Gone Series Complete Collection
Page 187
Caine, groggy, injured, stood up.
But something was wrong about it. Caine was leaning on something, propping himself up, then pulling his hand sharply away.
From the barrier.
Drake hit the wall. He ran with his whip hand lashing straight into something unyielding but invisible.
The adults, the women, the soldiers, all stared, mouths open.
They were seeing!
Seeing Diana screaming.
Seeing Drake lashing viciously in every direction with his whip.
Seeing the brutally pulverized head and face of a young girl named Penny driven half into the pavement.
Seeing a little girl, a toddler, untouched, unharmed by Sam’s now-extinguished light.
Faces everywhere. They pressed closer; they tried to walk, but Sam could see them touching, then jumping back from the barrier.
The barrier was still there. But now it was transparent.
Sam’s heart seemed to stop. One face suddenly came into focus.
His mother.
His mother mouthing some unhearable words and looking at him as Sam aimed his palms toward the defenseless little girl.
He couldn’t stop. He had stopped once before. No: he couldn’t stop.
Sam’s light burned.
His mother’s face, all the faces, all of them screaming soundlessly. No! Noooo!
The little girl’s hair caught fire. It flamed magnificently, for she had her mother’s lush dark hair.
Sam fired again and the little girl’s flesh burned at last.
But all the while the girl, the gaiaphage, its face turned away from onlookers, stared at Sam in undiminished fury. The blue eyes never looked away. Her angelic mouth leered in a knowing grin even as it burned.
Until at last, the gaiaphage was a pillar of flame, all features obscured.
Sam stopped firing.
The baby, the child, the monster, the devil, turned and ran back down the highway.
Diana, her face a twisted mask, ran after her.
Drake, eyes hollow and vacant, horrified, turned and ran, lashing impotently at nothing.
Sam and Caine were left standing side by side, bruised and battered, to stare over Penny’s sickening corpse, at the face of their mother.
LATER
A HELICOPTER HAD arrived overhead. It was decorated with the logo of a news station out of Santa Barbara. It made no sound, of course—the dome was still impervious to noise—but Astrid could see faces in the cockpit, and could guess at the telephoto camera lens aimed down at them.
The helicopter’s view was slightly hampered now by the fact that outside, out there beyond that diamond-hard, glass-clear barrier, it was raining. The drops splatted on the dome and then ran down in streams.
Along the inside of the barrier, on both sides of the highway, kids stood as close as they could get to the outside. Three or four dozen kids had come so far, rushing from Perdido Beach. At first all they saw were the soldiers and the state cops who had raced up with lights flashing, the helicopter, and a handful of parents.
But more parents were arriving in cars and SUVs from their new homes in Arroyo Grande, Santa Maria, and Orcutt. The parents who had found new places to live farther away, in Santa Barbara or Los Angeles, would take a while longer to get here.
Some of the parents were holding up signs.
Where is Charlie?
Where is Bette?
We love you! With the ink bleeding from the rain.
We miss you!
Are you okay?
There wasn’t much paper left in the FAYZ, and kids had come at a run, not even waiting to grab anything. But some found pieces of wallboard or tattered windblown scraps of cardboard, and used bits of gravel to write back.
I love you, too.
Tell my mom I’m okay!
Help us.
And all of this was watched by the TV camera on the helicopter, and the people, the adults—parents and cops and gawkers. Half a dozen smartphones were snapping pictures and shooting video. Astrid knew that more, many, many more, would come.
There were boats beginning to appear on the ocean outside the dome. And they, too, stared with binoculars and telephoto lenses.
An old couple came running from a motorhome, scribbling as they ran. Their sign read, Can you check on our cat, Ariel?
No one would answer that, because the cats had all been eaten.
Where is my daughter? And a name.
Where is my son? And a name.
And whose job was it, Astrid wondered bitterly, to write the answers? Dead. Dead. Died of carnivorous worms. Died of a coyote attack.
Murdered in a fight over a bag of chips.
Dead of suicide.
Dead because she was playing with matches and we don’t exactly have a fire department.
Killed because it was the only way we could deal with him.
How did one explain to all those watching eyes what life was like inside the FAYZ?
Then a familiar car that almost rear-ended a parked police cruiser. A man jumped out. A woman moved slowly, unsteady. Astrid’s mother and father came to the barrier. Her father was holding her mother up, as though she might collapse.
The sight of them tore Astrid apart. The adults and older teens who had been in the FAYZ area when Petey had performed his mad miracle had obviously made it out. How many thousands of hours had Astrid spent trying to figure it out, trying to walk through each possible outcome? Parents dead, parents alive, parents all off in some parallel universe, parents with all memory rewritten, parents erased from past as well as present.
Now they were back, crying, waving, staring, carrying loads of emotional baggage and demanding explanations that most kids—Astrid included—could not somehow reduce to a few words scratched on a piece of plaster, or gouged with a nail on a piece of wood.
Where is Petey?
Astrid’s mother held that sign. She’d written it with a Magic Marker on the side of a canvas bag, because now the rain was too intense to allow for paper.
Astrid stared at it for a long time. And in the end she could manage no answer better than a shrug and a shake of her head.
I don’t know where Petey is.
I don’t even know what Petey is.
Sam was beside her, not touching her, not with so many eyes watching. She wanted to lean against him. She wanted to close her eyes and, when she opened them again, be with him up at the lake.
Desperate months had gone by when all Astrid had wanted was to be out of this place and back in her old life as her parents’ loving daughter. Now she could barely stand to look at them. Now she sought desperately for an excuse to leave. They were strangers. And she knew, as Sam had always known, that they would in the end be accusers.
They were a stab in her heart when she just could not take any more, when she just could not start to feel any more. Too much. She couldn’t switch suddenly from one despair to a different despair.
Dekka stood behind Sam with her arms crossed, almost as if she were hiding. Quinn and Lana stood a little apart, just marveling at the sight of the outside world, but having as yet no faces to connect with.
“We’re monkeys in a zoo,” Sam said.
“No,” Astrid said. “People like monkeys. Look at the way they look at us. Imagine what they’re seeing.”
“I’ve been picturing it since the beginning.”
Astrid nodded. “Yeah.”
“You want to know what they see? What my mother sees? A boy who fired light from his hands and tried to incinerate a baby,” Sam said harshly. “They saw me burn a child. No explanation will ever change that.”
“We look like savages. Filthy and starved, dressed like street people,” Astrid said. “Weapons everywhere. A girl lying dead with a rock crushing her brains.” She looked at her mother and oh, there was no avoiding her mother’s look of . . . of what? Not joy. Not relief.
Horror.
Distance.
Both sides, parents and childr
en, now saw the huge gulf that had opened up between them. Astrid’s father seemed small. Her mother looked old. They both were like ancient photographs of themselves, not like real people. Not as real as her memories of them.
Astrid felt as if their eyes were looking through her, searching for a memory of their daughter. Like they didn’t want to see her, but some girl she had long since ceased to be.
Brianna came zooming up, a welcome distraction that caused silent faces on the other side to form round circles with their mouths: Ooh. Ahh. And hands to point and cameras to swivel. Brianna gave a little salute and a wave.
“She’s ready for her close-up,” Dekka said dryly.
“Is it bright in here, or is it just me?” Brianna said. Then she drew her machete, whirled it at ten times human speed, stopped, sheathed it again, and executed a little bow to the baffled and appalled onlookers. “Yes. Yes: I will play myself in the movie. The Breeze is way beyond special effects.”
Astrid breathed for what felt like the first time in a long while. She was thankful Brianna had broken at least some of the tension.
“By the way, back to business: they’re headed into the desert,” Brianna announced to Sam. “A happy little crew, Mom and daughter and Uncle Whip Hand. I got a little too close and that baby nearly buried me under about a ton of rock. That is one bad baby.”
Brianna nodded, satisfied. “That can be my tagline. ‘That is one bad baby.’”
“No, no,” Dekka said. “Just: no.”
Astrid smiled, and her mother thought it was meant for her and smiled back.
“I saw someone recording it,” Sam said. “Me burning that . . . that creature. You know what they’ll see? You know what people out there will think?”
Astrid knew he was jumping out of his skin. She could see—anyone could see—the look of horror on Connie Temple’s face every time she looked at her son.
“Son,” singular, for Caine had taken one long look at his mother, turned, and walked away, back to town.
“You’ve been afraid of this for a long time, Sam,” Astrid said in a low voice. “You’ve been afraid of being judged.”
Sam nodded. He looked down at the ground, then at Astrid. She had expected to see sadness there. Maybe guilt. She almost cried out with relief when she saw the eyes of the boy who had never backed down. She saw the eyes of the boy who had first stepped forward to fight Orc and later Caine and Drake and Penny.
She saw Sam Temple. Her Sam Temple.
“Well,” Sam said, “I guess they’ll think what they want to think.”
“It’s getting dark out there,” Dekka said. “When night comes, we’d better get Penny out of there. Bury her. Everyone who shows up stares at—”
Dekka fell silent, because Sam was moving. He walked purposefully to the spot where Penny’s body lay, her head crushed beneath a rock, like some grotesque parody of the Wicked Witch of the East.
Cameras tracked Sam’s movement.
Eyes—many of them hostile, condemning—traced his every step.
Sam looked straight at the cameras. Then he looked at his mother. Astrid held her breath.
Then Sam systematically, thoroughly, incinerated Penny’s body. Until nothing but ash was left.
Connie Temple stood still as a statue, refusing to look away.
When Sam was finished, he nodded once at his mother, turned his back, and walked over to Astrid. “She will not be buried in the plaza with good kids who died for no good reason. If we’re looking for people to bury, we’ll find what’s left of Cigar and Taylor.”
Lana shook her head just slightly. “I can’t say for sure that Taylor is dead. Or that she’s alive.”
Sam nodded. “That’s the kind of thing all those people out there are going to have a hard time understanding. But anyway, there they are, and you know what? We still have kids to feed and a monster to kill.” He reached his hand toward Astrid. “You ready to go?”
Astrid looked past him, over his shoulder, to her mother’s worry-etched face. Then she took Sam’s hand.
“There’s a lot to do,” Sam said to the kids within earshot. His back was turned to the outside. “A lot to do, a lot to work out, and this war is a long way from over. They will be back.” He jerked his head toward the north, where Gaia had fled.
“Quinn,” Sam said. “You want to be in charge of business down here in Perdido Beach? Take over Albert’s job? I think Caine would agree.”
“Absolutely not,” Quinn said. “No. Nooo. No.”
Sam looked a little taken aback. “No? Well, I guess they’ll work something out. Caine and Lana and Edilio and Astrid.”
“I hope they do,” Quinn said fervently. He gave Sam a friendly punch on the shoulder. “Thanks for saving our butts. Again. But me? Dude: I am going fishing.”
Astrid felt she should look back at her parents. Explain that she had to leave. Make some excuse. Stay there to reassure them.
But something fundamental had changed, like a shift in the magnetic poles or a rearranging of the laws of physics. Because she no longer belonged with them. She was no longer theirs.
She was his.
And he was hers.
And this was their world.
PRAISE
FOR THE GONE SERIES
Gone
“This intense, marvelously plotted, paced, and characterized story will immediately garner comparisons to Lord of the Flies or even the long-playing world shifts of Stephen King, with just a dash of X-Men for good measure. A potent mix of action and thoughtfulness—centered around good and evil, courage and cowardice—renders this a tour de force that will leave readers dazed, disturbed, and utterly breathless.”
—ALA Booklist (starred review)
Hunger
“Readers will be unable to avoid involuntarily gasping, shuddering, or flinching while reading this suspense-filled story. The tension starts in the first chapter and does not let up until the end. The story is progressing with smart plot twists, both in actions and emotions.”
—VOYA (starred review)
Plague
“Grant’s sf-fantasy thrillers continue to be the very definition of a page-turner.”
—ALA Booklist
CREDITS
Cover art and design © 2014 by M-80 Design/Wes Youssi
Cover design by Joel Tippie
COPYRIGHT
Katherine Tegen Books is an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers.
FEAR: A GONE NOVEL. Copyright © 2012 by Michael Grant. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
www.epicreads.com
* * *
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Grant, Michael.
Fear : a Gone novel / Michael Grant. — 1st ed.
p. cm. — (Gone)
Summary: As the young residents of Perdido Beach begin to better comprehend the truths of who they are and their relationships to one another, the Darkness finds a new way to be born, bringing their understanding of fear to a new level.
ISBN 978-0-06-144917-8
EPub Edition February 2014 ISBN 9780062099242
[1. Supernatural—Fiction. 2. Good and evil—Fiction. 3. Fear—Fiction. 4. Survival—Fiction.] I. Title.
PZ7.G7671Fe 2012
2011019374
[Fic]—dc23
* * *
14 15 16 17 18 LP/RRDH 12 11 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3
Revised paperback edition, 2014
MAPS
DEDICATION
For Katherine, Jake, and Julia
&nbs
p; EPIGRAPH
Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that.
—Martin Luther King Jr.
CONTENTS
Maps
Dedication
Epigraph
One: 88 HOURS, 39 MINUTES
Two: 78 HOURS, 26 MINUTES
Three: 77 HOURS, 37 MINUTES
Four: 76 HOURS, 52 MINUTES
Five: 74 HOURS, 41 MINUTES
Six: 73 HOURS, 3 MINUTES
Seven: 71 HOURS, 12 MINUTES
Eight: 68 HOURS, 42 MINUTES
Nine: 64 HOURS, 25 MINUTES
Ten: 61 HOURS, 36 MINUTES
Eleven: 52 HOURS, 10 MINUTES
Twelve: 44 HOURS
Thirteen: 40 HOURS, 3 MINUTES
Fourteen: 39 HOURS, 40 MINUTES
Fifteen: 38 HOURS, 58 MINUTES
Sixteen: 35 HOURS, 33 MINUTES
Seventeen: 29 HOURS, 24 MINUTES
Eighteen: 27 HOURS, 13 MINUTES
Nineteen: 25 HOURS, 29 MINUTES
Twenty: 23 HOURS, 8 MINUTES
Twenty-One: 18 HOURS, 57 MINUTES
Twenty-Two: 17 HOURS, 25 MINUTES
Twenty-Three: 15 HOURS, 57 MINUTES
Twenty-Four: 14 HOURS, 22 MINUTES
Twenty-Five: 4 HOURS, 44 MINUTES
Twenty-Six: 2 HOURS, 56 MINUTES
Twenty-Seven: 1 HOURS, 29 MINUTES
Twenty-Eight: 1 HOURS, 10 MINUTES
Twenty-Nine: 42 MINUTES
Thirty: 25 MINUTES
Thirty-One: 11 MINUTES
Thirty-Two: 0 MINUTES
The Toll
Aftermath 1
Aftermath 2
Aftermath 3: THREE MONTHS AFTER THE FAYZ
Aftermath 4
The Thanks
Praise
Credits
Copyright
ONE
88 HOURS, 39 MINUTES
THE LITTLE GIRL’S hair caught fire. It flamed magnificently, for she had her mother’s lush dark hair.