IT WAS LATE the next day before Edilio could bring himself to the job at hand. But then he fired up the backhoe and dug two holes in the corner of the plaza.
Mickey Finch. A bullet hole in his back.
Brittney, mangled so badly, no one could look at her. Some sort of slug seemed to have attached itself to her, an eighteen-inch-long thing that could not be pried away from her.
In the end, they buried it with her. She was dead, after all: she wouldn’t care.
There was no hole for Duck Zhang. But they put up a cross for him. They had searched the cavern as best they could. But all they’d found was a hole that went down and down seemingly forever.
The hole was collapsing in on itself as Sam shone his light down. It was already filling with tons of rock and dirt.
“No one knew Duck all that well,” Sam said at the service. “I don’t think anyone would have guessed he’d be a hero. But he saved our lives. He did it willingly. He made the choice to give his life for us.”
They put a few wildflowers on the graves.
After the service Edilio took a can of black spray paint and began to paint over the “HC” tags that had appeared on too many storefronts.
THREE DAYS LATER
“SO, HOW’S IT going to work, Albert?” Sam asked. He wasn’t as interested as he should be. Probably because he hadn’t slept much yet. Too much to do. Too much to figure out.
He was done. He’d told them all: He was done. Done being the Sam Temple. From now on he was just a kid. Like any other. No longer the anything.
But not just yet. Right now there was still too much to do. Kids to feed. A terrible rift to be somehow patched up.
Memories of suffering that would have to be dealt with, somehow, absorbed, accepted.
They were at the edge of the cabbage field. Sam, Astrid, Albert, Edilio, and Quinn.
Quinn was standing in the bed of a pickup truck wearing tall rubber boots. In the truck were a dozen of Duck’s famous blue bats. They kept being hauled in by Quinn and Albert’s fishermen. Perfectly good protein, but so noxious, so foul that even the starving couldn’t gag down the putrid meat.
“We disburse a given amount of gold to every kid,” Albert was explaining. He at least was excited. “Then, if they want, they trade it for paper currency, the McDonald’s game pieces. The gold is kept in a central deposit. They can come back and trade their paper currency for gold anytime they want. This is how they know the paper currency has lasting value.”
“Uh-huh,” Sam said for about the millionth time. He hid a yawn as well as he could.
In the three days since the horror in that cavern, Sam had been kept running. It was a game of whack-a-mole. One crisis after another.
They had found Zil. He had three broken ribs and was in terrible pain. No one felt very sorry for him. Astrid wanted him imprisoned. It might still happen. But Sam had too many other problems on his plate.
Fresh anti-freak graffiti continued to appear in Perdido Beach.
Mary was eating, but Astrid had warned him that that alone meant very little. Mary was a long way from being well.
The power plant was damaged, probably beyond repair. The lights were out everywhere now. Probably forever.
The FAYZ had gone dark.
But Jack was with them again, and maybe Jack could do penance by making things work again. He stood awkwardly near Brianna.
Dekka watched them and kept her silence.
“Let’s do this,” Sam said to Quinn. Then, to Astrid, “I’ll bet you five ’Bertos this doesn’t work.”
Howard had dismissed Albert’s list of names for the new currency and had dubbed them “Albertos.” ’Bertos. The name had stuck. It was Howard’s peculiar genius to invent names for things.
“I don’t need money,” Astrid said. “I need to cut your hair. I like seeing your face. Although I can’t imagine why.”
“Done.” Sam shook her hand, sealing the bet.
“Ready?” Quinn called out.
“Orc, you ready?” Sam asked.
Orc nodded his head.
“Do it,” Sam said.
Quinn lifted one of the blue bats and hurled it into the cabbage field. In a flash, the worms swarmed over it. In seconds it was just bones, like a turkey after a Thanksgiving feast.
“Okay, let’s test this,” Sam ordered.
Quinn tossed the second bat to Orc. Orc caught it and walked into the field. After a dozen steps, he tossed the blue bat ahead of him.
Again, the surge of worms. Again, the zekes reduced it to bones.
“Okay, Orc,” Sam said.
Orc bent down and yanked up a cabbage.
He tossed it back to land at Sam’s feet. A second and a third cabbage followed.
The zekes made no move toward Orc.
But they wouldn’t be sure until the zekes were offered something more easily digested than Orc’s stone feet.
“Breeze?” Sam said.
Brianna hefted a bat and zipped into the field. Sam waited, tense, knowing she was faster than the worms, but still…
Brianna tossed the bat. The zekes hit it.
And Brianna ripped a cabbage from the ground.
“You know,” Astrid said, “I seem to recall a certain condescending—one might even say contemptuous—response when I first suggested negotiating with the zekes.”
“Huh,” Sam said. “Who would ever be dumb enough to be condescending to you?”
“Oh, it was this bald guy I know.”
Sam sighed. “Okay. Okay. Grab your scissors and do your worst.”
“Actually,” Astrid said, “there’s something else you have to do first.”
“Always something,” Sam said gloomily.
Quinn joined them and apologized for stinking of fish.
“Brah, don’t apologize. You’re a very big part of keeping people from starving.”
The other reason the danger of mass starvation had receded for a while, at least, was Hunter. He had recovered most of his function, although his speech seemed permanently slurred, and one eye drooped above a down-twisted mouth.
Hunter had been charged with killing Harry. He had been sentenced to exile from Perdido Beach. He would live apart from them, alone, but living up to the name his parents had given him.
So far, Hunter had killed a second deer and a number of smaller animals. He dropped them at the loading dock of Ralph’s. He asked for nothing in return.
Dekka bent over and lifted one of the cabbages. “This would go great with some roasted pigeon.”
Hunter’s trial had been carried out by a jury of six kids, under rules set up by the Temporary Council: Sam, Astrid, Albert, Edilio, Dekka, Howard, and the youngest member, Brother John Terrafino.
“Well, back to work, huh?” Sam said.
“Get in the car,” Astrid said.
“What are—”
“Let me rephrase. By order of the Temporary Council: get in the car.”
She steadfastly refused to explain what was happening on the drive back to town. Edilio drove, and he was equally mum.
Edilio pulled up and parked in the town beach parking lot.
“Why are we going to the beach? I have to get back to town hall. I have, like, all this stuff—”
“Not now,” Edilio said firmly.
Sam stopped walking. “What’s up, Edilio?”
“I’m supposed to be the sheriff, right? That’s my new title?” Edilio said. “Okay, then, you are under arrest.”
“Under arrest? What are you talking about?”
“You are under arrest for trying to kill a kid named Sam Temple.”
“Not funny.”
But Edilio persisted. “Trying to kill a kid…just a kid…named Sam Temple. By stressing him out with the whole load of the world on his back.”
Sam didn’t find it amusing. Angry, he turned back toward town. But there was Astrid, close on his heels. And Brianna. Quinn, too.
“What are you all up to?” Sam demanded.
> “We voted,” Astrid said. “It was unanimous. By order of the Perdido Beach Temporary Council, we sentence you, Sam Temple, to relax.”
“Okay. I’m relaxed. Now can I get back to work?”
Astrid took his arm and all but hauled him across the beach. “You know what’s interesting, Sam? I’ll tell you what’s interesting. A fairly small disturbance in deep water, creating a ripple, a surge, can become a pretty impressive wave as it nears shore.”
Sam noticed that someone had set up a tent on the beach. It looked forlorn.
Out to sea, a boat putted by, its motor chugging in low gear.
“Is that Dekka out on the boat?” Sam asked.
They reached the tent. Lying in the sand there were two surfboards. Quinn’s. And Sam’s.
“Your wet suit’s inside, brah,” Quinn said.
Sam resisted. But not for long. After all, the council had authority now. And if they said he had to go surfing, well…
Ten minutes later Sam was facedown on his board. His feet were already tingling from the cold water. The sun was already baking his back through the wet suit. The taste of salt was in his mouth.
Out to sea, the boat had anchored. Dekka stood in the bow and raised her hands high. The water rose, rose, a big bulge of water temporarily released from the force of gravity.
Dekka let it drop, and the ripple fanned out.
“You even remember how to get up on that thing?” Quinn teased.
The ripple had become a wave. A fast-moving wave. It would break big. Not north shore Oahu big, maybe, but big enough for a ride.
Sam smiled at last. “You know, brah? I think it may just come back to me.”
In a hole. Lightless. Soundless.
Not even the sound of a beating heart.
Nothing moved but the pale slug that shared this terrible place with her.
Pray for me, Tanner, Brittney begged.
Pray for me…
About the Author
MICHAEL GRANT has spent much of his life on the move. Raised in a military family, he attended ten schools in five states, as well as three schools in France. Even as an adult he kept moving, and in fact he became a writer in part because it was one of the few jobs that wouldn’t tie him down. His fondest dream is to spend a year circumnavigating the globe and visiting every continent. Yes, even Antarctica. He lives in Southern California with his wife, Katherine Applegate, and their two children.
Read more about life in the FAYZ at www.thefayz.com, where you’ll find Sinder’s blog.
Visit www.AuthorTracker.com for exclusive information on your favorite HarperCollins author.
PRAISE FOR GONE
by Michael Grant
“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)
“If Stephen King had written Lord of the Flies, it might have been a little like this novel.”
—VOYA (starred review)
“Gripping and gritty.”
—School Library Journal
“Part Kid Nation and part Left Behind, with just a dash of Cain and Abel, the story is most impressive for its extraordinarily skillful pacing, which leaves the reader constantly on the verge of another discovery (none of which disappoint).”
—Kliatt
Credits
Jacket photo © 2009 by Amber Gray
Jacket design by Joel Tippie
Copyright
HUNGER: A GONE NOVEL. Copyright © 2009 by Michael Grant. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, 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.
Adobe Digital Edition April 2009 ISBN 978-0-06-191149-1
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
About the Publisher
Australia
HarperCollins Publishers (Australia) Pty. Ltd.
25 Ryde Road (PO Box 321)
Pymble, NSW 2073, Australia
http://www.harpercollinsebooks.com.au
Canada
HarperCollins Publishers Ltd.
55 Avenue Road, Suite 2900
Toronto, ON, M5R, 3L2, Canada
http://www.harpercollinsebooks.ca
New Zealand
HarperCollinsPublishers (New Zealand) Limited
P.O. Box 1
Auckland, New Zealand
http://www.harpercollins.co.nz
United Kingdom
HarperCollins Publishers Ltd.
77-85 Fulham Palace Road
London, W6 8JB, UK
http://www.harpercollinsebooks.co.uk
United States
HarperCollins Publishers Inc.
10 East 53rd Street
New York, NY 10022
http://www.harpercollinsebooks.com
Michael Grant, Hunger
(Series: Gone # 2)
Thank you for reading books on BookFrom.Net Share this book with friends