Gone Series Complete Collection
Page 43
“What exactly is succotash?” Sam asked.
“Lima beans and corn. Mixed together.” Edilio braked at the edge of the field. “Not exactly fried eggs and sausage.”
“Is that the official Honduran breakfast?” Sam asked.
Edilio snorted. “Man, the official Honduran breakfast when you’re poor is a corn tortilla, some leftover beans, and on a good day a banana. On a bad day it’s just the tortilla.” He killed the engine and set the emergency brake. “This isn’t my first time being hungry.”
Sam stood up in the Jeep and stretched before jumping to the ground. He was a naturally athletic kid but in no way physically intimidating. He had brown hair with glints of gold, blue eyes, and a tan that reached all the way down to his bones. Maybe he was a little taller than average, maybe in a little better shape, but no one would pick him for a future in the NFL.
Sam Temple was one of the two oldest people in the FAYZ. He was fifteen.
“Hey. That looks like lettuce,” E.Z. said, wrapping his earbuds carefully around his iPod.
“If only,” Sam said gloomily. “So far we have avocados, that’s fine, and cantaloupes, which is excellent news. But we are finding way too much broccoli and artichokes. Lots of artichokes. Now cabbage.”
“We may get the oranges back eventually,” Edilio said. “The trees looked okay. It was just the fruit was ripe and didn’t get picked, so they rotted.”
“Astrid says things are ripening at weird times,” Sam said. “Not normal.”
“As Quinn likes to say, ‘We’re a long way from normal,’” Edilio said.
“Who’s going to pick all these?” Sam wondered aloud. It was what Astrid would have called a rhetorical question.
Albert started to say something, then stopped himself when E.Z. said, “Hey, I’ll go grab one of these cabbages right now. I’m starving.” He unwound the earbuds and stuck them back in.
The cabbages were a foot or so apart within their rows, and each row was two feet from the next. The soil in between was crumbled and dry. The cabbages looked more like thick-leafed houseplants than like something you might actually eat.
It didn’t look much different from a dozen other fields Sam had seen during this farm tour.
No, Sam corrected himself, there is something different. He couldn’t quite figure out what it was, but there was something different here. Sam frowned and tried to work through the feeling he was having, tried to decide why he felt something was . . . off.
It was quieter, maybe.
Sam took a swig from a water bottle. He heard Albert counting under his breath, shading his eyes with his hand and multiplying. “Totally just a ballpark guess, figuring each cabbage weighs maybe a pound and a half, right? I’m thinking we have ourselves maybe thirty thousand pounds of cabbage.”
“I don’t even want to think about how many farts this all translates to,” E.Z. yelled over his shoulder as he marched purposefully into the field.
E.Z. was a sixth grader but seemed older. He was tall for his age, a little chubby. Thin, dishwater-blond hair hung down to his shoulders. He was wearing a Hard Rock Cafe T-shirt from Cancún. E.Z. was a good name for him: he was easy to get along with, would banter easily, laugh easily, and usually find whatever fun there was to be found. He stopped about two dozen rows into the field and said, “This looks like the cabbage for me.”
“How can you tell?” Edilio called back.
E.Z. pulled one earbud out and Edilio repeated the question.
“I’m tired of walking. This must be the right cabbage. How do I pick it?”
Edilio shrugged. “Man, I think you may need a knife.”
“Nah.” E.Z. replaced the earbud, bent over, and yanked at the plant. He got a handful of leaves for his effort.
“You see what I’m saying,” Edilio commented.
“Where are the birds?” Sam asked, finally figuring out what was bothering him.
“What birds?” Edilio said. Then he nodded. “You’re right, man, there’ve been seagulls all over the other fields. Especially in the morning.”
Perdido Beach had quite a population of seagulls. In the old days they had lived off bits of bait left by fishermen and food scraps dropped near trash cans. There were no more food scraps in the FAYZ. Not anymore. So the enterprising gulls had gone into the fields to compete with crows and pigeons. One of the reasons so much of the food they’d found was spoiled.
“They must not like cabbage,” Albert commented. He sighed. “I don’t honestly know anyone who does.”
E.Z. squatted down before the cabbage, rubbed his hands in preparation, worked them down beneath the leaves, down to cradle the cabbage. Then he fell back on his rear end. “Ow!” he yelled.
“Not so easy, is it?” Edilio teased.
“Ah! Ah!” E.Z. jumped to his feet. He was holding his right hand with his left and staring hard at his hand. “No, no, no.”
Sam had been only half listening. His mind was elsewhere, scanning for the missing birds, but the terror in E.Z.’s voice snapped his head around. “What’s the matter?”
“Something bit me!” E.Z. cried. “Oh, oh, it hurts. It hurts. It—” E.Z. let loose a scream of agony. The scream started low and went higher, higher into hysteria.
Sam saw what looked like a black question mark on E.Z.’s pant leg.
“Snake!” Sam said to Edilio.
E.Z.’s arm went into a spasm. It shook violently. It was as if some invisible giant had hold of it and were yanking his arm as hard and as fast as it could.
E.Z. screamed and screamed and began a lunatic dance. “They’re in my feet!” he cried. “They’re in my feet!”
Sam stood paralyzed for a few seconds, just a few seconds—but later in memory it would seem so long. Too long.
He leaped forward, rushing toward E.Z. He was brought down hard by a flying tackle from Edilio.
“What are you doing?” Sam demanded, and struggled to free himself.
“Man, look. Look!” Edilio whispered.
Sam’s face was mere feet from the first row of cabbages. The soil was alive. Worms. Worms as big as garter snakes were seething up from beneath the dirt. Dozens. Maybe hundreds. All heading toward E.Z., who screamed again and again in agony mixed with confusion.
Sam rose to his feet but went no closer to the edge of the cabbage field. The worms did not move beyond the first row of turned soil. There might as well have been a wall, the worms all on one side.
E.Z. came staggering wildly toward Sam, walking as if he were being electrocuted, jerking, flailing like some crazy puppet with half its strings cut.
Three, four feet away, a long arm-stretch away, Sam saw the worm erupt from the skin of E.Z.’s throat.
And then another from his jaw, just in front of his ear.
E.Z., no longer screaming, sagged to the ground, just sat there limp, cross-legged.
“Help me,” E.Z. whispered. “Sam . . .”
E.Z.’s eyes were on Sam. Pleading. Fading. Then just staring, blank.
The only sounds now came from the worms. Their hundreds of mouths seemed to make a single sound, one big mouth chewing wetly.
A worm spilled from E.Z.’s mouth.
Sam raised his hands, palms out.
“Sam, no!” Albert yelled. Then, in a quieter voice, “He’s already dead. He’s already dead.”
“Albert’s right, man. Don’t do it, don’t burn them, they’re staying in the field, don’t give them a reason to come after us,” Edilio hissed. His strong hands still dug into Sam’s shoulders, like he was holding Sam back, though Sam wasn’t trying to escape any longer.
“And don’t touch him,” Edilio sobbed. “Perdóneme, God forgive me, don’t touch him.”
The black worms swarmed over and through E.Z.’s body. Like ants swarming a dead beetle.
It felt like a very long time before the worms slithered away and tunneled back into the earth.
What they left behind was no longer recognizable as a human being.
A single tardy worm crawled from the mess and headed back toward the cabbages. Sam snatched up a rock the size of a softball and smashed it down on the worm’s back. The worm stopped moving.
“I’ll come back with a shovel,” Edilio said. “We can’t take E.Z. home, man, he’s got two little brothers. They don’t need to be seeing this. We’ll bury him here.
“If these things spread . . . ,” Edilio began.
“If they spread to the other fields, we all starve,” Albert said.
Sam fought a powerful urge to throw up. E.Z. was mostly bones now, picked not quite clean. Sam had seen terrible things since the FAYZ began, but nothing this gruesome.
He wiped his hands on his jeans, wanting to hit back, wishing it made sense to blast the field, burn as much of it as he could reach, keep burning it until the worms shriveled and crisped.
But that was food out there.
Sam knelt beside the mess in the dirt. “You were a good kid, E.Z. Sorry. I . . . sorry.” There was music, tinny, but recognizable, still coming from E.Z.’s iPod.
Sam lifted the shiny thing and tapped the pause icon.
Then he stood up and kicked the dead worm out of the way. He held his hands out as though he were a minister about to bless the body.
Albert and Edilio knew better. They both backed away.
Brilliant light shot from Sam’s palms.
The body burned, crisped, turned black. Bones made loud snapping noises as they cracked from the heat. After a while Sam stopped. What was left behind was ash, a heap of gray and black ashes that could have been the residue of a backyard barbecue.
“There was nothing you could have done, Sam,” Edilio said, knowing that look on his friend’s face, knowing that gray, haggard look of guilt. “It’s the FAYZ, man. It’s just the FAYZ.”
TWO
106 HOURS, 16 MINUTES
THE ROOF WAS on crooked. The blistering bright sun stabbed a ray straight down into Caine’s eye through the gap between crumbled wall and sagging roof.
Caine lay on his back, sweating into a pillow that had no case. A dank sheet wrapped around his bare legs, twisted to cover half his naked torso. He was awake again, or at least he thought he was, believed he was.
Hoped he was.
It wasn’t his bed. It belonged to an old man named Mose, the groundskeeper for Coates Academy.
Of course Mose was gone. Gone with all the other adults. And all the older kids. Everyone . . . almost everyone . . . over the age of fourteen. Gone.
Gone where?
No one knew.
Just gone. Beyond the barrier. Out of the giant fishbowl called the FAYZ. Maybe dead. Maybe not. But definitely gone.
Diana opened the door with a kick. She was carrying a tray and balanced on the tray was a bottle of water and a can of Goya brand garbanzo beans.
“Are you decent?” Diana asked.
He didn’t answer. He didn’t understand the question.
“Are you covered?” she asked, putting some irritation into her tone. She set the tray on the side table.
Caine didn’t bother to answer. He sat up. His head swam as he did. He reached for the water.
“Why is the roof messed up like that? What if it rains?” He was surprised by the sound of his own voice. He was hoarse. His voice had none of its usual persuasive smoothness.
Diana was pitiless. “What are you, stupid now as well as crazy?”
A phantom memory passed through him, leaving him feeling uneasy. “Did I do something?”
“You lifted the roof up.”
He turned his hands around to look at his palms. “Did I?”
“Another nightmare,” Diana said.
Caine twisted open the bottle and drank. “I remember now. I thought it was crushing me. I thought something was going to step on the house and crush it, squash me under it. So I pushed back.”
“Uh-huh. Eat some beans.”
“I don’t like beans.”
“No one likes beans,” Diana said. “But this isn’t your neighborhood Applebee’s. And I’m not your waitress. Beans are what we have. So eat some beans. You need food.”
Caine frowned. “How long have I been like this?”
“Like what?” Diana mocked him. “Like a mental patient who can’t tell if he’s in reality or in a dream?”
He nodded. The smell of the beans was sickening. But he was suddenly hungry. And he remembered now: food was in short supply. Memory was coming back. The mad delusion was fading. He couldn’t quite reach normal, but he could see it.
“Three months, give or take a week,” Diana said. “We had the big shoot-out in Perdido Beach. You wandered off into the desert with Pack Leader and were gone for three days. When you came back you were pale, dehydrated, and . . . well, like you are.”
“Pack Leader.” The words, the creature they represented, made Caine wince. Pack Leader, the dominant coyote, the one who had somehow attained a limited sort of speech. Pack Leader, the faithful, fearful servant of . . . of it. Of it. Of the thing in the mine shaft.
The Darkness, they called it.
Caine swayed and before he rolled off the bed, Diana caught him, grabbed his shoulders, kept him up. But then she saw the warning sign in his eyes and muttered a curse and managed to get the wastebasket in front of him just as he vomited.
He didn’t produce much. Just a little yellow liquid.
“Lovely,” she said, and curled her lip. “On second thought, don’t eat any beans. I don’t want to see them come back up.”
Caine rinsed his mouth with some of the water. “Why are we here? This is Mose’s cottage.”
“Because you’re too dangerous. No one at Coates wants you around until you get a grip on yourself.”
He blinked at another returning memory. “I hurt someone.”
“You thought Chunk was some kind of monster. You were yelling a word. Gaiaphage. Then you smacked Chunk through a wall.”
“Is he okay?”
“Caine. In the movies a guy can get knocked through a wall and get up like it’s no big deal. This wasn’t a movie. The wall was brick. Chunk looked like roadkill. Like when a raccoon gets run over and over and over and keeps getting run over for a couple of days.”
The harshness of her words was too much even for Diana herself. She gritted her teeth and said, “Sorry. It wasn’t pretty. I never liked Chunk, but it wasn’t something I can just forget, okay?”
“I’ve been kind of out of my mind,” Caine said.
Diana wiped angrily at a tear. “Answer the question: Can you give an example of understatement?”
“I think I’m better now,” Caine said. “Not all the way better. Not all the way. But better.”
“Well, happy day,” Diana said.
For the first time in weeks Caine focused on her face. She was beautiful, Diana Ladris was, with enormous dark eyes and long brown hair and a mouth that defaulted to smirk.
“You could have ended up like Chunk,” Caine said. “But you’ve been taking care of me, anyway.”
She shrugged. “It’s a hard new world. I have a choice: stick by you, or take my chances with Drake.”
“Drake.” The name conjured dark images. Dream or reality? “What’s Drake doing?”
“Playing junior Caine. Supposedly representing you. Secretly hoping you’ll just die, if you ask me. He raided the grocery store and stole some food a few days ago. It’s made him almost popular. Kids don’t have a lot of judgment when they’re hungry.”
“And my brother?”
“Sam?”
“I don’t have another long-lost brother, do I?”
“Bug’s gone into town a couple of times to see what’s going on. He says peo
ple still have a little food but they’re getting worried about it. Especially since Drake’s raid. But Sam is totally in charge there.”
“Hand me my pants,” Caine said.
Diana did as he asked, then ostentatiously turned away as he pulled them on.
“What defenses do they have up?” Caine asked.
“They keep people all over the grocery store now, that’s the main thing. Now Ralph’s always has four guys with guns sitting on the roof.”
Caine nodded. He bit at his thumbnail, an old habit. “How about freaks?”
“They have Dekka and Brianna and Taylor. They have Jack. They may have some other useful freaks, Bug isn’t sure. They have Lana to heal people. And Bug thinks they have a kid who can fire some kind of heat wave.”
“Like Sam?”
“No. Sam’s like a blowtorch. This kid is like a microwave. You don’t see any flames or anything. It’s just that suddenly your head is cooking like a breakfast burrito in a KitchenAid.”
“People are still developing powers,” Caine said. “Any here?”
Diana shrugged. “Who knows for sure? Who’s going to be crazy enough to tell Drake? Down in town a new mutant gets some respect. Up here? Maybe they get killed.”
“Yeah,” Caine said. “That was a mistake. Coming down on the freaks, that was a mistake. We need them.”
“Plus, in addition to some possible new moofs, Sam’s people still have machine guns. And they still have Sam,” Diana said. “So how about if we don’t do something stupid like try and fight them again?”
“Moofs?”
“Short for mutant. Mutant freaks. Moofs.” Diana shrugged. “Moofs, muties, freaks. We’re out of food, but we’ve got plenty of nicknames.”
Caine’s shirt was laid over the back of a chair. He reached for it, wobbled, and seemed about to fall over. Diana steadied him. He glared at her hand on his arm. “I can walk.”
He glanced up and caught sight of his reflection in a mirror over the dresser. He almost didn’t recognize himself. Diana was right: He was pale, his cheeks were concave. His eyes seemed too large for his face.
“I guess you are getting better: you’re becoming a prickly jerk again.”
“Get Bug in here. Get Bug and Drake. I want to see them both.”