Other flashes showed rocks at the beach. Sand that made it hard to walk.
She remembered seeing kids. Two, at a distance. They ran away when they saw her. But maybe they weren’t real. Maybe they were just ghosts because Brittney wasn’t totally sure that anyone she saw was real. They looked real on the surface—their eyes and hair and lips were all familiar to her. But at times they seemed to have lights coming out of them in wrong places.
It was hard to know what was real and what was not. All she could know was that Tanner appeared sometimes, just beside her. And he was real.
The voice in her head was real, too, the voice that told her to serve him, to obey, to follow the path of truth and goodness.
Then Brittney remembered feeling that the evil one was close. Very close. She could feel his presence.
Oh, yes: he had been here.
But where had she been? She asked her brother, Tanner. Tanner was looking a bit messy, his wounds all too visible.
“Where am I, Tanner? How did I get here?”
“You rose, an avenging angel,” Tanner said.
“Yes,” Brittney said. “But where was I? Just now? Just before. Where was I?”
There was a noise at the end of the block. Two people walking. Sam and Taylor.
Sam was good. Taylor was good. Neither was allied with the evil one. They didn’t seem to see her. They trailed blurs of ultraviolet light behind them, like a slime trail.
“Did you see him, Tanner?”
“Who?”
“The evil one. Did you see the demon?”
Tanner didn’t answer. He was bleeding from the awful wounds that had killed him.
Brittney let it go. Indeed she’d already forgotten that she’d asked a question.
“I have to find the Prophet,” she said. “I must save her from the evil one.”
“Yes.” Tanner had assumed his other guise, his angelic raiment. He glowed beautifully, like a golden star. “Follow me, sister. We have good works to perform.”
“Praise Jesus,” Brittney said.
Her brother stared at her, and for just a moment it seemed he was smiling. His teeth were bare, his eyes red with an inner fire. “Yes,” Tanner said. “Praise.”
TWENTY
15 HOURS, 12 MINUTES
THE GAS STATION was dark. Everything was dark.
Zil looked up at that sky. Stars shone. Amazingly bright and sharp. Black night, brilliant, eye-piercing white stars.
Zil was no poet, but he could understand why people got sort of mesmerized by stars. Lots of great, important people must have looked up at the stars when they were on the edge, getting ready to do the things that would mark them forever as great.
Too bad these weren’t real stars.
Hank appeared, like a ghost. He was with Antoine. Zil saw others in the darkness beside the highway, already gathered. Milling together, scared, nervous, most ready to run like rabbits probably.
“Leader,” Hank said in an intense whisper.
“Hank,” Zil answered, his voice reassuringly calm.
“The Human Crew awaits your orders.”
A murmur of many voices. Scared sheep bleating together, trying to keep their courage up.
Lance was there. “I checked it out. Four of Edilio’s soldiers. Two of them asleep. No freaks, as far as I could see.”
“Good,” Zil said. “If we move fast and get the element of surprise I doubt we’ll even have to hurt anyone.”
“Don’t count on it,” Hank said.
“Whatever happens, it’s meant to be,” Turk said.
“Fate.”
Zil swallowed hard. If he showed any weakness it would be over. “This is the beginning of the end for the freaks,” he said. “Tonight we take Perdido Beach back for humans.”
“You heard the Leader,” Turk said.
“Let’s go,” Hank said. He had a shotgun as big as he was hanging on his shoulder. He slipped it off and ostentatiously clicked the safety to “off.”
And then, they were on the move. Walking fast. Zil in the lead with Hank on one side and Lance on the other and Antoine waddling along with Turk in the second row.
No one spotted them as they emerged up onto the highway. Or as they marched in quick-step past the battered old sign showing gas prices.
Past the first pump before a voice cried out, “Hey!”
They kept moving, breaking now into an exhilarating run.
“Hey! Hey!” the voice cried again.
A boy, Zil didn’t know his name, was yelling and then a second voice was shouting, “What’s happening?”
BLAM!
The sound was deafening. A dagger of yellow fire from the blast.
Hank’s shotgun.
The first boy fell back hard.
Zil almost cried out. Almost yelled “Stop.” Almost said “You don’t need to . . .”
But it was too late for that. Too late.
The second soldier raised his own gun, but hesitated. Hank did not.
BLAM!
The second soldier turned and ran. He threw his gun down and ran.
More voices yelling in fear and confusion. Gunfire. Here. There. Wild blasting, everyone who could, explosions of light in the dark.
“Cease fire!” Hank yelled.
The firing continued. But it was all coming from Zil’s own side now.
“Knock it off!” Zil shouted.
The explosions stopped.
Zil’s ears rang. From far off a pitiful voice cried. Cried like a baby.
For a long moment no one said or did anything. The boy who lay on his back made no sound. Zil did not take a closer look.
“Okay, follow the plan,” Hank said, as calmly as if all this was just a video game he’d put on pause.
Kids who had been tasked with bringing bottles began to unload them. Lance went to the hand-pump that brought gasoline up from the underground storage. He began to work it and fill glass bottles held by shaking hands.
“I can’t believe it,” someone said.
“We did it!” one exulted.
“Not yet,” Zil growled. “But it’s beginning.”
Hank said, “Remember: Stuff the rags far down into the bottle like I told you. And keep your lighters dry.”
They found a wheelbarrow in the weeds behind the station. It didn’t roll very well—the wheel was lopsided—but it worked to hold the bottles.
The smell of gasoline was thick in Zil’s throat. He was stressing, waiting for the counterattack. Waiting to see Sam striding up, hands blazing.
That would end it all.
But no matter how hard he peered into the black night, Zil did not see the one freak who would stop him.
Little Pete made a grunting sound as he pushed the buttons and worked the trackpad of his handheld.
Sam sat silent, withdrawn. He had said nothing since Taylor had hauled him through the door and woken Astrid from a fretful sleep.
It was stupid, Astrid realized, not talking to Sam. When Taylor had awakened her, she’d imagined somehow, in her sleepy confusion, that Sam had come running back, all forgiven.
But then Taylor had said she’d be back with the rest of the council and Astrid knew something had gone wrong.
Now they were all there. Well, most of them. Word was Dekka was sick with whatever was going around. But Albert was there, and really, Astrid admitted to herself, so long as Albert and Astrid were there, the important members of the council were present.
Unfortunately, Howard had also come. No one wanted to drag John out into the night. He could hear about it all later.
They had enough. Astrid, Albert, Howard, and Sam. Five out of seven. And, Astrid couldn’t help but note, any vote would be more likely to go in her favor.
They were at the table beneath an eerie Sammy Sun.
“Okay, Taylor, since Sam doesn’t exactly seem talkative,” Astrid said, “why are we all here?”
“A kid got murdered tonight,” Taylor said.
A hundred
questions popped into Astrid’s head, but she asked the most important one first. “Who was it?”
“Edilio says he thinks it’s Juanito. Or Leonard.”
“He thinks?”
“Kind of hard to tell,” Taylor said, not quite smirking.
“What happened?” Albert asked.
Taylor looked at Sam. Sam said nothing. He stared. First at his own light, hovering in the air. Then at Taylor. He looked pale and almost frail. Like he was suddenly a much, much older person.
“Kid was whipped,” Taylor said. “It looked like what happened to Sam.”
Sam lowered his head and wrapped his hands behind his neck. He seemed to be trying to hold on to his head, pressing it hard like it might explode.
“Drake’s dead,” Albert said. Sounding like a guy who really, really hoped it was true. “He’s dead. He’s been dead.”
“Yeah, well . . . ,” Taylor said.
“Yeah well, what?” Astrid asked, instantly hearing the change in her tone of voice, the evasion.
Taylor shifted uncomfortably. “Look, Edilio told me to bring Sam here and get you guys together. I think Sam is kind of, you know, flashing on stuff that happened.”
“That boy was whipped. Just like I was,” Sam said to the floor. “I know the marks. I . . .”
“It doesn’t mean it was Drake,” Albert said.
“Drake’s dead,” Astrid said. “Dead people don’t come back. Let’s not be ridiculous.”
Howard made a derisive snort. “Okay. That’s as far as I go with you on this, Sammy boy.” He made a hand-washing gesture.
Astrid slammed her palm on the table, surprising even herself. “Somebody better tell me what all these back-and-forth looks are about.”
“Brittney,” Howard said, spitting the name out like it was poison. “She came back. Sam had her and stuck her with Brianna, and told me not to talk about it.”
“Brittney?” Astrid said, confused.
Howard said, “Yeah. You know, like dead-girl Brittney? Way dead? Dead a long time and buried a long time and suddenly she’s sitting in my house chatting? That Brittney.”
“I’m still not . . .”
“Well, Astrid,” Howard said, “I guess we just found the limits of your big old genius brain. Point is that someone who was very seriously dead is suddenly not so dead anymore.”
“But . . . ,” Astrid started. “But Drake . . .”
“As dead as Brittney,” Howard said. “Which might be a slight problem, since Brittney isn’t exactly dead herself.”
Astrid felt sick to her stomach. No. Surely not. Impossible. Insane. Not even here, not even in the FAYZ.
But Howard wasn’t lying. Taylor’s expression confirmed that. And Sam wasn’t jumping up to dispute it, either.
Astrid stood up. She stared hard at Sam. She could feel a throbbing in her head. “You didn’t tell me? This is happening and you didn’t tell the council?”
Sam barely glanced up.
“He didn’t tell you, Astrid,” Howard said, obviously enjoying the moment.
A part of Astrid felt sorry for Sam. She knew he was still a long way from being over the beating he had taken from Drake. One look at him now, head hung, looking small and scared, was proof of that.
But he wasn’t the only one to be terrorized by Drake. Drake had come after her, early on. If she thought about it, she could still almost feel the sting of his slap on her face.
He’d made her . . .
He’d bullied her into calling Little Pete a retard. He’d terrorized her into betraying the person she loved most in the world.
She had managed to put it out of her mind. Why couldn’t Sam do the same?
Howard laughed. “Sammy didn’t want people using the ‘Z’ word.”
“The what?” Astrid snapped.
“Zombie.” Howard made a booga-booga face and stretched his hands out like a sleepwalker.
“Taylor, get out of here,” Astrid said.
“Hey, I—”
“This is council business now,” Astrid said, putting all the frost she could command into her voice.
Taylor hesitated, looked to Sam for guidance. He didn’t look up or stir. Taylor took a second to give Astrid a middle-finger salute and then popped out of the room.
“Sam, I know you’re upset over what happened with you and Drake,” Astrid began.
“Upset?” Sam echoed the word with an ironic smirk.
“But that’s no excuse for you keeping secrets from us.”
“Yeah,” Howard said, “Don’t you know only Astrid is allowed to keep secrets?”
“Shut up, Howard,” Astrid snapped.
“Yeah, we get to lie because we’re the smart ones,” Howard said. “Not like all those idiots out there.”
Astrid turned her attention back to Sam. “This is not okay, Sam. The council has the responsibility. Not you alone.”
Sam looked like he could not care less about what she was saying. He looked almost beyond reach, indifferent to what was going on around him.
“Hey,” Astrid said. “We’re talking to you.”
That did it. His jaw clenched. His head snapped up. His eyes blazed. “Don’t push me. That wasn’t you with your skin whipped off and covered in blood. That was me. That was me who went down into that mine shaft to try to fight the gaiaphage.”
Astrid blinked. “No one is minimizing what you’ve done, Sam. You’re a hero. But at the same time—”
Sam was on his feet. “At the same time? At the same time you were here in town. Edilio had a bullet in his chest. Dekka was torn to pieces. I was trying not to scream from the . . . You and Albert and Howard, you weren’t there, were you?”
“I was busy standing up to Zil, trying to save Hunter’s life,” Astrid yelled.
“But it wasn’t you and your big words, was it? It was Orc who stopped Zil. And he was there because I sent him to rescue you. Me!” He stabbed a finger at his own chest, actually making what looked like painful impact. “Me! Me and Brianna and Dekka and Edilio! And poor Duck.”
Suddenly, there was Taylor again. “Hey! One of Edilio’s soldiers just came staggering in from the gas station. He says someone attacked, took the place over.”
That silenced the argument.
Sam, with exquisite contempt, turned to his girlfriend and said, “You want to go deal with it, Astrid?”
Astrid flushed red.
“No? I didn’t think so. Guess it will be up to me then.”
He left silence in his wake.
“Maybe we better pass some laws real quick so Sam can save our butts legally,” Howard said.
“Howard, go get Orc,” Albert said.
“Now you’re giving me orders, Albert?” Howard shook his head. “I don’t think so. Not you or her,” he said, jerking a thumb at Astrid. “You may not think much of me, you two, but at least I know who saves our butts. And if I got to take orders from someone, it’ll be the someone who just walked out of here.”
TWENTY-ONE
14 HOURS, 44 MINUTES
“FIND EDILIO AND Dekka and Brianna,” Sam told Taylor. “Edilio and Dekka to the gas station. Brianna on the streets. We’re going to deal with Zil.”
For once, Taylor did not argue. She bounced away.
He took a deep breath of cold night air and tried to get his head together. Zil. Had to stop him.
But all he could see was Drake. Drake in the shadows. Drake behind bushes and trees. Drake with his whip hand.
Drake, not Zil.
He squeezed his eyes shut. It would be different this time. Back then he’d had no choice but to let Drake take him. No choice but to stand there and endure . . . and endure . . .
He noticed Howard coming up behind him. It surprised him a little, until he realized Howard would see it as an opportunity to use Orc for profit.
“Howard? What kind of shape is Orc in?”
Howard shrugged. “Passed out, dead drunk.”
Sam cursed under his breath. “See if yo
u can get him up.”
He tossed out the orders on automatic. Not needing to think about it. But he still felt like he was in a dream. Not quite focusing.
Drake. Somehow that animal was back. Somehow he was alive.
How was he supposed to fight something that could not be killed? Zil he could handle. But Drake? A Drake who could return from the dead?
I’ll burn him, Sam told himself. I’ll burn him inch by inch. I’ll turn him into a piece of charcoal. I’ll reduce him to ashes.
And scatter the ashes over a mile of sea and land.
Kill him. Destroy him. Destroy the remains of the remains of the remains.
Let him come back from that.
“If I get Orc up, it will cost you,” Howard said. “He’s fought Drake before.”
“I’ll burn him down,” Sam muttered to himself. “I’ll kill him myself.”
Howard seemed to think this was directed at either Orc or him, and scuttled off as quickly as he could without another word.
It wasn’t far to the gas station. Just a few blocks.
Sam walked down the middle of the street. No lights. Silence. His footsteps echoed.
He walked on legs stiff with fear.
He had forgotten to tell Taylor to get Lana. Lana would be needed. Taylor would figure it out, though. Smart girl, Taylor.
He remembered Lana’s healing touch that day as the last effects of the morphine wore off and the pain, like a tidal wave of fire, consumed him. Her touch, and the wave had slowly receded.
He had screamed. He was sure of that.
He had screamed until his throat was raw. And in nightmares since that day.
“Ashes,” Sam said.
Alone on the dark street. Walking toward the thing he feared most in the world.
Astrid was shaking. Every type of emotion. Fear. Fury. Even hate.
And love.
“Albert, I don’t know how long we can keep Sam involved at all,” she said.
“You’re upset,” Albert replied.
“Yes, I’m upset. But that’s not the point. Sam is out of control. If we’re ever going to have a working system we may have to find someone else to play the role of savior.”
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