Hunger

  She heard a noise from the street. Running. She tensed, expecting to hear the pounding of feet on her porch. But no one approached.

  Was it Hunter coming back? Or was Zil still running around looking for trouble? There wasn’t anything she could do about it. She had no powers, or none that mattered, anyway. All she could do was threaten and cajole.

  By the time she reached the window, the street was empty and quiet.

  She hoped Hunter was hiding somewhere. They’d have to figure out what to do about that situation and it would be very tricky. Explosive, maybe. But it wasn’t going to be solved tonight.

  What was happening with Sam? Had he managed to stop Caine?

  Was he hurt?

  Was he dead?

  God forbid, she prayed.

  No. He wasn’t dead. She would feel it if he was.

  She wiped away a tear, and sighed. No way she could sleep. Not happening. So she sat herself down in front of the computer. Her hands were shaking as she touched the keyboard. She needed to do something useful. Something. Anything to keep from thinking about Sam.

  At the bottom of the screen were the usual icons for Safari and Firefox. Web browsers that, when opened, would just remind her that she was not connected to the internet.

  Astrid opened the mutation file. There were all the bizarre pictures. The cat that had melded with a book. The snakes with tiny wings. The seagulls with raptor talons. The zeke.

  She opened a Word document and began to type.

  The one constant seems to be that mutations are making creatures—humans and nonhumans—more dangerous. The mutations are almost all in the form of weapons.

  She paused and thought about that for a moment. That wasn’t quite right. Some kids had developed powers that seemed to be essentially useless. The truth was, Sam wished more mutants had developed what he called “serious” powers. And there was Lana, whose gift was definitely not a weapon.

  Weapons or defense mechanisms. Of course it may be that I simply have not observed enough mutations to know. But it would not exactly be surprising if mutations tended to be survival mechanisms. That’s the whole point of evolution: survival.

  But was this evolution? Evolution was a series of hits and misses over the course of millions of years, not a sudden explosion of radical changes. Evolution built on existing DNA. What was happening in the FAYZ was a radical departure from the billion years’ worth of code in animal DNA. There might be genes for speed, but there was no gene for teleportation, or for suspension of gravity, or for telekinesis.

  There was no DNA for firing light from the palms of your hands.

  The fact is, I don’t

  The screen went blank. The room was dark.

  Astrid stood up and went to the window. She pulled back the curtains and looked out at total darkness. Not a light on in the street.

  She let herself out onto the porch.

  Darkness. Everywhere. Not a single light from the surrounding houses.

  Someone a few doors down yelled in outrage, “Hey!”

  Caine had reached the power plant. Sam had failed.

  Astrid stifled a sob. If Sam was hurt…If…

  Astrid felt fear like icy fingers reaching through her nightgown. She stumbled into the kitchen. She opened the junk drawer and found, after some searching, a flashlight. The light from it was faint and failed in seconds.

  But in the few seconds of light she found a candle.

  She tried to light it from the stove. But the gas ran unlit because it required electricity to fire.

  Matches. A lighter. Surely there were some matches somewhere.

  But there was no way to find them without light. She had a candle and no way to light it.

  Astrid felt her way to the stairs and climbed to Little Pete’s room. The Game Boy was beside his bed, where he always left it. If he woke up and found it missing, he would go nuts. He would…there was no telling what he would do.

  She carried the Game Boy down the stairs and used the light from the LED to search the junk drawer. No matches, but there was a yellow Bic lighter.

  She struck a flame and lit the candle.

  She had avoided thinking about Sam for the last few moments, intent on her search. But there was no escaping the fact that Sam had rushed off to stop Caine. And he had not succeeded. The only question now was: Had he survived?

  A line from an old poem bubbled up from Astrid’s near-photographic memory. “The center cannot hold,” she whispered to the eerily lit kitchen. The verse played in her head.

  Things fall apart; the center cannot hold;

  Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,

  The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere

  The ceremony of innocence is drowned;

  The best lack all conviction, while the worst

  Are full of passionate intensity.

  “Things fall apart; the center cannot hold,” Astrid repeated.

  The center, maybe. But surely, even here in the FAYZ, God listened and watched over His children.

  “Please let Sam be okay,” she whispered to the candle.

  She made the sign of the cross on her chest and knelt before the kitchen counter as if it were an altar.

  “Saint Michael the Archangel, defend us in battle. Be our defense against the wickedness and snares of the devil.”

  In the old days when she had said this prayer, the devil was a creature with horns and a tail. Now in her mind the devil had the same face as Caine. And when the prayer went on to speak of “the evil spirits who prowl about the world seeking the ruin of souls,” the picture in her mind’s eye was of a dead-eyed boy with a snake for an arm.

  TWENTY-SIX

  17 HOURS, 49 MINUTES

  “WHAT IS IT you want, Caine?” Sam’s voice, calling from outside. He sounded angry, frustrated. Defeated.

  Caine bowed his head. He savored the moment. Victory. Just four days had passed since he had regained some measure of control over himself. And now he had beaten Sam.

  “Four days,” he said, just loudly enough for those in the room to hear. “That’s how long it took me to defeat Sam Temple.” Caine locked eyes with Drake. “Four days,” Caine sneered. “What did you accomplish in the three months I was sick?”

  Drake met his gaze, then wavered, and looked down at the floor. There was red in his cheeks, a dangerous glitter in his eyes, but he could not meet Caine’s triumphant scowl.

  “Remember this when you finally decide it’s time to take me on, Drake,” Caine whispered.

  Caine turned to the others and beamed happiness at his crew. Jack, still at the computer, a sloppy, bloody mess, but so engaged in his work that he was barely aware of what was going on. Bug, drifting in and out of view. Diana pretending to be unimpressed. He winked at her, knowing she wouldn’t respond. Drake’s two soldiers, lounging.

  “What do I want?” Caine yelled back through the charred hole in the wall. Then, carefully enunciating each word for emphasis. “What. Do. I. Want?”

  And then, Caine drew a blank. For a moment, just a moment before he recovered, he couldn’t think of what he wanted. No one else heard the hesitation. But Caine felt it.

  What did he want?

  He searched for an answer and found one that would do. “You, Sam,” Caine purred. “I want you to walk in here all by yourself. That’s what I want.”

  The hostages, Mickey and Mike, looked at each other in disbelief. Caine could guess what they were thinking: their big hero, Sam, had failed.

  Sam’s voice was muffled but audible. “I would, Caine. To tell you the truth, it would probably be a relief.” He sounded weary. He sounded beaten. Luscious, wonderful sounds to Caine’s ears. “But we all know how you act when there’s no one there to stop you. So, no.”

  Caine let out a loud, theatrical sigh. He smiled ear to ear. “Yeah, I thought you’d take that attitude, Sam. So I have an alternative. I have a trade in mind.”

  “Trade? What for what?”

  “Food for ligh
t,” Caine said. He put his hand to his ear as if listening. To Diana, he whispered, “Hear that? That’s the sound of my brother realizing he’s beaten. Realizing he just became my…what’s a good word? Servant? Slave?”

  Sam yelled, “Looks to me like you’re the one in trouble, Caine.”

  Caine blinked. A warning light was flashing in the back of his mind. He had just made a mistake. He didn’t know what, but he had made a mistake.

  “Me?” Caine yelled. “I don’t think so. I own the light switch, brother.”

  “Yeah, I guess you do,” Sam shouted. “And I’ve got you surrounded. And if you’re short on food up at Coates, my guess is you don’t have a lot with you here. So I’m guessing you’ll get hungry pretty soon.”

  Caine’s smile froze.

  “Well, there’s an unexpected development,” Diana said dryly.

  Caine bit his thumbnail and yelled, “Hey, brother of mine, do I have to remind you that I have two of your people hostage in here?”

  There was a long silence and Caine braced himself, thinking that Sam might launch another attack. Finally, Sam spoke. He sounded both more grim and more confident. “Go ahead, Caine, do whatever you want with the hostages. Then you won’t have hostages anymore. And you’ll still be hungry.”

  “You think I won’t turn the hostages over to Drake?” Caine threatened. “You’ll be able to listen to them scream.” He could feel the color rising in his cheeks. He knew Sam’s answer. It wasn’t long in coming.

  “Two seconds after I hear anyone yelling, in we come,” Sam said. “It will be bloody, and I’d like to not have that. But you know I have enough people with enough power to do it.”

  Caine chewed his thumbnail. He glanced at Diana, willing her to have some solution, some helpful idea. He carefully avoided making eye contact with Drake.

  “So, I have a better idea,” Sam yelled. “How about I give you ten minutes to get out of there? And I give you my word you can go back to Coates.”

  Caine squeezed out a laugh that was half snarl. “Not happening, Sam. I’m holding this place. And you can go back to a very dark town.”

  There was no answer.

  The silence was eloquent. Sam didn’t need to say anything else. And Caine had nothing left to say. It felt as if there was a band tightening around his chest. Like he had to fight for each breath.

  Something was not right. Something was very much not right. The fears that lived in his nightmares were rising now, like an incoming tide inside his head. He was in a trap.

  “Stay tight,” Drake muttered as his soldiers exchanged skeptical, worried looks.

  Diana swiveled in her chair. “So what now, Fearless Leader? He’s right: we don’t have any food.”

  Caine winced. He ran a hand through his hair. His head felt hot.

  He turned quickly, feeling as if someone was sneaking up behind him. No one there but the girl, Brittney, on the floor.

  How had he not seen this coming? How had he not realized he would be trapped here? Even if he could somehow reach his people at Coates, they were far fewer in number than the number of kids Sam could command.

  And none would come. Not here. Not with Sam surrounding the place.

  Sam could have fifty people sitting outside the power plant within a few hours. And what could Caine do?

  What could he do?

  They had taken the power plant. They had turned off the lights in Perdido Beach. But now they were trapped. It was impossible.

  Caine frowned, trying to concentrate. Why had he done it? In the space of a minute he had gone from crowing triumph to dismal humiliation.

  What he had done? It made no sense. It gained him nothing. All he had thought was: Take the plant. Take it, and hold it. Then…

  Then…

  Caine felt himself sinking, mind swirling down and down as if a pit had opened beneath him.

  The realization was sudden and sickening. He hadn’t taken the power plant in order to get food for his people, or even to show his power over Sam. He hadn’t been following his own desires at all.

  Caine, the color all drained from his face now, stared at Drake.

  “It’s for him,” Caine said. “It’s all for him.”

  Drake narrowed his eyes, uncomprehending.

  “He’s hungry,” Caine whispered. It hurt him to see the dawning realization in Diana’s eyes as he said the words, “He’s hungry in the dark.”

  “How do you know?” Drake demanded.

  Caine spread his hands, helpless to explain. Words would not come.

  “It’s why he let me go,” Caine said, more to himself than to Diana or Drake. “It’s why he released me. For this.”

  “Are you telling me we’re living out some fever dream of yours?” Diana was poised between laughing and crying, incredulous. “Are you telling me we did all this because that monster out in the desert is in your head?”

  “What does he need us to do?” Drake asked, eager, not angry. A dog anxious to please his true master.

  “We have to bring it to him. We have to feed him,” Caine said.

  “Feed him what?”

  Caine sighed and looked at Jack. “The food that brings the light to his darkness. The same thing that brings light to Perdido Beach. The uranium.”

  Jack shook his head slowly, understanding but not wanting to understand. “Caine, how do we do that? How do we take uranium from the core? How do we move it for miles across the desert? It’s heavy. It’s dangerous. It’s radioactive.”

  “Caine, this is crazy,” Diana pleaded. “Drag radioactive uranium across the desert? How does this help you? How does this help any of us? What is the point?”

  Caine hesitated. He frowned. She was right. Why should he serve the Darkness? Let the creature feed itself. Caine had problems of his own, his own needs, his own—

  A roar so loud, it seemed to vibrate the walls, filled the room. It knocked Caine to his knees. He clapped his hands over his ears, trying to block it out, but it went on and on, as he cringed and covered himself and fought the sudden desire to void his bowels.

  It stopped. The silence rang.

  Slowly Caine opened his eyes. Diana looked at him like he had gone crazy. Drake stared incredulous, on the edge of laughing. Jack merely looked worried.

  They hadn’t heard it. That inhuman, irresistible roar had been for Caine alone.

  Punishment. The gaiaphage would be obeyed.

  “What is going on with you?” Diana asked.

  Drake narrowed his eyes and smirked openly. “It’s the Darkness. Caine is no longer running things. There’s a new boss.”

  Diana gave voice to Caine’s own thoughts.

  “Poor Caine,” she said. “You poor, screwed-up boy.”

  For Lana each step seemed too loud, like she was walking on a giant bass drum. Her legs were stiff, knees welded solid. Her feet felt each pebble as though she were barefoot.

  Her heart pounded so hard, it seemed the whole world must be able to hear it.

  No, no, it was just her imagination. There was no sound but the soft cornflake crunch of sneakers on gravel. Her heart beat for her ears only. She was no louder than a mouse.

  But she was convinced it could hear her. Like an owl listening and watching for prey in the night, it watched and it waited, and all her stealth was like a brass band to it, him, the thing, the Darkness.

  The moon was out. Or what passed for the moon. The stars shone. Or something very like stars. Silvery light illuminated tips of brush, the seams of a boulder, and cast deep shadows everywhere else.

  Lana picked her way along, holding herself tight. The gun was in her right hand, hanging by her side, brushing against her thigh. A flashlight—off for now—stuck up from her pocket.

  You think you own me. You think you control me. No one owns me. No one controls me.

  Two points of light winked in the shadows ahead.

  Lana froze.

  The twin lights stared at her. They did not move.

  Lana rai
sed the gun and took aim. She aimed at the space directly between the two points of light.

  The explosion lit up the night for a split second.

  In that flash she saw the coyote.

  Then it was gone and her ears were ringing.

  From back down the trail she heard a wooden door creaking, slamming. Cookie’s voice. “Lana! Lana!”

  “I’m okay, Cookie. Get back inside. Lock the door! Do it!” she yelled.

  She heard the door slam.

  “I know you’re out there, Pack Leader,” Lana said. “I’m not so helpless this time.”

  Lana started moving again. The explosion, the bullet—which almost certainly had missed its target—had settled her down. She knew now that the mutant coyote leader was there, watching. She was sure the Darkness also knew.

  Good. Fine. Better. No more sneaking. She could march to the mine and take the key from the corpse. And then march back to the building where Cookie waited with Patrick.

  The gun felt good in her hand.

  “Come on, Pack Leader,” she purred. “Not scared of a bullet, are you?”

  But her bravado faded as she drew near the mine entrance. The moonlight painted the crossbeam above the entrance with faintest silver. Below it a black mouth waiting greedily to swallow her up.

  Come to me.

  Imagination. There was no voice.

  I have need of you.

  Lana clicked the flashlight on and aimed the beam at the mouth of the cave. She might as well have pointed it at the night sky. The beam illuminated nothing.

  Flashlight in her left hand. Pistol heavy in her right. The smell of cordite from the shot she’d fired. The crunch of gravel. Limbs heavy. Mind in something like a dream-state now, all focus narrowed down to a simple task.

  She reached the mine shaft entrance. There above it, perched on the narrow ledge, stood Pack Leader snarling down at her.

  She aimed her flashlight and swung the pistol to follow the beam, but the coyote darted away.

  He’s not trying to stop me, Lana realized. He’s just observing. The eyes and ears of the Darkness.