Hunger_A Gone Novel

by Michael Grant

  In the three days—well, technically four, since it was

  tomorrow already—since Duck had fallen through the bottom of the swimming pool, his life had actually managed to 292 M I C H A E L

  G R A N T

  get worse. First off, he had lost his private oasis of calm. The

  pool was obviously unfixable. He had spent some effort looking for another pool, but no other spot had been nearly as great as the one he had lost.

  In the second place, no one believed him. He had become

  a joke. Kids didn’t bother to go and check out the pool to see

  if the hole was really there. And of course Zil and his punk

  friends didn’t exactly step up to validate Duck’s story.

  When he’d tell people about this weird, un-asked-for

  power, they’d demand he demonstrate. But Duck didn’t want

  to demonstrate. It meant getting mad, for one thing, and he

  wasn’t naturally an angry person.

  More importantly, it meant falling into the ground. And

  Duck had not enjoyed that the first time around. It had been

  sheer luck that he had passed out before he fell right on past

  the cave. He could have kept falling until he reached the molten core of the earth. That was the image in his head, anyway.

  Falling through the ground, down through the crust and the

  mantle and the whatever other layers there were that he had

  probably learned about in school but couldn’t recall now, all

  the way down to the big melted metal and rock core.

  In his mind’s eye that would look like the scene at the end

  of The Lord of the Rings. He would be like Gollum, swimming

  for a few seconds in all that lava, then incinerated.

  But that image was almost a relief compared to the other

  possibility: that he would simply be buried alive. That he

  would fall a hundred feet into the ground and have no way

  of extricating himself. He would slowly suffocate as the dirt

  H U N G E R

  293

  walls of the hole filled in, clods falling onto his upturned face,

  dirt filling his eyes, his mouth, his nose . . .

  He grabbed the handle of the McClub door to steady himself. The images were waking nightmares. They were in his thoughts more and more often.

  It didn’t help that no one else took the problem seriously.

  Kids laughed at his story. They thought the whole thing was

  funny. The part about falling through the bottom of the pool.

  The part about the cave. The radioactive side cave. The blue

  bats. The emergence from the waves, half naked and shivering. The way he’d had to climb the cliff up from the beach, forcing himself to grin happily lest anger cause him to fall

  and keep on falling. Climbing had been the easiest part. He’d

  felt light with relief.

  He had told the story and kids roared with laughter. The

  first day or so he’d played along. He enjoyed making people

  laugh. But he’d gone very quickly from being a funny storyteller to being an object of ridicule.

  “Your power is the power to gain so much weight, you

  actually sink into the ground?” That had been Hunter, who

  thought himself a real comedian. “So, you’re basically Fat-

  man?”

  After that it was open season: Fatman led to Fall-through

  Boy, the Spelunker, the Sinker, the Miner, and the one he

  heard most often, the Human Drill.

  Kids didn’t get it: It wasn’t funny. Not really. Not if you

  thought about it. Not if you spent the night tossing and turning, barely able to sleep because you worried that you might 294 M I C H A E L

  G R A N T

  get angry in some dream and fall to a slow, agonizing death.

  Hunter had also ridiculed his tale of the blue bats.

  “Dude—or should I call you the Human Drill? Dude, bats

  sleep during the day and fly at night. Your blue bats? According to you, they woke up when it got light. How do you figure?

  Plus, no one but you has ever seen them.”

  “They’re blue, like the sky, so you wouldn’t see them flying

  overhead or through the water,” Duck had pointed out to no

  avail.

  He let go of the club door. Probably better that it was

  closed. He was lonely, but maybe loneliness wasn’t as bad as

  the ridicule.

  Duck looked around, feeling lost. It was late. No one was

  out. In the old days his parents would have grounded him for a

  year if they’d found out he was wandering the streets at night.

  No one was in the plaza. It was a creepy place at night.

  The graves were there. The shattered outline of the church

  dark against the stars. The burned remains of the apartment

  building. There were a couple of lights on in town hall—no

  one bothered going around and turning out lights. The streetlights were still on, although some had burned out and others, especially the ones in the plaza, had been broken either by the

  battle or by vandals.

  The plaza was a place of ghosts now. Ghosts and long

  shadows.

  Duck headed wearily toward home. So-called home. It

  meant passing by the church. It at least was dark. It was lit

  nowadays only on meeting nights because the original lighting

  H U N G E R

  29

  5

  system had not survived. Lights were strung from the town

  hall on an extension cord. Someone usually remembered to

  yank the cord out of the socket when they were done.

  Rubble, some of it massive chunks of masonry, blocked the

  sidewalk on the church side. No one had ever cleaned it up.

  Probably no one ever would. Duck walked down the middle

  of the street, mistrusting the shadows on either side.

  He heard a scuffling sound in the church. A dog, probably.

  Or rats.

  But then, an urgent whisper, “Hey! Hey, Duck!”

  Duck stopped. The voice was coming from the direction

  of the church.

  “Dude!” the whisper, louder now.

  “What? Who is that?” Duck asked.

  “It’s me, man. Hunter. Keep it down. They’ll kill me if they

  find me.”

  “What? Who?”

  “Duck, man, come here, I can’t be yelling back and forth.”

  Reluctantly—very reluctantly because he expected some

  trick—Duck crossed the street.

  Hunter was crouched behind a piece of rubble that still

  held a portion of stained-glass window. He stood up when

  Duck approached, which brought his face into the light. He

  didn’t look as if he was planning a prank. He looked scared.

  “What’s up?” Duck asked.

  “Come back here, man, so no one can see us.”

  Duck climbed over the rubble, skinning his shin in the

  process.

  296 M I C H A E L

  G R A N T

  “Okay,” Duck said, once he was in Hunter’s rubble hideaway. “What?”

  “Can you hook me up, dude? I didn’t catch any dinner.”

  “Uh . . . what?”

  “I’m hungry,” Hunter said.

  “Everybody’s hungry,” Duck pointed out. “I drank a jar of

  gravy for dinner.”

  Hunter sighed. “I’m starving here. I didn’t get dinner. I

  barely got any lunch. I was trying to save up.”

  “Why are you here?”

  “Zil. He and the normals are after me.”

  Duck had the definite feeling
he was either being elaborately punked, or had wandered into someone else’s crazy dream. “Man, if you’re here to bust on me, just get it over

  with.”

  “No, man. No way. I’m sorry about all that, you know,

  teasing you and all. I was just trying to get along with them,

  you know?”

  “No. I don’t know what you’re talking about, Hunter.”

  Hunter hesitated, looking like he might try to bluster. But

  then he collapsed. He sat down hard on the ground. Duck knelt

  awkwardly beside him. The awkwardness was compounded

  when he heard the telltale sniffle. Hunter was crying.

  “What happened, man?” Duck asked.

  “Zil. You know Zil, right? We were having an argument.

  He goes totally nuts. He tries to kill me with a fireplace poker.

  So what am I supposed to do?”

  “What did you do?”

  H U N G E R

  29

  7

  “I was totally in the right,” Hunter said. “I was totally in

  the right. Only I didn’t get Zil because Harry came rushing

  in. He got in between us.”

  “Okay.”

  Hunter sniffled again. “No, man. Not okay. Harry goes

  down. He hits the floor. I wasn’t even aiming at him, he didn’t

  do anything. You have to help me, Duck,” Hunter pleaded.

  “Me? Why me? All you ever do is pick on me.”

  “Okay, okay, that’s true,” Hunter admitted. He had stopped

  crying. But his voice was, if anything, even more urgent. “But,

  look, we’re on the same side, here.”

  “Um . . . what?”

  “We’re freaks, man. You aren’t getting this, are you?” Irritation helped Hunter’s self-control. The sniffling stopped.

  “Dude, Zil is running around getting normals to come out

  against us. All of us.”

  Duck shook his head in confusion. “What are you talking

  about, man?”

  Hunter grabbed his arm and held it tight. “It’s us against

  them. Don’t you get that? It’s freaks against normals.”

  “No way,” Duck scoffed. “First of all, I didn’t hurt anyone.

  Second of all, Sam is a freak and Astrid’s a normal, and so is

  Edilio. So how is it that all of them are trying to get us?”

  “You think they won’t come after you next?” Hunter said,

  not exactly answering. “You think you’re safe? Fine. Go on.

  Run away home. Play pretend. It’s us against them. You’ll see,

  when it’s you hiding out from them.”

  Duck disengaged himself from Hunter’s grip. “I’ll see if

  298 M I C H A E L

  G R A N T

  I can bring you something to eat, dude. But I’m not getting

  involved in your troubles.”

  Duck climbed back out of the rubble and headed down the

  street.

  Hunter’s hissed words followed him. “It’s freaks against

  normals, Duck. And you’re a freak.”

  Jack was sweating like he was in a sauna. His leg hurt. Hurt

  bad.

  But more, the wires.

  The wires.

  Brianna would never see them. She would come rushing

  on, as fast as a speeding bullet. She would hit the wires at that

  speed and she would be sliced into pieces. Like a wire cheese

  cutter going through a brick of Swiss.

  The image was painfully clear in Jack’s mind.

  He could see Brianna hitting the wire. And being cut in

  half. Legs still running for another few steps before they realized they were no longer carrying a body.

  “Take down the wires,” Jack said. The words were out of

  his mouth before he knew it. He hadn’t planned it. He’d just

  blurted it.

  No one heard him except Diana.

  He glanced at her and saw a flicker of a smile.

  But Drake was busy and Caine was ranting and neither

  heard him.

  Jack pulled his hands away from the keyboard.

  “You have to cut down the wires,” Jack said, choking on

  the words.

  H U N G E R

  299

  And now Caine froze. And now Drake whirled.

  “What?” Drake demanded.

  “Take the wires down,” Jack said. “Or else I—”

  The whip landed on his neck and back. Like the bullet

  wound, but so much worse for being on such tender skin.

  Jack cried out in shock at the pain.

  Drake was coiled to strike again, but Caine yelled, “No!”

  Drake seemed ready to ignore the order, but contented

  himself with wrapping his tentacle around Jack’s throat. He

  squeezed, and Jack felt blood pounding in his head.

  Caine walked over and in a reasonable voice said, “What’s

  the problem, Jack?”

  “The wires,” Jack said, barely able to form sounds. “I don’t

  like what you’re doing.”

  Caine blinked. He was honestly puzzled. He looked at

  Diana for an explanation.

  Diana sighed. “Puppy love,” she said. “It looks like Jack’s

  gotten over me. There’s another girl playing the leading role

  in Jack’s shameful dreams.”

  Caine laughed, disbelieving. “You’ve got a thing for Brianna?”

  “I don’t . . . it’s not like . . .” Jack squeezed the words out.

  “Oh, come on, Jack. Don’t be an idiot,” Caine cajoled him.

  “Let him go, Drake. Jack’s just losing focus. He’s forgetting

  what’s important.”

  Drake withdrew his tentacle, and Jack breathed in deep.

  His neck and back burned so badly, he forgot the lesser wound

  on his thigh.

  “Jack, Jack, Jack,” Caine said, sounding like a disappointed

  300 M I C H A E L

  G R A N T

  teacher. “Bad things happen sometimes, Jack, you have to

  accept that.”

  “Not Brianna,” Jack said.

  Jack saw color rising in Caine’s face, a warning sign. But

  he knew Caine needed him. Caine wouldn’t kill him, he was

  sure of that, no matter how mad he got. Drake might let his

  rage take over, but Caine wouldn’t.

  “You think she’d defend you?” Caine asked. “She’ll come

  zooming in here, maybe carrying a gun, shoot anyone she

  sees, Jack. Now, get back to work and let me take care of making the big decisions.”

  Jack turned back to the keyboard. He started to rest his

  hands on the keys. But he couldn’t do it. He froze there with

  his fingertips half an inch above the keys.

  Not Brianna. Not her. Not like that.

  “I could talk to her,” Jack said. “I could maybe get her to

  come over to your side.”

  “Let me just deal with this,” Drake pleaded. “I guarantee

  you, he’ll get back to work.”

  “That’s right, Drake,” Diana said. “Torture him into it.

  You’ll never know if he gets pissed off enough to maybe flood

  this room with radiation. Until your hair starts falling out.”

  That had not occurred to Jack. But it did now. Diana was

  right, they wouldn’t really know what he was doing.

  Caine was biting his thumb again, his habit when frustrated.

  “Drake, cut the wires. Jack, figure out how to turn the

  lights off in Perdido Beach or I’ll tell Drake to not only put

  H U N G E R

  30

  1

  the
wires back up, but whip you till he gets too tired to lift his

  arm.”

  Jack carefully concealed his feeling of triumph.

  Drake started to object, but Caine snapped, “Just do it,

  Drake. Just do it.”

  Jack felt a wave of some warm feeling flow through him.

  Something unlike anything he’d ever felt before. There was

  still the searing pain on his neck and back, and the all-butforgotten pain on his leg. But the pain was secondary to this feeling of . . . something. He didn’t know quite what

  to call it.

  He had stepped up to protect someone else. Brianna might

  never know it, but he had just taken a big risk for her. In fact,

  he had risked his life for her.

  Diana drawled, “Our little geek is growing up.”

  Jack began tapping away at the keyboard.

  “But still so naïve,” Diana added.

  The word bothered Jack, vaguely. He kind of knew what it

  meant, the word “naïve.” But now he was into the directory he

  needed, and there were commands to be learned, sequences

  to be deciphered.

  TWENTY-THREE

  18 HOURS, 7 MINUTES

  “ T H E Y ’ L L H A V E S O M E O N E on the gate,” Sam said. “It’s

  just around this bend. Stop here.”

  Edilio braked, and the other two vehicles came to a stop

  behind them. Dekka driving Orc and Howard in a hefty SUV.

  A handful of Edilio’s soldiers in the third car. All the people

  Sam could round up. He’d tried others, but these were the

  ones who came when they learned they were to do battle with

  Caine and Drake.

  Fear of Caine, and especially Drake, ran deep in Perdido

  Beach.

  Sam turned in his seat so he could see Brianna and Taylor

  in the back. “Okay, girls, here’s our problem: I need to know

  where Caine’s goons are. I have to figure he left at least a couple of guys on the front gate. Armed, of course. They’ll have instructions to shoot anyone who comes down this road.”

  “I can pop in and out before they can shoot me,” Taylor

  said. She wasn’t quite eager.

  “Sam, I can plow past that gate and take a little tour inside

  H U N G E R

  303

  the facility and be back in thirty seconds,” Brianna argued.

  “They most likely won’t even see me.”

  “If you’re going so fast, they don’t see you, how you going

  to see them?” Edilio asked.

  She pointed at her face. “Fast eyes, Dillio, very fast eyes.”