Gone Series Complete Collection

by Grant, Michael

  The truck stopped moving, held tight. The doors would no longer open.

  That was fine. That was the plan.

  Lana twisted around in her seat, aimed carefully to avoid hitting the big tank in the back, and fired a single shot.

  The rear window shattered into a million pieces.

  Shaking with fear and excitement Lana crawled gingerly out of the cab into the bed of the truck. This excited the coyotes even more. They tried to shove themselves through the gap between the sides of the truck and the mine shaft walls, trying to get at her. One furious head jammed sideways between roof and a crossbeam.

  They yapped and snarled and Pack Leader cried, “Human, stop!”

  Lana reached the valve of the LPG tank. She twisted it open. Immediately she smelled the rotten-egg odor of the gas.

  It would take a while for the gas to drain out. It was heavier than air, so it would roll down the sloping floor of the mine shaft, like an invisible flood. It would sink toward the deepest part of the mine. It would pool around the Darkness.

  Would he smell it? Would he know that she had sealed his fate? Did he even have a nose?

  Lana paid out the fuse she’d made. It was a hundred feet of thin rope she’d soaked in gasoline. She’d kept it in a Ziploc bag.

  She took a coil and tossed it into the dark of the mine. It didn’t have to reach far.

  She carried the rest with her, back into the cabin of the truck. She stepped on the brake, turning on the brake lights and illuminating the shaft in hellish red. It was impossible to see the gas, of course.

  Lana waited, hands gripping the steering wheel. Her thoughts were a jumble of disconnected images, wild jump-cuts of her captivity with the coyotes and her encounters with the Darkness.

  The first time she had—

  I am the Gaiaphage.

  Lana froze.

  You cannot destroy me.

  Lana could barely breathe. She thought she might pass out. The Darkness had never before spoken its name.

  I brought you here.

  Lana reached into her pocket and fingered the lighter. It was simple physics. The lighter would light. The gasoline-soaked rope would burn. The flame would race down the rope until it reached the gas vapor.

  The gas would ignite.

  The explosion would shatter the ceiling and walls of the shaft.

  It might even incinerate the creature.

  It might kill her, too. But if she survived, she would be able to heal any burns or injuries. That was her bet: if she could simply stay alive for a few minutes, she would be able to heal herself.

  And then she would be truly healed. The voice in her head would be gone.

  You do my will.

  “I am Lana Arwen Lazar,” she cried with all the shrill force she could manage.

  “My dad was into comic books, so he named me Lana for Superman’s girlfriend Lana Lang.”

  You will serve me.

  “And my mom added Arwen for the elf princess in The Lord of the Rings.”

  I will use your power as my own.

  “And I never, ever do what I’m told.”

  Your power will give me shape. I will feed. Grow strong again. And with the body I will form using your power, I will escape this place.

  Your power will give me freedom.

  Lana was shaking. The gasoline smelled, and the fumes were making her woozy.

  Now or never. Now.

  Never.

  “Pack Leader!” Lana shouted. “Pack Leader! I’m going to blow this mine to hell, Pack Leader. Do you hear me?”

  “Pack Leader hears,” the coyote sneered.

  “You get yourself and your filthy animals out of here or you’ll die with the Darkness.”

  Pack Leader leaped heavily onto the hood. His fur was up, the ripped mouth slavering. “Pack Leader fears no human.”

  Lana snapped the pistol up and fired. Point-blank range.

  The sound was stunning.

  In the glass there was a hole surrounded by a star pattern, but the glass did not blow out like the rear window had.

  Blood sprayed across the glass.

  Pack Leader yelped and jumped clumsily from the hood, hit. Hurt.

  Lana’s heart jumped. She’d hit him. A solid, direct hit this time.

  But the glass was still there. It was supposed to shatter. It was her only escape route.

  Your power will give me freedom.

  “I’ll give you death!” Lana raged.

  Lana took the pistol and used it like a hammer, beating on the glass, breaking it out, but only a little at a time. She kicked at it, frantic. It gave, but too slowly.

  The coyotes could take her if they made a concerted attack.

  But the coyotes held off. The injury of their leader had left them confused and rudderless.

  Lana kicked, crazy now, panicked.

  You will die.

  “As long as you die with me!” Lana screamed.

  A big section of the safety glass gave way, folding out like a stiff-frozen blanket.

  Lana began pushing through. Head. Shoulders.

  A coyote lunged.

  She fired.

  She pushed the rest of the way out, scratched, skin ripped, oblivious to the pain. On hands and knees on the hood. She had to fumble for the rope. Rope in one hand, greasy. Gun in the other, stinking of cordite.

  She fired wildly. Once, twice, three times, bullets chipping rock. The coyotes broke and ran.

  She laid the pistol on the hood.

  She fumbled the lighter from her pocket.

  No.

  She struck the lighter.

  The flame was tiny and orange.

  You will not.

  Lana brought the flame toward the rope’s end.

  Stop.

  Lana hesitated.

  “Yes,” Lana breathed.

  You can not.

  “I can,” Lana sobbed.

  You are mine.

  The flame burned her thumb. But the pain was nothing, nothing next to the sudden, catastrophic pain like an explosion in her head.

  Lana cried out.

  She clasped her hands over her ears. The lighter singed her hair.

  She dropped the rope.

  She dropped the lighter.

  Lana had never imagined such pain. As if her brain had been scooped out and her skull filled with burning, white-hot coals.

  Lana screamed in agony and rolled off the hood.

  She screamed and screamed and knew that she would never stop.

  TWENTY-NINE

  16 HOURS, 33 MINUTES

  “WE CAN WAIT him out,” Edilio said to Sam. “Just sit tight here. You could even catch a few Zs.”

  “Do I look that bad?” Sam asked. Edilio didn’t answer.

  “Edilio’s right, boss,” Dekka said. “Let’s just sit tight and wait. Maybe Brianna will . . .” She couldn’t finish, and turned away quickly.

  Edilio put his arm around Sam’s shoulders and drew him away from Dekka, who was now sobbing.

  Sam gazed up at the massive pile of cement and steel that was the power plant. He scanned the parking lot, looking past the parked cars to the sea beyond. The black water twinkled here and there, faint pinpoints of starlight, a rough-textured reflection of the night sky.

  “When’s your birthday, Edilio?”

  “Cut it out, man. You know I’m not stepping out,” Edilio said.

  “You don’t even consider it?”

  Edilio’s silence was answer enough.

  “Where’s this all end, Edilio? Or does it never end? How many more of these fights? How many more graves in the plaza? You ever think about it?”

  “Sam, I dig those graves,” Edilio said quietly.

  “Yeah,” Sam said. “Sorry.” He sighed. “We’re not winning. You know that, right? I don’t mean this fight. I mean the big fight. Survival. We’re not winning that fight. We’re starving. Kids eating their pets. We’re breaking up into little groups that hate each other. It’s all going out
of control.”

  Edilio glanced at Howard, who was a discreet distance away but listening in. Two of Edilio’s guys were within earshot as well.

  “You need to cut this out, Sam,” Edilio said in an urgent whisper. “These people are all looking to you, man. You can’t be talking about how we’re screwed.”

  Sam barely heard him. “I need to get back to town.”

  “What? Are you messing with me? We’re kind of in the middle of something here.”

  “Dekka can keep an eye on Caine. Besides, if he busts out, that’s good, right?” Sam nodded as if he had convinced himself. “I need to see Astrid.”

  “You know, maybe that’s not a bad idea,” Edilio said. He left Sam and went to Dekka, drew her aside, and spoke urgently to her. Dekka shot a tear-stained glance at Sam, worried.

  “Come on, I’ll drive you back to town,” Edilio said.

  Sam followed him to the Jeep. “What did you tell Dekka?”

  “I told her with the lights out, you needed to check on what’s happening in town.”

  “She buy that?” Sam asked.

  Edilio didn’t answer directly. And he didn’t look Sam in the eye. “She’s tough. Dekka will handle things here.”

  They drove in silence to Perdido Beach.

  The plaza was full of kids milling around. That many kids hadn’t been together in one place since the Thanksgiving feast.

  Sam felt a hundred pairs of eyes on him as he pulled up with Edilio.

  “This doesn’t look like a fiesta,” Edilio said.

  Astrid came out of the crowd, ran to the car, and threw her arms around Sam. She kissed him on the cheek, and then on the lips.

  He buried his face in her hair and whispered, “Are you okay?”

  “Better now that I know you’re alive,” Astrid said. “We have some very scared, angry kids here, Sam.”

  As if she had given a cue, the crowd rushed forward to surround the three of them.

  “The lights are out!”

  “Where have you been?”

  “We’re out of food!”

  “I can’t even turn on the TV!”

  “I’m scared of the dark!”

  “There’s a mutant freak murderer running loose!”

  “The water isn’t working!”

  Those that weren’t shouting accusations were asking plaintive questions.

  “What are we supposed to do?”

  “Why didn’t you stop Caine?”

  “Where’s the Healer?”

  “Are we all going to die?”

  Sam pushed Astrid gently, reluctantly away and stood alone to face them. Each question hit home. Each was an arrow aimed at his heart. They were the same accusations he had thrown at himself. The same questions he had asked himself. He knew he should put an end to it. He knew he should call for quiet. He knew that the longer he went without answering, the more scared the kids would get.

  But he had no answers.

  The assault of anger and fear was deafening. A seething wall of angry faces pressed all around. It left him numb. He knew what he should do, but he couldn’t. Somehow he had convinced himself that kids would understand. That they would cut him some slack. Give him some time.

  But they were terrified. They were on the edge of panic.

  Astrid was turned to face the crowd, back against the hood, pressed from all sides. She was yelling for quiet, ignored.

  Edilio had reached into the backseat of the Jeep to slide his gun forward onto his lap. Like he thought he might have to use it to save Sam or Astrid or both.

  Zil appeared, pushing his way through the crowd, five other kids acting like a star’s bodyguard, shoving people out of the way. He was cheered by some, booed by others. But when he raised his hand the crowd quieted, at least a little, and leaned forward in anticipation.

  Zil stuck one fist on his hip and pointed at Sam with his other hand. “You’re supposed to be the big boss.”

  Sam said nothing. The crowd hushed, ready to watch this one-on-one confrontation.

  “You’re the big boss of the freaks,” Zil yelled. “But you can’t do anything. You can shoot laser beams out of your hands, but you can’t get enough food, and you can’t keep the power on, and you won’t do anything about that murderer Hunter, who killed my best friend.” He paused to fill his lungs for a final, furious cry. “You shouldn’t be in charge.”

  Suddenly, there was silence. Zil had laid the challenge out there.

  Sam nodded, as if to himself. Like he was agreeing. But then, moving as slowly as an old man, he climbed up onto the passenger seat of the Jeep, and stood where everyone could see him.

  Sam felt anger building inside him. Resentment. Rage.

  It wouldn’t be good to let it out. He knew that. He kept his voice calm, kept his expression blank. He now towered over Zil. “You want to be in charge, Zil? Last night you were running around trying to get a lynch mob together. And let’s not even pretend that wasn’t you responsible for graffiti I saw driving into town just now.”

  “So what?” Zil demanded. “So what? So I said what everyone who isn’t a freak is thinking.”

  He spit the word “freak,” making it an insult, making it an accusation.

  “You really think what we need right now is to divide up between freaks and normals?” Sam asked. “You figure that will get the lights turned back on? That will put food on people’s tables?”

  “What about Hunter?” Zil said. “Hunter murders Harry with his mutant freak powers and you don’t do anything.”

  “I had kind of a busy night,” Sam said, his voice now poisonous with sarcasm.

  “So let me and my boys go find him,” Zil said. “You’re so busy not getting any food, and not stopping Caine and all, not keeping the lights on, so me and my crew will get Hunter.”

  “And do what with him?” It was Astrid. The crowd had backed up just enough to give her some breathing room. “What’s your big plan, Zil?”

  Zil spread his hands in a gesture of innocence. “Hey, all we want to do is get him before he hurts someone else. You want to, like, give him a trial or whatever? Fine. But let us go and get him.”

  “No one is stopping you from finding him,” Sam said. “You can walk around town all you like. You can admire your graffiti and count the number of windows you broke.”

  “We need guns,” Zil said. “I’m not going up against a killer freak without guns. And your wetback friend there says we regular people can’t carry guns.”

  Sam glanced down at Edilio to see how he had registered the insult. Edilio looked grim but calm. Calmer than Sam felt.

  “Hunter is a problem,” Sam acknowledged. “We have a big list of problems. But you trying to make trouble between people with powers and people without powers is not helping anything. Neither is calling people names. We have to stick together.”

  When Zil didn’t immediately answer, Sam went on, looking past Zil to speak to the whole group. “Here’s the thing, people: We have some serious problems. The lights are off. And it seems like that’s affecting the water flow in part of town. So, no baths or showers, okay? But the situation is that we think Caine is short of food, which means he’s not going to be able to hold out very long at the power plant.”

  “How long?” someone yelled.

  Sam shook his head. “I don’t know.”

  “Why can’t you get him to leave?”

  “Because I can’t, that’s why,” Sam snapped, letting some of his anger show. “Because I’m not Superman, all right? Look, he’s inside the plant. The walls are thick. He has guns, he has Jack, he has Drake, and he has his own powers. I can’t get him out of there without getting some of our people killed. Anybody want to volunteer for that?”

  Silence.

  “Yeah, I thought so. I can’t get you people to show up and pick melons, let alone throw down with Drake.”

  “That’s your job,” Zil said.

  “Oh, I see,” Sam said. The resentment he’d held in now came boiling to
the surface. “It’s my job to pick the fruit, and collect the trash, and ration the food, and catch Hunter, and stop Caine, and settle every stupid little fight, and make sure kids get a visit from the Tooth Fairy. What’s your job, Zil? Oh, right: you spray hateful graffiti. Thanks for taking care of that, I don’t know how we’d ever manage without you.”

  “Sam . . . ,” Astrid said, just loud enough for him to hear. A warning.

  Too late. He was going to say what needed saying.

  “And the rest of you. How many of you have done a single, lousy thing in the last two weeks aside from sitting around playing Xbox or watching movies?

  “Let me explain something to you people. I’m not your parents. I’m a fifteen-year-old kid. I’m a kid, just like all of you. I don’t happen to have any magic ability to make food suddenly appear. I can’t just snap my fingers and make all your problems go away. I’m just a kid.”

  As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Sam knew he had crossed the line. He had said the fateful words so many had used as an excuse before him. How many hundreds of times had he heard, “I’m just a kid.”

  But now he seemed unable to stop the words from tumbling out. “Look, I have an eighth-grade education. Just because I have powers doesn’t mean I’m Dumbledore or George Washington or Martin Luther King. Until all this happened I was just a B student. All I wanted to do was surf. I wanted to grow up to be Dru Adler or Kelly Slater, just, you know, a really good surfer.”

  The crowd was dead quiet now. Of course they were quiet, some still-functioning part of his mind thought bitterly, it’s entertaining watching someone melt down in public.

  “I’m doing the best I can,” Sam said.

  “I lost people today . . . I . . . I screwed up. I should have figured out Caine might go after the power plant.”

  Silence.

  “I’m doing the best I can.”

  No one said a word.

  Sam refused to meet Astrid’s eyes. If he saw pity there, he would fall apart completely.

  “I’m sorry,” he said.