Gone Series Complete Collection

by Grant, Michael

  “I don’t have a lot of friends,” Dekka interrupted. Her voice was still shaky. Whatever had happened to her back there, it must have been pretty bad. Because as far as Orc was concerned Dekka was a hard, hard girl. Howard always said that about her. Sometimes he would call Dekka names. Probably because Dekka had this way of looking at Howard, like her face would be down, but her eyes would be on him, like they were watching him through her own eyebrows, kind of. And from that direction all you saw were these cornrows and her broad forehead and those hard eyes.

  “Sam,” Orc said.

  “Yeah.” Dekka’s voice softened. “Sam.”

  “Edilio.”

  “We work together. We’re not really friends. How about you and Sinder? She likes you okay.”

  The idea surprised Orc. “She’s nice to me,” he admitted. He thought it over a little more. “She’s pretty, too.”

  “I wasn’t saying she liked you that way.”

  “Oh. No. I knew that,” Orc said, feeling as if he’d be blushing if he had more than a few inches of skin left. “That’s not what I was talking about. No.” He forced a laugh. “That kind of stuff, that’s not for me. Not a lot of girls are interested in someone like me.” He didn’t want it to sound like he was feeling sorry for himself, but it probably did.

  “Yeah, well, it turns out there aren’t a lot of girls interested in me, either,” Dekka said.

  “You mean boys.”

  “No. I mean girls.”

  Orc missed a step, he was so shocked. “You’re one of those lesbos?”

  “I’m a lesbian. And I’m not one of those anything in this place; it looks like I’m the only one of those.”

  This was making Orc feel very uncomfortable. Lesbo was just a name to call some ugly girl back when he’d been at school. He hadn’t really thought much about it. And now he had to think about it.

  Then a thought occurred to him. “Hey, so you’re like me.”

  “What?”

  “An only. Like me. I’m the only one like me,” Orc said.

  He heard a derisive snort from Dekka. It was an annoyed sound, not a happy laugh. But it was the best she’d come up with so far.

  “Yeah,” Orc went on. “You and me, we’re onlies is what we are. The only person made out of rocks and the only lesbo.”

  “Lesbian,” Dekka corrected. But she didn’t sound that mad.

  Something smacked Orc’s head and poked at his eyes. “Careful. There’s a tree. Grab my waist and I’ll go around it.”

  Lana was right. It wasn’t long before trouble started. Quinn stopped a kid who had taken a burning stick from the fire and was heading toward his home.

  “I just want to get my stuff.”

  “No fire outside the plaza,” Quinn said. “Sorry, man, but we don’t want another Zil thing with the whole town going up in flames.”

  “Then give me a flashlight.”

  “We don’t have any to—”

  “Then mind your own business. You’re just a stupid fisherman.”

  Quinn had grabbed the torch. The kid tried to rip it away, but he, unlike Quinn, had not spent months with his hands gripping an oar.

  Quinn wrested the torch away easily. “You can go where you want. But not with fire.”

  He’d escorted the kid back to the plaza just in time to see two torches heading away on the far side of the plaza.

  Quinn cursed and sent some of his people after them. But the fishing crews were exhausted. They’d been chopping wood and dragging it and sawing it and distributing food and organizing a slit trench.

  Lana had been right. She was looking at him now, not saying it, but knowing he was coming to the same conclusion.

  “Caine,” Quinn said. “Do you have it back?”

  Caine had disappeared for a while. Later Quinn realized he’d walked down to the ocean and washed himself up. His clothing was wet but more or less clean. His hair was slicked back, and the scars of the staples Penny had driven into his head had been healed by Lana.

  His hands—the backs, at least—were still covered in anywhere from an eighth of an inch to half an inch of cement. He had a hard time articulating his fingers. But his palms were mostly clean.

  He looked gray, even by firelight. He looked like a much older person, like he had gone straight from handsome teenager to weary, beaten old man.

  But when he stood he held himself with some dignity.

  Caine turned toward the steps. The church had been emptied of anything that would burn. The last of the roof had come down with a sequence of crashes that sent dust billowing out to spark the bonfire. Now the tired crews were tearing handrails and old wooden office chairs, framed pictures and broken-up desks out of the town hall building.

  Caine focused on the largest fragment, most of a desk. He extended his hand, palm out.

  The desk rose from the ground.

  It sailed through the air over upturned faces. Caine set it gently atop the burning pile.

  Quinn braced himself for an announcement by Caine that he was back. That he was in charge. That he was still king. And the sad reality was that Quinn would have welcomed it: being in charge of all this was more than he wanted to handle.

  “Let me know what else I can do,” Caine said quietly. Then he sat down, cross-legged, and stared into the fire.

  Lana sauntered over. “Have to admit: the guy has a genius for doing the wrong thing. We actually need him to be the bad guy, and suddenly he’s Mr. Meek and Mild.”

  Quinn was too tired to think of some clever retort. His shoulders sagged. He let his head drop down. “I wish I knew how long we had to keep it together.”

  “Until we can’t,” Lana said.

  The panic started then. There was no cause that Quinn could see. Suddenly kids on the far side of the fire were shouting and some were squealing. Maybe nothing more than a rat passing through.

  But those beside them didn’t know what it was and the panic spread lightning-quick.

  Lana cursed and started running. Quinn was right behind her. But the panic came to meet them, kids suddenly screaming without knowing why, running, circling back to the fire, getting spooked and running again, knocking one another over, yelling.

  Sanjit’s sister, Peace, knocked into Quinn. He grabbed her shoulders and yelled, “What is it?”

  She had no answer, just shook her head and pulled away.

  A kid ran into the darkness. His clothing was on fire; the flames streamed behind him as he fled screaming. Dahra Baidoo tackled him like a football player and rolled him over to kill the flames.

  Other kids grabbed torches and formed into knots and paranoid clusters, back-to-back like ancient warriors surrounded by foes.

  And then to Quinn’s utter horror a girl ran straight into the fire. She was screaming, “Mommy! Mommy!”

  He leaped to cut her off, but he was too late. The heat drove him back as he cried, “No! No! No!”

  Then, as if grabbed by a divine hand, the girl came flying back out of the fire. She was rolled across the ground. It was rough but effective. The fire that had just caught onto her shorts went out.

  Quinn turned, grateful, to Caine. But Caine did not look at him. Quinn heard Lana shouting at kids, telling them to stop acting like idiots, to calm down.

  Some listened. Others did not. More than one lit torch went off into the darkness. Quinn wondered how long it would be before he started seeing fires throughout this poor, beaten town.

  Lana came storming back, furious, practically spitting with rage. “No one even knows what it was. Some idiot yelled something and off they went. Like cattle. I hate people.”

  “Do we go after the ones that got away?” Quinn wondered aloud.

  But Lana wasn’t ready for a calm discussion. “I really, sometimes, really just hate them all.”

  She threw herself down on the steps. Quinn noticed a slight smile on Caine’s lips. Caine favored him with a curious look. “Question for you, Quinn: how long would you have stayed on strike?”r />
  “What?”

  “Well, seemed to me like you were ready to have all these people go hungry over Cigar.”

  Quinn rested his fists on his sides. “How long would you have defended Penny?”

  Caine made a small laugh. “Being in charge. It’s not easy, is it?”

  “I haven’t tortured anyone, Caine. I haven’t turned anyone over to some psycho girl who’ll drive them insane.”

  Caine sagged a little at that. He looked away. “Yeah, well . . . You pretty much had me beat, Quinn. Albert was already thinking about how he’d get rid of me, not whether.”

  “Albert had his escape plans ready.”

  Caine’s eyes glinted in the firelight. “We’ll see. I liked that island. Never should have left. Diana told me not to. There are other boats. Just maybe I’ll pay old Albert a visit one of these days.”

  “You should do that,” Quinn said. He was remembering the sight of those tiny eyes like beans in the blackened sockets of Cigar’s head. Let Caine go after the island. It might be good to see whether those missiles Albert claimed to have would work.

  But Caine seemed already to have lost interest in Quinn’s anger. “More likely we’re all dead soon,” he said.

  “Yeah,” Quinn agreed.

  “I would have liked to see Diana again. No baby now.”

  “Are you relieved?” Lana asked harshly.

  Caine thought it over for so long it seemed he’d forgotten the question. Then at last, “No. Just kind of sad.”

  THIRTY-THREE

  5 HOURS, 12 MINUTES

  WAS THAT LIGHT?

  Astrid opened her eyes wide. Stared.

  Yes. An orange glow. A fire.

  A fire!

  “Cigar, I think I see town. I think I see a fire.”

  “I see it, too. Like devils dancing!”

  They walked forward eagerly. Astrid registered the fact that the ground beneath her boots was no longer flat and hard and occasionally interrupted by some unnamed weed, but had become bumpier, dry clods of dirt that tripped her as they rose and formed rows and from those rows rose neatly ordered plants.

  What she noticed was the light.

  And then Cigar’s screams.

  But Cigar screamed a lot, so Astrid kept walking and ignored his mad shrieks that something was in his feet.

  Then it all came together and Astrid knew. She felt something pushing at the leather of her boot.

  “Zekes!” she cried, and stumbled back, fell down, jumped up like the ground was electrified, crawled, stood, ran back, back until the ground was hard and flat again.

  She fumbled in the dark, fingers searching for and then finding the whipping worm, its head already through the leather and touching her flesh, and she got her hands around it even though it fought, and she pulled at it with all her strength and it came free and whipped around, quick as a cobra, and sank its nasty, tooth-ringed mouth into her arm, but she had the tail and yelled, “No! No!” and then it was away from her.

  She had thrown it. Somewhere.

  Cigar cried pitiably.

  And then, so much more terrible, laughed and laughed in the dark.

  Astrid with shaking hands grabbed the shotgun and fired it once.

  She saw the edge of the field.

  She saw Cigar frozen in a twisting fall.

  He was in the field.

  She heard the greedy mouths burrowing into him. A sound like hungry dogs eating.

  “Petey! Petey! Help him!”

  Cigar said, “Oh,” in a small, disappointed voice.

  And the only sound in the darkness was the relentless feeding of the worms.

  She sat there listening, no choice but to hear. Tears flowed. She sat with her knees together, head in twisting hands, crying.

  How much time passed until the worm sounds were finished she couldn’t know. The stink . . . that remained.

  She was alone now. Completely and absolutely alone in a darkness that seemed almost like a living thing, as if she had been swallowed whole and was now in the belly of some indifferent beast.

  “All right, Petey,” Astrid said at last. “No choice, huh, brother? The crazy behind door number one or the crazy behind door number two. Show me what you have to show me, Peter.”

  She saw him. Not him, not like there was light, but something, like the darkness had warped around itself. A suggestion of a shape. A little boy.

  “Are you there?” she asked.

  Something cold, like someone had slid an icicle through her scalp and through her skull and pushed it deep inside her brain. No pain. Just a terrible cold.

  “Petey?” she whispered.

  Peter Ellison did not move. He stayed very, very still. His hand touched her on the head, but only just, just barely, and he stayed very still.

  The avatar that was his sister had within it an amazing complexity of lines and designs, signs inside of mazes inside of maps that were part of planets and . . .

  He pulled himself back. Inside her was a game of such beautiful complexity.

  This was what it was to be the girl with the yellow hair and the stabbing blue eyes. It took his breath away. Or would have if he had breath and body.

  He mustn’t play with those complex swirls and patterns. Each time he had tried he’d broken the avatar and it had come apart. He couldn’t break this one.

  It’s me, Petey, he said.

  The avatar shuddered. Patterns twisted around his touch, feeling for him like tiny light-snakes.

  “Can you fix it, Petey? The FAYZ. Can you make it stop?”

  He could hear her voice. It came straight up through the avatar, words of light floating to him.

  He wondered. Could he fix it? Could he undo the great and terrible thing he had done?

  He felt the answer as a sort of regret. He reached for the power, the thing that had made him able to create this place. But there was nothing there.

  It was in my body, he said. The power.

  “You can’t end it?”

  No.

  No, sister Astrid, I can’t.

  I’m sorry.

  “Can you bring the light back?”

  He pulled away. Her questions made him feel bad inside.

  “No. Don’t go away,” she said.

  He had memories of how much her voice had hurt when he was the old Pete. When he had a body, with a brain all wired crazily so that things were always too loud, even colors.

  He stopped moving away. He resisted an urge to reach inside that mesmerizing avatar and take its sadness away. But no, his fingers were too clumsy. He knew that now. The girl named Taylor, he had tried to make her better, and he had torn the avatar to shreds.

  “Petey. What is the Darkness doing?”

  Pete considered. He hadn’t looked at that thing lately. He could see him, a green glow, tendrils like a writhing octopus reaching out through the placeless place where Pete now lived.

  The Darkness was weak. His power, spread all through the barrier, was weakening. He was the thing Pete had used to create the barrier. In that panic moment with the terrible loud sounds and the fear on all the faces, when Pete had screamed inside his own head and reached out with his power he’d stretched the Darkness into that barrier.

  Now it was weakening. Soon it would break and crack.

  Dying.

  “The Darkness, the gaiaphage, it’s dying?”

  It wants to be reborn.

  “Petey. What happens if it is reborn?”

  He didn’t know. He was out of words. He opened his mind to her. He showed sister Astrid images of the great sphere he had built, the barrier that had pushed all the rules and laws away, the barrier made of the gaiaphage, that had become the egg for its rebirth, the numbers all twisted together, fourteen, and the twisting, screaming distortion when anything passed through from one universe to the other, and now sister Astrid was screaming and holding her head; he could see it in the avatar, funny screaming, like words that popped and exploded around him and—

&
nbsp; He pulled away.

  He was hurting her.

  He’d done it. With his clumsy fingers and his stupid, stupid stupidness, he had hurt her.

  Her avatar twirled away like a snowflake in a storm.

  Petey turned and ran.

  “Oh, God, it’s coming!” Diana screamed.

  She was sweating, straining, on her back with her legs spread wide, knees up. The contractions were just minutes apart now, but they lasted so long it was as if she had no rest in between, just a chance to gasp some super-heated fetid air.

  She had no more energy for crying. Her body had taken control. It was doing what it was supposed to do five months from now. She was not ready. The baby was not ready. But the enormous swell of her belly said different. It said the time was now.

  Now!

  Who was there to help her in this? No one. Drake stared in horrified fascination. Penny curled her lip with contempt. Neither of them interfered or spoke, because it was clear, clear to anyone with a heart or brain, that the only other thing in the room that cared about the baby was the pulsing green monster.

  Diana felt its hungry will.

  Doom for her baby.

  She had known there would be pain. And while it was bad, it was not as bad as the stroke of Drake’s whip.

  It was not the pain that made her cry out, but the despair, the certain knowledge that she would never be the baby’s mother. That she would fail even at this. The deadening reality that she was unforgiven, still an exile from the human race, that she still bore the mark of her evil deeds.

  The taste of human flesh.

  She had been so hungry. So close to death.

  I’ve said I’m sorry, I repented, I begged for forgiveness; what do you want from me? Why won’t you help this baby?

  Penny moved closer, careful of her damaged, bloody feet. She leaned down to look at Diana’s straining face.

  “She’s praying,” Penny said. Penny laughed. “Should I give her a god to pray to? I can make her see whatever—”

  Through a veil of bloody tears Diana saw Penny reel back. Like a marionette she slammed hard, face-first into a wall.

  Drake laughed. “Stupid chick. If the gaiaphage wants something, he’ll let you know. Otherwise it’s best not to spend a lot of time down here thinking about how powerful you are. There’s only one god down here, and it’s not Diana’s, and it sure isn’t you, Penny.”