“I think we’re getting more sand and less rock,” Astrid observed. “Petey hasn’t tripped in a while.”
“I can’t see well enough to be sure,” Sam said. “But let’s pull up in five minutes, either way. Everyone start looking for firewood as you go.”
“If I can’t see the ground how am I going to see firewood?” Quinn asked.
“Hey. Look.” Sam pointed. “There’s something over there. I think. Looks like . . . I don’t know, a building or something.”
“I can’t see a thing,” Quinn said.
“It’s just darker than the regular darkness. I’m not seeing stars.”
They veered toward it. There might be food or water or shelter.
Suddenly Sam’s feet landed on a springy surface that reminded him of the soft pine needle flooring of the forest. He bent down and felt what could only be grass.
“Guys, hold up.”
Sam was cautious about using the flashlights. They had a limited supply of batteries and an unlimited supply of darkness. “Quinn. Give us some light here.”
There was no mistaking the green color, even in the harsh white light.
Cautiously Quinn played the light around and illuminated a cabin. Beside it was a windmill.
They approached cautiously, the five of them bunched up around the doorway as Quinn shone the light on a door handle, and Sam touched it, gripped it, and froze.
He heard the sound of running, scuffling steps in the darkness behind them.
“Get inside, you idiots!” a voice, a girl’s voice, screamed.
Quinn swiveled the light, a rush of motion, something pelting toward him.
Other things moving, like a sea of gray in the gloom.
The beam bounced from a bounding dog onto the terrified face of a ragged, filthy girl.
“Run! Run!” she screamed.
Sam grabbed the door handle and twisted it. But before he could throw it open the girl plowed into Sam and bowled him over so that he sprawled onto the wooden floor and gathered a rug as he slid. A dog landed on his chest and bounced off.
Quinn shouted in pain and shock. He had lost the light. It was still shining across a planked floor and he scrambled after it. In the beam Sam saw Astrid’s legs, Edilio falling.
There came a chorus of angry canine yipping and the girl who had run Sam down was fighting to stand up and a dog was barking and snarling and there were other snarls too as swift bodies came in a rush.
“The door! Get the door!” the girl screamed.
Something was on her, something quick and furious, snarling.
Sam lurched to his feet, grabbed the door, and tried to slam it closed, but a furry body was in the way. There was a canine protest, a snarl, and sudden pain in his leg. An iron jaw closed around his knee, bone-crushingly strong.
Sam fell against the door and it closed. He slipped and landed on his butt against the door and the animal, the wild, snarling thing, had its muzzle in his face. Teeth snapped an inch from his eyes.
He shoved his hands outward and encountered rough fur over writhing muscle.
There was a terrible, sharp pain in his shoulder, and he knew the beast’s jaws had closed on his flesh, and now the animal was shaking him, tearing at his flesh, ripping it, digging deeper.
Sam cried out in fear and beat with nerveless fists against the beast. It was futile. The beast shifted its jaws with lightning speed from shoulder to Sam’s neck. Blood sprayed down his chest.
Sam raised his hands, palms out, but the onslaught was too ferocious. His jugular was pumping his brain dry. His hands were no longer his. His entire body now seemed far away. He spiraled down and down into darkness.
A soft, heavy thud.
And the iron jaw loosed its hold.
Another heavy thud.
Sam’s eyes rolled up in his head, but before he passed out, he caught a glimpse of the wild, ragged girl standing over him. The girl raised her hands, both together, over her head. All was in slow motion for Sam, and there were sparks in his eyes as the girl brought down something heavy and rectangular and yellow on the coyote’s head.
THIRTY-TWO
97 HOURS, 43 MINUTES
LANA LIT ONE of Hermit Jim’s lanterns and surveyed the scene. The cabin was just as she had left it. Only now there were two dead coyotes, three scared kids, a creepy, staring four-year-old, and one nearly dead boy on the floor.
She kicked Nip with her toe. No reflex. He was dead, his brain smashed by a solid gold bar. She’d pounded him again and again until her arms were tired.
The other coyote she didn’t know well enough to name. But he had died the same way, too intent on his prey to realize his peril.
Patrick lay in a corner, abashed, confused, not knowing how to behave. One of the kids, a surfer-looking dude, seemed to mirror that confusion.
“Good boy,” Lana said, and Patrick thumped his tail weakly on the floor.
“Who are you?” Lana asked the surfer kid.
“Quinn. My name is Quinn.”
“How about you?” the pretty blond girl asked.
Lana was inclined to dislike her at first sight: she looked like the kind of too-perfect girl who would blow off someone like Lana. On the other hand, she was shielding the strange little boy, cradling him in her arms, so maybe she wasn’t all bad.
A kid with a round face and dark crew cut knelt over the wounded kid. “Guys, he’s hurt bad.”
The blonde scrambled to him. She tore the wounded boy’s shirt open. A river of blood ran down his chest.
“Oh, God, no,” the blonde cried.
Lana pushed her aside and laid a hand against the pumping wound. “He’ll live,” Lana said. “I’ll fix him.”
“What do you mean, you’ll fix him?” the blonde demanded. “We need stitches, we need a doctor. Look at how he’s bleeding.”
Lana said, “What’s your name?”
“Astrid, what does it matter? He’s . . .” She stopped talking then and leaned in close to see. “The bloodflow is slowing.”
“Yeah. I noticed that, too,” Lana said dryly. “Relax. He’ll be fine. In fact . . .” She tilted her head to get a better look at him. “In fact, I’ll bet when he’s not covered in blood, he’s cute. Your boyfriend?”
“That’s not what it’s about,” Astrid snapped. Then, in a low voice, like she didn’t want the others to hear, she said, “Kind of.”
“Well, I know how crazy this sounds, but he’ll be fine in a few minutes.” She pulled her hand away to reveal that the jagged wound was already closed. She covered the wound again. “Don’t ask me how.”
“No way,” the crew-cut kid breathed.
Outside, the coyote pack yipped madly and thudded against the door. But the latch held firm. Lana wedged the back of a chair under the handle and calculated her next move.
The door would not hold forever. But the pack would be aimless, unsure of what to do until Pack Leader came back from his private hunt.
“His name’s Sam,” Astrid said. “That’s Edilio, this is my brother, Little Pete, and I’m Astrid. And I think you just saved our lives.”
Lana nodded. Better. The girl was showing Lana respect. “My name’s Lana. And listen, people, the coyotes aren’t done with us. We need to make sure that door will hold.”
“I’m on it,” Edilio said.
The wounded boy woke with a start.
He stared at the dead coyotes. He reached for his neck. He stared at the blood on his hand.
“You’ll live,” Lana said. “And I’ll fix the rest of it. Just let me keep my hand on it.”
He seemed dubious. He glanced at Astrid.
“She saved our lives,” Astrid said. “And she just closed up a wound that was gushing blood a minute ago.”
Sam allowed her to place her hand against his neck.
“Who are you?” he asked in a croak of a voice.
“Lana. Lana Arwen Lazar,” she said.
“Thanks.”
“No problem. But don’t
be too grateful: your life may not stay saved.”
He nodded. He listened to the frenzy outside, and flinched when one of the coyotes threw himself against the door.
“Is that a gold bar Edilio is using as a hammer?” Edilio had broken down the bed and was hammering one of the rails over the door.
Lana laughed sardonically. “Yeah. We have a lot of gold. Patrick and me, we’re rich.”
She moved her hand down his neck to his shoulder. “It works better if you take off your shirt,” she said.
He winced in pain. “I don’t think I can.”
Lana slid her hand under his shirt, feeling the gruesome mess of secondary wounds. “It’ll feel better in a few minutes.”
“How do you do that?” he asked.
“There are a lot of weird things going on.”
The boy nodded. “Yeah. We noticed. Thanks for saving my life.”
“You’re welcome, but like I said, it may be temporary. They’re not really trying to get in yet. When Pack Leader gets here, that could change. They’re strong, you know, and smart.”
“You’re bleeding yourself,” he said.
“I’ll fix that,” she said, almost indifferent. “I’ve gotten kind of used to being cut up one way or another.”
She pressed her blood-covered hand against her leg.
“Who is this Pack Leader?” Sam asked.
“He’s the head coyote. I tricked him into letting me come here. I hoped I’d be able to get away. Or at least have something to eat besides roadkill. Coyotes are smart, but they’re still just smart dogs, basically. Are you guys hungry? I am.”
Sam nodded. Then he climbed stiffly to his feet, moving like an old man.
“As soon as I’m done with my leg, I’ll do yours,” Lana said. “We have a pretty good supply of food and plenty of water, at least for a while. The question is whether Pack Leader will be able to find a way in here.”
Astrid said, “You’re talking about this coyote like he’s a person.”
Lana laughed. “Not a person you’d want to hang out with.”
“Is he . . . is he just a coyote?” Astrid asked.
Lana stared at the girl. Now she could see the intelligence beneath the pretty-girl looks. “What do you know about that?” Lana asked cautiously.
“I know some animals are changing. We’ve seen a seagull with talons. And we saw, well, a snake with what looked like little stub wings.”
Lana nodded. “Yeah, I’ve seen those. Up close. They scare the coyotes half to death, I can tell you that. They can’t quite fly, but the rattlers use the wings to get just a little more range than they used to have. They actually saved my butt once. And I saw them kill a coyote just a few hours ago. Pack Leader said—”
“‘Said’?” Edilio echoed.
“I’ll tell you all about it, but let’s eat first. I’ve had nothing to eat. Although I was offered some raw squirrel. Canned pudding, that’s what I want. I’ve been dreaming about it.”
She hauled out a can and feverishly worked the can opener. She didn’t wait for a dish or spoon, but thrust her hand in and scooped some into her mouth. Then she stood transfixed, overwhelmed by the wonderful sweetness of it.
She was crying when she said, “I’m sorry, I’ve forgotten how to be polite. I’ll get you guys your own can.”
Sam hobbled over and scooped some pudding of his own, following her lead. “I’m way past polite myself,” he said, although she could see he was a little appalled by her wolfish behavior. She decided then that she liked him.
“Listen, Sam, and everyone, you need to know something so it won’t freak you out: Pack Leader can speak. I mean, human words. Like Smart-Girl Barbie there was saying, he’s some kind of mutant or whatever. I know you think I’m probably crazy.”
She had Hermit Jim’s tin cup now and used it to scoop up another helping of wonderful, wonderful pudding. Blondie—Astrid—was opening a can of fruit cocktail.
“What do you know about the FAYZ?” Astrid asked.
Lana stopped eating and stared at her. “The what?”
Astrid shrugged and looked embarrassed. “That’s what people are calling it. The Fallout Alley Youth Zone. FAYZ.”
“What does that mean?”
“Have you seen the barrier?”
She nodded. “Oh, yeah. I’ve seen the barrier. I touched the barrier, which, by the way, is not a good idea.”
Sam said, “As far as we can tell, it goes clear around in a big circle. Or maybe a sphere. We think the center is the power plant. It seems like a ten-mile radius from there, you know, twenty miles across.”
“Circumference of 62.83 miles, with an area of 314.159 square miles,” Astrid said.
“Point 159,” Quinn echoed from his corner. “That’s important.”
“It’s basically pi,” Astrid said. “You know, 3.14159265. . . . Okay, I’ll stop.”
Lana hadn’t stopped being hungry. She took a scoop of the fruit cocktail. “Sam, you think the power plant caused it?”
Sam shrugged, and then he hesitated, surprised. Lana guessed that he felt no pain in his shoulder. “No one knows. All of a sudden every single person over the age of fourteen disappears and there’s this barrier and people . . . animals . . .”
Lana slowly absorbed this new information. “You mean all the adults? They’re gone?”
“Poof,” Quinn said. “They ditched. They blinked out. They vacated. They took the off-ramp. They cut a hole. They emigrated. Adults and teenagers. Nothing left but kids.”
“I’ve done all I can to strengthen the door,” Edilio announced. “But all I have is nails. Someone can break it in eventually.”
“Maybe they didn’t all ditch,” Lana said. “Maybe we did.”
Astrid said, “That’s definitely one of the possibilities, not that it makes any real difference. It’s effectively the same thing.”
So the blonde was definitely a brain. Lana wondered about her little brother. He was awfully quiet for a little kid.
“My grandfather disappeared while he was driving the truck,” Lana said, recalling that terrible day. “The truck crashed. And I was dying. I mean, bones sticking out. Gangrene. Then, it was like I could just heal. My dog. Myself. And I don’t know why.”
From beyond the wooden door came a sudden chorus of excited yelps.
“Pack Leader’s here,” Lana said. She crossed to the sink and picked up Hermit Jim’s kitchen knife. She turned to Sam, her expression fierce. “I’ll stab him in his heart if he comes in here.”
Sam and Edilio both drew their knives.
From outside the door, just inches away, came the strangled, snarling, high-pitched voice. “Human. Come out.”
“No,” Lana yelled.
“Human. Come out.”
Lana said, “Not by the hair of my chinny chin chin.”
Astrid smiled. “Nice,” she whispered.
“Human. Come out. Human teach Pack Leader. Human say.”
“Lesson number one, you filthy, ugly, nasty, mangy animal: Never trust a human.”
That resulted in a protracted silence.
“The Darkness,” Pack Leader growled.
Lana felt fear contract her heart. “Go ahead. Go tell your master in the mine all about it.” She started to say that she wasn’t afraid of the Darkness. But those words would have sounded false.
“What’s this about a mine?” Sam asked.
“Nothing.”
“Then why is that coyote out there talking about it? What’s this darkness thing?”
Lana shook her head. “I don’t know. They took me there. It’s an old gold mine. That’s all.”
Sam said, “Look, you saved our lives. But we still want to know what’s going on.”
Lana twined her fingers together around the knife hilt to keep herself from shaking. “I don’t know what’s going on, Sam. There’s something down in that mine. That’s all I know. The coyotes listen to it, they’re scared of it, and they do what it says.”
&nb
sp; “Did you see it?”
“I don’t know. I don’t remember. I don’t really want to remember.”
There was a loud thump at the door and it rattled on its hinges.
“Edilio, let’s find more nails,” Sam said.
The dining hall of Coates Academy had always seemed like a strange, unfriendly place to Jack. In terms of design and decor, it was an attempt to be airy and colorful. The windows were tall, the ceiling lofty; the doors were high arches decorated with bright ornamental Spanish tiles.
The long, heavy, dark wood tables of Jack’s first year at Coates, tables that had accommodated sixty students each, had just this last year been replaced by two dozen smaller, less formal round tables decorated with papier-mâché centerpieces made by students.
At the farthest end of the dining hall a mosaic had been created of individually painted construction paper squares. The theme was “Forward Together.” The squares had been arranged to form a giant arrow pointing from the floor to the ceiling.
But the more they tried to brighten the room, the less friendly it seemed to grow, as if the little touches of color and whimsy just accented the crushing size, age, and irreducible formality of the room.
Panda, his leg not broken but badly sprained, slumped into a chair and looked mournful and resentful. Diana stood to one side, not liking what she was about to witness, and not keeping that feeling a secret.
“Get up on the table, Andrew,” Caine ordered, pointing to one of the large round tables in front of the arrow mosaic.
“What do you mean, get up on the table?” Andrew demanded.
Some kids poked their heads into the dining hall. Drake said, “Shoo.” And they disappeared.
“Andrew, you can climb up on the table or I can levitate you up there,” Caine said.
“Get up, moron,” Drake snapped.
Andrew climbed onto a chair, then onto the table. “I don’t see what . . .”
“Tie him up. Computer Jack? Start setting up.”
Drake pulled rope from the bag he’d retrieved from the car. He tied one end around a table leg, measured out about six feet, cut the rope, then tied the end around Andrew’s leg.
“Man, what is this?” Andrew said. “What are you doing?”
Gone Series Complete Collection Page 28