ever-present bow while driving the Marauder.
And what were the chances that any of them had thought to grab them when the Marauder hit the water? When it started to sink? Even if they thought of it, Christopher doubted that any of them actually had a chance to do anything about it.
The zombie paddled toward them, that lurching, flopping non-swim that was still more effective than any of them could have managed.
Its head was so burnt – was it coming for them as one of the "normal" zombies, or was it attacking in that frenzy that came over them after the brain was injured? Christopher thought it was the former: its motions, as spastic as they were, were still more thoughtful than the crazies were capable of. This thing was coming for them in particular. With a mission.
Amulek was pulling on roots – though he was probably so he could form a spear or club or some other weapon he would make a stand with. Everyone else, Christopher included, had pressed back against the cliff in the closest thing to flight they could manage here.
Not Aaron. He waited a moment, then just as the zombie was closing he pushed off. Threw himself toward the creature.
He swerved for a moment. Looked back. Caught Christopher's eye. Threw something at him: a silver packet. Christopher caught it, the action reflexive – if he'd tried to do it, he probably would have messed up the catch.
As it was, he ended up with a square piece of folded foil in his hand. No idea what it was, and no real interest right now, because Aaron was paddling toward the zombie.
At first Christopher thought the cowboy was sacrificing himself: creating a living wall that would bounce the zombie far enough away the thing wouldn't be able to reach the rest of the group. But in the last second, Aaron moved. Christopher saw a long, thin, red cylinder wedged between the cowboy's arm and his chest. With his good hand he grabbed the top of the red stick with his other hand. Pulled, twisted, then rubbed what was in his hand against the top of the cylinder.
Red flame sparked to life in the cowboy's hand. It came with a deep, loud hiss. White dripped to the side of what had looked for a moment like a red Roman candle but which Christopher now saw was a road flare.
He went back for a road flare?
He must not want anyone to crash into the Marauder.
Christopher almost giggled.
Aaron wasn't giggling. Deadly serious. Still paddling against the current, pushing himself toward the zombie. The thing reached for him. Opened its burnt, blackened arms. Engulfed Aaron.
The cowboy let it happen. Let the creature drag him toward it. What was left of its mouth opened.
And Aaron jammed the road flare right into its maw. A twisting motion that shoved the lit end through the creature's palate. Into its skull.
The hissing didn't stop. Christopher thought he could actually see hints of light through what remained of the thing's face.
It twitched. Made an odd coughing sound. Then its hands clapped to its face. Its head whipped back and forth so fast it was a blur, splashing down into the water all around it, then up. Madness enveloping it. But the madness was not completely directionless: there was still a will to kill. It reached for Aaron.
And Aaron pulled a knife from somewhere in his clothes. A long black thing, with the back of the blade serrated into a saw. Aaron twisted out of the way of the zombie's twitching fingers, then jammed the saw through the back of its neck, just below the skull.
The flare could still be heard, burning away whatever small sense the creature had once had. But the madness left its limbs as Aaron severed the spine. Christopher knew it would repair itself – in only a moment or two it would regain control of its limbs and would return to its single-minded hunt for destruction.
But for now… for the moment… it just shivered and went still. Its face and head still spasmed above the level of the knife. But no other movement.
Aaron jerked the knife free. Shoved the creature away. The current caught it, dragging it swiftly toward the middle of the river, away from the survivors.
Aaron kicked away from it. Backstroking his way to the group.
"You catch it?" he said.
It took a moment for Christopher to even register the question, let alone what the man was talking about.
Then he said, "Yeah," and held up the square of foil.
"Thanks," said Ther
esa.
"Good work, Aaron," echoed Buck.
Aaron nodded. He took the packet from Christopher's hands.
"Damn," said Maggie. The word took Christopher by surprise, given her attitude toward cursing – especially around the girls. After the surprise wore off, fear took its place.
He followed her gaze. Looking upstream. He cursed as well.
Aaron started fumbling with the packet. He appeared to have some plan in mind, which was good.
Because they didn't have much time left.
82
Christopher once went scuba diving off the coast of Anacapa Island in California. The water was cold, and he hadn't brought a good wetsuit, so he ended up spending a lot of the dive considering whether or not to pee himself just for the sake of a little warmth.
In spite of that, it was a great dive. The place he dove – him and a few friends who had also escaped from the boarding school and who had enough funds available to take an impromptu trip – was a kelp forest. Seaweed was anchored on the ocean floor, but individual stalks extended to the water's surface, held aloft by the gases trapped in bladders along their lengths. It turned the underwater area into a playground – seals swimming among the tall, thick plants, spinning in and out of view and seeming almost to play tag with Christopher and his friends. It was delightful.
It also scared him, just a little. There were parts where the kelp grew so thick it wove into itself, became a moving mattress that hung on its end in the water. The individual stalks couldn't be made out – it was just a single strangely-moving mass of green; no way of knowing what lay inside.
The motion of the kelp – so many strands grown together, so many possible dangers – was what he thought of when he saw what was coming down the river toward them. A strangely writhing mattress that undulated in the river's current.
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