She reached the station wagon, its tailgate smashed beneath the last tree trunk in the barricade. Opening the driver’s door, she reached in and unbuckled the seat belt from around the dead Host’s thighs. Then she nonchalantly yanked him out and dumped him on the ground.
Nick’s father. Killed by Patrick. Now just another dead Host lying among others.
She climbed in and stared at me through the shattered windshield. Streaks of blood marred the hood, along with those fingernail scrapes. “Well,” she said, “get in.”
“Alex. The car is crushed under that tree.”
“Just the back.”
“Not a prayer.”
“Fine,” she said. “Out of my way, please.”
I stepped to the side.
The engine coughed as she turned it over and then died. On her second try, it coughed some more but finally caught. The transmission clanked as she jerked the car into gear, and then she stomped the gas pedal.
The motor roared, the tires spinning, throwing up smoke. The station wagon went nowhere.
I didn’t think it could get louder, but it did.
Bent over the wheel, her face set with determination, Alex gave the engine more gas.
The car remained in place, pinned down by the tree.
“I told you!” I shouted.
Alex either ignored me or couldn’t hear.
I cast a glance at the darkness behind me. A few floating white ovals resolved—faces of Chasers. Then bodies came visible beneath them, making slow progress through the reeds. Some of the Hosts were sunk to their knees, but still they drove themselves on.
The wheels screamed against the tarmac.
The station wagon’s front bumper lifted an inch. The tree made a faint crackling sound against the crunched metal of the tailgate. Perhaps the slightest shift.
The frontline Chasers were now only a few steps from the highway. Legions more appeared behind them.
“Alex! We don’t have time for this!”
She didn’t so much as look up.
All at once the station wagon shot free of the tree, the massive trunk slamming into the ground behind it. The car bolted past me, then screeched to a halt. My mouth gaping in amazement, I watched as Alex leaned over and flung open the passenger door.
“Coming?” she asked.
The closest Chaser pulled her foot free of the muck and set it on the edge of the highway, the others waddling behind her. She was near enough that I could see stringy hair flicking behind the holes bored through her face.
I sprinted over and hopped in. Alex pulled out, the car rattling like crazy, a rear tire whining against the collapsed wheel well.
Alex shot me a little smirk.
She pegged the speedometer at sixty, the car shuddering like it might come apart. After a few miles, smoke started drifting up from the hood. The whine from the back grew louder and louder until the stink of burning rubber filled the car.
After another stretch of highway, we heard the rear tire flap free, the car resettling on its chassis. By some miracle Alex kept us going another few miles on three tires and a rim, sparks flying out behind us. Surprisingly, we spotted no Hosts alongside the road.
Just as we coasted up on the gas station, the engine sputtered and quit. Alex hopped out by the pumps and gave a little bow.
“I gotta admit, Blanton,” I said. “That was impressive as hell.”
We edged into the parking lot, strolling among the vehicles like a couple of car shoppers.
“Well, dear,” she said, taking on a housewife’s demeanor, “the minivan has more room for groceries and is much more sensible, but then again…” She halted by a Mustang and regarded me over the low roof with a wicked smile. “I’ve always thought ‘sensible’ was overrated.”
Seconds later we vroomed out of the gas station, 420 horses rattling our bones against the seats. Alex rolled down her window, sticking her arm out in the wind, and I followed suit. We must’ve looked like some kind of crazy earthbound airplane. We averaged well over a hundred across the valley, slicing past the occasional Mapper, barely slowing until Alex veered onto that dirt road outside of town. Snaking back into the forest, we parked where we’d left the Silverado after our last journey, our tires settling into the same ruts in the mud.
We climbed out, and Alex regarded the woods nervously, her fists clenching around her hockey stick. “Think I’ll be okay on this leg?”
“Do we have a choice?”
“I’m pretty tired, Chance.”
I could tell it was hard for her to admit.
“Slow and steady,” I said.
We pushed into the branches, heading toward town, toward school, toward Patrick. Alex leaned on her hockey stick, using it like a crutch. We hadn’t made it ten steps when we heard a crackling of branches, something moving swiftly toward us.
The sound of a body crashing through underbrush.
I stepped protectively in front of Alex. The crackling grew nearer, nearer.
Chet’s hulking form emerged, shredded clothes swaying about him. One of his hands was gone, the other mangled by Zeus. Bite marks raked his torso and face, and yet he still came at us, drawing back the nub of his arm to strike.
Stepping forward, I swung a baling hook straight down through the top of his head, sinking it a half foot deep.
The weight of the blow sent him to his knees. I kicked him, and he collapsed to the side. Then I set the tread of my boot on his lifeless cheek and ripped the hook free of his skull.
It surprised me how little I felt.
Alex was behind me, drawn back against a tree, her chest rising and falling from the scare.
“You okay?” I asked.
Again she regarded me with that expression I couldn’t quite read.
“Why do you keep looking at me that way?” I asked.
“You’re not who you were,” she said.
I wiped the bloody hook across my jeans. “None of us are anymore.”
She pushed herself off the trunk, balancing on her good leg.
“These woods are full of Hosts,” she said. “You ran into so many on your way to me. I don’t know that I can outrun them.”
“Don’t worry,” I said. “We’ve got friends here.”
“What do you mean?”
I put my fingers in my mouth and gave a sharp whistle.
Nothing.
I stared through the branches, waiting.
“Chance?” Alex looked at me like I was crazy. “What are you doing?”
But already I heard them charging through the foliage, churning up dirt. Alex didn’t have time to get scared before the pack of ridgebacks exploded through the trees, surrounding us, nipping at our hands and butting into us, fighting for attention. Cassius jumped up on me, setting his paws on my chest, licking my face. Smiling, I settled him down.
The others swarmed Alex, who laughed, delighted.
“Come on, boys,” I said. “We need a fanged escort through the woods.” I clapped my hands once. “On guard.”
They folded around us, burying us in the pack as we stumbled toward town. Alex looped an arm over my neck so I could help her limp along. Bypassing the town square, we charted a course that kept us in the trees for as long as possible. If it weren’t for the dogs, we would’ve been in trouble hobbling through the dark woods, but they were amazing. At one point we heard shallow panting from the foliage to our left. Deja, Princess, and Tanner charged off. When Alex and I peered through the branches, we saw our former history teacher on her knees, being yanked to and fro like a rag doll.
These dogs were bred to hunt lions.
The thing that had been Mrs. Olsen didn’t stand a chance.
The dogs came back to us, their snouts bloodied, and we heard nothing more from beyond the branches.
We kept on peacefully for a time, making progress, Alex guarding her hurt leg. Halfway to town the dogs heard something we didn’t, and the whole pack shot off through the underbrush. There were snarling and ripping
sounds, and a brief time later they emerged, ears perked, tails wagging. We never even saw the Hosts. The ridgies surrounded us again, their brown eyes flashing alertly, and picked up right where they’d left off.
But that only highlighted how vulnerable we felt when we reached the edge of the woods, halting before a row of unfenced backyards that signaled the start of the neighborhood around school. Though there were no visible Hosts, the sight of all that open ground before us made my stomach lurch.
Firming my grip around Alex, I stepped onto the Woodrows’ back lawn, veering past the barbecue by the side of the house. Then I noticed that the dogs were no longer with us. Hesitating back in the tree line, they whined. Some pack instinct must have told them to stick to the forest.
When we turned, we saw only their eyes glinting in the dark spaces between the trunks. Set by set, they pulled back, vanishing. One pair of eyes remained a little longer, floating there. I knew they were Cassius’s. Then those, too, drew back and were gone.
Suddenly the night seemed much lonelier.
Alex and I moved silently alongside the Woodrows’ house and up their long driveway. A few blocks ahead, the big shadowy block of the school loomed, barely visible in the first rays of dawn.
Home. Or at least as close a thing to it as we had left.
The streets looked empty, but even so we made our way carefully from hiding place to hiding place. Alex stumbled, slipping from my grip, holding her injured leg and wincing. She leaned against a pickup truck.
Nervously, I watched a seam of light nudge the horizon, the glow bringing the street into clearer view.
“C’mon, Alex. Just one more block.”
“Sorry. Gimme a hand.” Biting her lip, she grabbed around my neck and let me hoist her to her feet.
Looking past me, she gasped.
I glanced up.
Barely visible in the predawn glow, a wave of movement swept around the corner between us and the school.
ENTRY 39
I had no time to think.
Lifting Alex off her feet, I dumped her in the back of the pickup, then hoisted myself up and slid in next to her.
We lay curled into each other so our foreheads touched.
Her whisper was so quiet I could barely hear her. “What if they saw us already?”
“It’s still mostly dark.”
Dozens of feet rasped across pavement toward us.
“But what if they did?” she said.
“We’ll find out soon enough.”
Closer. Closer. Then I sensed shadows flicker past us on either side. The group of Hosts had split around the truck. If any one of them paused or looked to the side, they would see us there, holding our breath and hiding in the bed of the truck.
But they didn’t.
Being single-minded had its advantages.
But also its disadvantages.
Alex dipped her face into the hollow of my neck, and I held her, breathing the smell of her hair. The wave of Hosts kept coming and coming, split by the prow of the truck.
Finally the stream thinned, and a brief time later we heard nothing at all.
A spill of light came from the east, making the treetops glow.
“We should go,” Alex said.
“We need to wait, give them time to get a few blocks away,” I said. “We can’t lead them into the school.”
“Okay. Okay.”
I could feel her breath against my throat. Somehow our arms had wound up around each other.
“When I was four,” Alex said, “I got lost at Disney World. There were people everywhere. But I could only see their knees. And then, through the crowd, I saw my mom’s skirt. But I couldn’t get to her. People kept walking between us, and I’d lose her and lose her again. There were people all around, but I was so lost.” Her voice caught. “It was like that at the cannery. When they had us in cages, when they strapped me to that assembly line, I was surrounded by kids but completely alone. I might as well have been the only person left in the world.” She lifted her face to mine. “And then there was you.”
Her lips, so close. I thought about what might have been between us in some alternate universe where I was the older brother instead of Patrick.
I tore my gaze from her green, green eyes and looked at the lightening sky. “We should go before it gets too bright,” I said, and she nodded her agreement.
Cautiously, I eased to the sidewalk, checking the street, and then helped her out. Leaning on each other, we rushed toward the school. We reached the gate at the northeast corner, and I spun the combination lock, opening it. Then we ran for the building.
It wasn’t until we’d reached the shadows that I allowed myself a full exhale, seating the Stetson more firmly on my head. We kept close to the building until we got to the door by the picnic area. I gave a tap.
The lookouts, two of Ben Braaten’s crew, let us in.
“Man, you guys look like hell,” Mikey Durango said.
We ignored him, hustling through the halls, eager to see Patrick. Alex stopped leaning on me. As we neared the double doors, she straightened up until she was limping on her own two feet. She took my hand. Gave it a squeeze.
Then let go.
We burst through the doors.
Everyone looked sluggish, just stirring in the light of the new day. Dr. Chatterjee stood by the dry-erase board, writing down the latest unidentified particulate readings. The numbers hadn’t gone down, not at all.
JoJo and Rocky jumped up and waved at us. JoJo ran over and clung to Alex’s side. JoJo’s eyes moistened as she hugged Alex, her guilt melting away. Eve peered over the rows of cots at us, her arms crossed, wearing a half smile of relief. Atop the bleachers Ben stood lookout, the early rays catching in the scars on his face. He turned at our entrance, his features falling back into shadow, conveying a quiet menace.
My eyes swept the gym for Patrick.
Chatterjee looked up and saw us. “Chance! Alex! You did it!” His initial expression of delight was quickly replaced by regret. “You just missed Patrick.”
All the air whooshed out of me, leaving me deflated. I’d never felt so tired in my life.
“What do you mean we missed him?” Alex said.
“The extra oxygen tanks you got, turns out they were empty,” Dr. Chatterjee said. “Only the portable one you refilled at the hospital was good.”
“No,” I said. “I checked them. They were all in the green.”
Rushing over to the stack of H tanks, I looked at the meters. Every needle was pegged in the red. The valves had been loosened ever so slightly. A drumroll of fury started up in my gut.
“He only discovered it this morning,” Chatterjee was saying. “He was down to his last hours. So he took the portable tank to make a run for the last tanks at the hospital.”
“By himself?” Alex limped over to the nearest cot, but before she could get there, her left leg gave out and she collapsed onto the floor. “None of you would go with him?”
In the back Rocky stepped out from behind the other kids. His voice came, high-pitched and young. “I wanted to go. But Patrick wouldn’t let me. He and Dr. Chatterjee said I couldn’t.”
“Nobody but a ten-year-old?” Alex said. “Nobody?”
A shame-filled silence.
“Not in broad daylight,” Ben called down from the bleachers.
“He’ll be killed,” Alex said. “He’ll be killed before I see him.”
“Probably,” Ben said. “But he was gonna die anyways once that tank ran out. So he didn’t have much of a choice, really.”
I glared up at him. “These tanks were tampered with.”
“Come on, Chance,” Ben said. “Who would want to do that?”
“You.”
He looked directly at me. “I didn’t touch those tanks.”
“Then you had your lackeys do it.”
“I will talk to my guys, and if any of them messed with those tanks, they will answer to me.”
“Liar!” Grabbing he
r hockey stick, Alex tried to get up to charge Ben, but her leg wouldn’t hold her weight anymore. She fell over, the stick clattering away.
“If I was you,” Ben said, his eyes never leaving mine, “I’d go help your brother. And fast.” He turned his face to the window again. “Doesn’t look like he’s doing so hot out there alone.”
My rage boiled over. Firming my grip on the baling hooks, I started for the bleachers.
Eve stepped in front of me, her hands planted on my chest. “Patrick needs you.”
Every fiber in my body was pulling me up those bleachers to add to Ben’s scars. But she was right.
I turned and ran out, hammering through the double doors, darting past the lookouts, grabbing a key from the windowsill. Charging through the front door, I jumped over the steps, unlocked the padlock, and slipped through the gate. There were no Hosts nearby, but even if there had been, they wouldn’t have stopped me.
The sky brightened as I sprinted through the teachers’ parking lot, hurdling the hedges. Heading toward the hospital, I scanned the front yards for movement. Though a few weeks ago running down a street in broad daylight would have been normal, it felt bizarre now. Exhaustion and stress dragged on me. My chest was heaving, but I kept on.
I was driven by love, sure. But also by guilt.
I hurdled a flower bed, ran across the Everstons’ porch, and leapt over a tricycle on its side. Above the rooftops I could see the rise of the hospital. I shot through a side yard, darting beneath a carport, knifing my body so I wouldn’t slam into a silver Airstream trailer parked in the front driveway.
Squeezing between the trailer and a row of trash bins, I popped out into the front yard.
I heard movement behind me.
When I glanced over my shoulder, three Chasers flew out of the shadows beneath the carport. I must’ve sprinted past them without even noticing.
They’d caught me off guard. As I twisted around, raising the baling hooks, my feet tangled, spilling me onto the ground.
They barreled at me, muscles straining through their skin. There was no time to get up and fight. I crossed the hooks protectively over my head. It was the only thing I could do.
The Rains Page 26