Gone

  Edilio was there and kids were shooting and Edilio was shouting, “No, no, no,” and then blood was in Quinn’s eyes and blood was in his brain and blood was everywhere and he lost his mind, lost his mind swinging and screaming and hitting, hitting, hitting.

  Mary clutched Isabella to her and huddled with John, and the kids cried hearing the madness outside, the screams and snarls and guns.

  “Jesus, save us, Jesus, save us,” someone was repeating in a racked, sobbing voice, and Mary knew in some distant way that it was her.

  Drake heard the coyote howl in the night and knew in his black heart what it meant.

  Enough of licking his wounds.

  The battle was joined.

  “Time,” he said. “Time to show them all.”

  He kicked his own front door open and marched toward the plaza, shouting, shouting, wishing he could bay at the moon like the coyotes.

  He heard guns firing and pulled his pistol from his belt and uncoiled his whip hand and snapped it, loving the crack it made.

  Ahead, two figures were moving away from him, also heading for the sound of battle, two figures. One seemed impossibly small. But no, it was the other that was impossibly big. Sumo big. A shuffling, slumping, thick-limbed creature.

  The two mismatched ones moved into a pool of light cast by a streetlamp. Drake recognized the smaller one.

  “Howard, you traitor,” Drake shouted.

  Howard stopped. The beast beside him kept walking.

  “You don’t want any of this, Drake,” Howard warned.

  Drake whipped him across the chest, tore Howard’s shirt open, left a trail of blood that was black in the harsh light.

  “You better be on your way to help take down Sam,” Drake warned.

  The rough beast stopped. It turned slowly and came back.

  “What is that?” Drake demanded sharply.

  “You,” the beast muttered.

  “Orc?” Drake cried, half thrilled, half terrified.

  “It’s your fault I did it,” Orc said dully.

  “Get out of my way,” Drake ordered. “There’s a fight. Come with me or die right now.”

  “He just wants some beer, Drake,” Howard said placatingly, clutching the wound in his chest, hunched over in pain, but still trying to manipulate, still trying to be clever.

  “God’s judgment on me,” Orc slurred.

  “You stupid lump,” Drake said, and whirled his whip hand and brought it down full force on Orc’s shoulder.

  “AAHHH!” Orc bellowed in pain.

  “Get moving, you moron,” Drake ordered.

  Orc got moving. But not toward the plaza.

  “You want a piece of Whip Hand, freak?” Drake demanded. “I’ll cut you up.”

  Astrid felt a crushing weight on her lower back and legs. She was facedown, lying on top of Little Pete. She was stunned, but had enough presence of mind to understand that she was stunned.

  She took a deep breath.

  She whispered, “Petey.” She heard the sound through her bones. Her ears were ringing, muffling sound.

  Little Pete wasn’t moving.

  She tried to draw her legs up, but they wouldn’t move.

  “Petey, Petey,” she cried.

  She wiped something out of her eyes, dust, dirt, sweat, and blinked to focus on her brother. She had shielded most of his body from the falling wall, but a chunk of plaster the size of a backpack lay on his head.

  She bit back a sob. She pressed two fingers against his neck and felt a pulse. She could feel his shallow breathing, the rise and fall of his chest, beneath her.

  “Help,” she croaked, unsure if she was shouting or whispering, unable to hear for the ringing.

  “Someone help us. Someone help us.”

  “Save my brother.”

  “Save him,” she pleaded, and the plea became a prayer. “Save Sam. Save us all.”

  She began to recite from memory a prayer she’d heard once long ago. Her voice was faraway, someone else’s voice.

  “St. Michael the Archangel, defend us in battle. Be our defense against the wickedness and snares of the devil.” She could feel more than hear her own sobbing, a racking shudder that twisted the words in her throat.

  As if in mocking answer to her plea for mercy, a shower of glass and plaster fragments fell around her.

  “May God rebuke him, we humbly pray. And do you, O prince of the heavenly host, by the power of God…”

  Little Pete stirred and groaned. He moved his head and she could see the deep gash, pushed inward, a cleaver-mark in his head.

  “…cast into Hell Satan and all the evil spirits who prowl about the world seeking the ruin of souls.”

  Someone stood on the rubble above her. She twisted her neck and saw, silhouetted against the high ceiling in a sudden flash of green lightning, a dark face.

  “Amen.”

  “I’m not exactly an angel, let alone an archangel,” Dekka said in a voice Astrid could only just make out. “But I can get this stuff off you.”

  Caine leaped from the wreckage of the building.

  He had done it.

  He had done it.

  Sam was under the tangled debris, buried. Beaten.

  But Caine could scarcely enjoy the moment. The pain from the damaged left side of his body was shocking. The dangerous green-white light had fused his shirt to his flesh and the result was beyond any agony he had ever imagined.

  He staggered toward the ruined church, trying to make sense of the chaos around him. There was no more gunfire, but there were still screams and cries and snarls. And something else, a series of tiny sonic booms, the crack of a bullwhip. Below that, a bass drum keeping a random beat.

  Caine stopped, stared, momentarily forgetting his pain.

  On the steps of the town hall a titanic battle raged between Drake and some rough-hewn monster.

  Drake cracked his whip hand and fired his pistol.

  The monster lunged with clumsy blows that missed again and again as Drake danced around, whipping and whipping and yet not even backing the beast up.

  The beast swung and missed Drake by inches. The stony fist slammed one of the limestone pillars in front of the town hall. The pillar cracked and almost shattered. Little stone chips flew.

  Caine’s gaze was drawn downward by a snarling, slurring, high-pitched voice.

  “Female say Pack Leader stop,” Pack Leader said angrily.

  “What?” Caine could make no sense of it till he saw Diana striding up, dark hair flying, eyes furious.

  “I told this filthy beast to stop,” Diana said, barely controlled.

  “Stop what?” Caine demanded.

  “They’re still attacking the kids,” Diana said. “We’ve won. Sam is dead. Call them off, Caine.”

  Caine turned his attention back to the battle between Drake and the monster. “They’re coyotes,” Caine said coldly.

  Diana flew at him. “You’ve lost your mind, Caine. This has to stop. You’ve won. This has to stop.”

  “Or what, Diana? Or what?” Caine demanded. “Go get Lana. I’m hurt. Pack Leader, do what you want.”

  “Maybe this is why your mother abandoned you,” Diana said savagely. “Maybe she could see that you weren’t just bad, you were twisted and sick and evil.”

  Caine reacted with sudden violence, forgetting his powers and slapping her hard across the face.

  Diana tripped backward from the blow and sat down hard on the stone steps.

  Caine could see her face with sudden, terrible clarity by the glow of a brilliant column of blinding, green-white light.

  That light could have only one source.

  The light was like a spear aimed at the sky. It arced upward from the midst of the rubble of the apartment building.

  “No,” Caine said.

  But the light burned, burned away rubble and debris, all the crushing weight of the collapsed apartment building.

  “No,” Caine said, and the light died, snapped off.


  Behind him, Drake and Orc carried on their quick-and-slow, nimble-and-heavy, sharp-and-dull battle, but all Caine could see was the blackened, soot-covered, bright-eyed figure who now walked toward him from the rubble.

  Caine aimed his hands at the shattered wood and plaster of the church front. He threw his hands toward Sam and a truckload of debris went flying.

  Sam raised his hands. Green fire exploded chunks of brick and heavy wooden beams. They burned in midair, turning to cinders before they could hit him.

  Dekka raised the debris off Astrid and Little Pete.

  But it was no easy thing. Her ability to suspend gravity suspended it under Astrid as well, and she and Little Pete floated up in a spinning galaxy of broken lumber and plaster.

  Dekka darted a hand in and yanked Astrid out of the suspension zone. Astrid hit the floor along with Little Pete.

  Dekka released her hold on the debris and it slammed down, scarily loud.

  “Thanks,” Astrid said.

  “There’s a lot of other people trapped in here,” Dekka said, wasting no time in moving off to help others.

  Astrid bent down and tried to lift Little Pete. He was limp, just dead weight. She got her arms around his chest and hugged him close like a too-large baby. She hugged him to her and staggered awkwardly from the church, half dragging him, stumbling across rubble.

  Lana could heal him, but Lana was gone. All she could think of was to get him to Dahra down in the basement. But what could Dahra do? Was it even possible to reach the so-called hospital, or had the entrance been blocked by falling debris?

  For the first time she realized that the front wall of the church was simply gone. She could see night sky and stars. But she could also see a terrible green-tinged lightning.

  Her hearing was returning as the ringing subsided. She could make out animal growls and the sharp crack of a whip and too many voices crying.

  Suddenly the debris piled around her began to fly.

  Astrid dropped to the ground, shielding Little Pete again, still, always protecting Little Pete. Chunks of wall and shards of wood paneling and odd steel-and-wood joints rose like jets taking off from an airport and accelerated crazily, flying in a stream out through the broken church front.

  The green lightning flashed and there came a sound of explosions, a roar of explosions and a brighter light still.

  The debris stream stopped.

  Astrid climbed up again, hauling Little Pete with her.

  Someone ran toward her from the street. He stopped, panting, staring, a frightened animal at bay.

  “Caine,” Astrid spat.

  He did not speak. She could see that he was hurt. In pain. His face was streaked with sweat and dirt. He stared at her like he was seeing a ghost.

  A dangerous light dawned in his clouded eyes.

  “Perfect,” he whispered.

  Astrid felt herself lifted off her feet. She clung desperately to Little Pete, but he slipped from her hands, escaped her clawing fingers, and fell to the floor.

  “Come out and play, brother,” Caine shouted. “I have a friend of yours.”

  Astrid floated, powerless, helpless, and Caine strode behind her, using her as a shield. Out through the church front, out onto the steps, looking out on a nightmare scene of mad dogs and raging battles.

  Sam was there at the bottom of the steps. He was bloodied and bruised, and one arm hung limp.

  “Come on, Sam, burn me now,” Caine shrieked. “Come on, brother, show me what you’ve got.”

  “Hiding behind a girl, Caine?” Sam asked.

  “You think you can taunt me?” Caine said. “All that matters is winning. So save it.”

  “I’ll kill you, Caine.”

  “No. No you won’t. Not without killing your girlfriend.”

  “We’re both going to blink out of here in about a minute, Caine. It’s over for both of us,” Sam said.

  “Maybe for you, Sam. Not for me. I know the way. I know the way to stay.” He laughed in wild triumph.

  Astrid said, “Sam, you have to do it. Destroy him.”

  Diana was mounting the stairs.

  “Yeah, Sam, destroy me,” Caine mocked. “You have the power. Just burn a hole right through her and you’ll get me, too.”

  Diana said, “Caine, put her down. Be a man, for once.”

  “Put her down, Caine,” Sam said. “It’s the end. Fifteen and out. I don’t know what it is, but it may be death, and you don’t want to die with more blood on your hands.”

  Caine laughed mirthlessly. “You know nothing about me. You didn’t grow up not knowing who you were. You didn’t have to create yourself out of your own imagination, out of your own will.”

  “I grew up with no father at all,” Sam said. “And no explanation. And no truth. Same as you.”

  Caine glanced at his watch. “I think time is up for you, Sam. You go first, remember? And here’s what I want you to know before you go: I’m going to survive, Sam. I’m going to be here still. Me and your lovely Astrid and all of the FAYZ. All of it mine.”

  Diana said, “Sam, the way you beat the poof is—”

  Caine rounded on her, raised his hand, and blasted her in mid-sentence. She flew through the air, somersaulted backward and landed across the street on the grass of the plaza.

  The effort had distracted Caine. He dropped Astrid.

  Sam extended his hand, palm out.

  FORTY-SIX

  01 MINUTES

  A CLEAR SHOT.

  With a thought, he could kill Caine.

  But the world around him faded. Astrid, lying in a heap, seemed bleached, colorless, almost translucent. Caine himself, a ghost.

  No sound. The screams of children were muted. The battle between Drake and Orc moved in slow motion, the attacks by the coyotes, all of it frame-by-frame, human and beast and monster.

  Sam’s body was numb, as if it had died and left only his brain still whirring away inside his skull.

  It’s time, a voice said.

  He knew that voice and the sound of it was a knife in his guts.

  His mother stood before him. She was as beautiful as she had always been to him. Her hair stirred in a breeze he did not feel. Her blue eyes were the only true color.

  “Happy birthday,” she said.

  “No,” he whispered, though his lips did not move.

  “You really are the man now,” she said, and her mouth made a wry smile.

  “My little man,” she said.

  “No.”

  She stretched out her hand to him. “Come.”

  “I can’t,” he said.

  “Sam, I’m your mother. I love you. Come with me.”

  “Mom…”

  “Just reach out to me. I’m safe. I can carry you away, out of this place.”

  Sam shook his head slowly, slowly, like he was drowning in molasses. Something was happening to time. Astrid wasn’t breathing. Nothing was moving. The whole world was frozen.

  “It will be like it was,” his mother said.

  “It was never…,” he began. “You lied to me. You never told me…”

  “I never lied,” she said, and frowned at him, disappointed.

  “You never told me I had a brother. You never told—”

  “Just come with me,” she said, impatient now, jerking her hand a little like she would when he was a little kid and refused to take her hand to cross the street. “Come with me now, Sam. You’ll be safe and out of this place.”

  He reacted instinctively, the little boy again, reacted to the “mommy” voice, the “obey me” voice. He reached for her, stretched his hand out to her.

  And pulled it back.

  “I can’t,” Sam whispered. “I have someone I have to stay here for.”

  Anger flashed in his mother’s eyes, a green light, surreal, before she blinked and it was gone.

  And then, out of the bleached, unreal world, Caine stepped into the eerie light.

  Sam’s mother smiled at Caine, and he stared at her won
deringly. “Nurse Temple,” Caine said.

  “Mom,” she corrected. “It’s time for both my boys to join me, to come away with me. Out of this place.”

  Caine seemed spellbound, unable to tear his gaze away from the gentle, smiling face, the piercing blue eyes.

  “Why?” Caine asked in a small child’s voice.

  Their mother said nothing. Once again, for just a heartbeat, her blue eyes glowed a toxic green before returning to cool, icy blue.

  “Why him and not me?” Caine asked.

  “It’s time to come with me now,” their mother insisted. “We’ll be a family. Far from here.”

  “You first, Sam,” Caine said. “Go with your mother.”

  “No,” Sam said.

  Caine’s face darkened with rage. “Go, Sam. Go. Go. Go with her.” He was shouting now. He seemed to want to grab Sam physically, push him toward the mother they had not quite shared, but his movements were odd, disjointed, a jerky stick figure in a dream.

  Caine gave up trying. “Jack told you,” he said dully.

  “No one told me anything,” Sam said. “I have things I have to do here.”

  Their mother extended her arms to them, angry, demanding to be heeded. “Come to me. Come to me.”

  Caine shook his head slowly. “No.”

  “But you’re the man of the house now, Sam,” his mother wheedled. “My little man. Mine.”

  “No,” Sam said. “I’m my own man.”

  “And I was never yours,” Caine sneered. “Too late now, Mother.”

  The face of their mother wavered. The tender flesh seemed to break apart in jigsaw-puzzle pieces. The gently smiling, pleading mouth melted, collapsed inward. In its place a mouth ringed with needle-sharp teeth. Eyes filled with green fire.

  “I’ll have you yet,” the monster raged with sudden violence.

  Caine stared in horror. “What are you?”

  “What am I?” the monster mocked him savagely. “I’m your future. You’ll come to me on your own in the dark place, Caine. You will come willingly to me.”