Gone Series: Plague Part 7

Astrid caught up to her.

"Lana."

"Yeah?" Lana had never been Astrid's biggest fan. She admired Astrid's smarts and looks. But they were very different people.

"It's Little Pete. He ..."

"He what?" Lana demanded impatiently.

"He has a fever. I think he has flu or something."

Lana shrugged. "Yeah, one of the Jennifers has it, too. I don't think it's any big deal. Take him to see Dahra, I'll stop by there later."

Lana expected Astrid to nod her head and take off. But Astrid glanced down the road to make sure no one was coming toward them. This got Lana's attention.

"I need you to come to my house," Astrid said firmly.

"Look, I get that you're more important than, you know, normal people," Lana snarked. "But I'll take care of him later. Okay? Bye."

Astrid grabbed her shoulder. Lana turned back, angry now. She didn't like being touched, let alone grabbed.

"It's not about me," Astrid said. "Lana ... I have to ask you. The gaiaphage ..."

Lana's face darkened.

"Can it see what you see?" Astrid asked quietly. "Can it know what you know?"

Lana felt a chill. "What is going on, Astrid?"

"Maybe nothing. But come with me. Come see Petey. Help me out, and I will owe you one."

Lana laughed derisively. She was the Healer: everyone owed her one. But she followed Astrid just the same.

Chapter Seven.

60 HOURS, 30 MINUTES.

CAINE HAD FOUND a telescope in the house. He carried it out to the cliff on the eastern edge of the island. It was afternoon. The light was pretty good, low, slanting rays that lit up the far sh.o.r.e. Sunlight glinted off windows and car wind-shields in Perdido Beach. Bright red tile roofs and tall palm trees made it seem so normal. As if it really was just another California beach town.

The nuclear power plant was closer. It, too, looked normal. The hole in the containment tower was on the far side, not visible from here. The hole he'd made.

He was startled by the sound behind him but didn't show it. Much.

"What are you looking at, Napoleon?" Diana asked.

"Napoleon?"

"You know, because he was exiled to an island after he almost took over the world," Diana said. "Although he was short. You're much taller."

Caine wasn't sure he minded Diana tweaking him. It was better than the way she'd been lately, all depressed and giving up on life. Hating herself.

He didn't mind if she hated him. They were never going to be a cute romantic couple like Sam and Astrid. Clean-cut, righteous, all that. The perfect couple. He and Diana were the imperfect couple.

"How did it work out for Napoleon?" he asked her.

He caught the slight hesitation as she searched for a glib answer.

"He lived happily ever after on his island," Diana said. "He had a beautiful girlfriend who was far better than he deserved."

"Stop worrying," he said harshly. "I'm not planning on leaving the island. How could I, even if I wanted to?"

"You would find a way," Diana said bleakly.

"Yeah. But here I am anyway," Caine said. He aimed the telescope back at the town. He could see the blackened hulks of burned-out homes just to the west of downtown.

"Don't do it," Diana said.

Caine didn't ask what she meant. He knew.

"Just let it go," Diana said. She put her hand on his shoulder. She caressed the side of his neck, his cheek.

He lowered the telescope and tossed it onto the overgrown sea gra.s.s. He turned, took her in his arms, and kissed her.

It had been a long time since he'd done that.

She felt different in his arms. Thinner. Smaller. More frail. But his body responded to her as it always had.

She did not pull away.

His own response surprised him. It had been a long time for that, too. A long time since he'd felt desire. Starving boys l.u.s.ted after food, not after girls.

And now that it was happening, it was overwhelming. Like a roar in his ears. A pounding in his chest. He ached all the way through.

At the last second, the second when he would have lost the last of his self-control, Diana gently but firmly pushed him away.

"Not here," she said.

"Where?" he gasped. He hated the neediness in his voice. He hated needing anyone or anything that badly. Need was weakness.

She detached his hands from her body. She took one step back. She was wearing an actual dress. A dress, with her legs showing and her shoulders bare and it was like she was a visitor from another planet.

He blinked, thinking maybe it was all a dream. She was clean and wearing a yellow summer dress. Her teeth had been brushed. Her hair was brushed, too, still a mess from cutting it all off and having it grow back while too hungry, but a shadow at least of its former dark, tumbling sensuality.

She bent down demurely and picked up the telescope. She handed it to him.

"Your choice, Caine. You can have me. Or you can try to take over the world. Not both. Because I'm not going to be part of that anymore. I can't. So it's up to you."

His jaw dropped. Literally.

"You witch," he said.

Diana laughed.

"You know I have the power ... ," he threatened.

"Of course. I would be helpless. But that's not what you want."

Caine spotted a boulder, not far away. Impressively big. He raised one hand, palm out, and with a sc.r.a.ping sound the boulder lifted into the air.

"Sometimes I hate you!" he yelled and with a flick of his wrist sent the boulder flying off the cliff and falling toward the water below.

"Just sometimes?" Diana raised one skeptical brow. "I hate you almost all the time."

They glared at each other with a look that was hate but also something else, something so much more helpless than hatred.

"We're damaged people," Diana said, suddenly sad and serious. "Horrible, messed-up, evil people. But I want to change. I want us both to change."

"Change? To what?" Caine asked, mystified.

"To people who no longer have dreams of being Napoleon."

She was her usual smirking self again as she looked him slowly up and down. Slowly enough that he actually felt embarra.s.sed and had to overcome a modest urge to cover himself. "Don't decide right now," she said. "You're in no condition to think clearly."

And she turned and walked back toward the house. Caine threw many more large boulders into the sea. It didn't help.

Sam stood on the street corner watching Lana and Astrid enter the house he had shared with Astrid. Lana was carrying a water jug. Patrick stopped and stared in Sam's direction, but the girls didn't notice him and Patrick quickly lost interest.

He had come to tell Astrid he was going out of town. Astrid would keep the secret. And he wanted at least one person other than Albert to know where he was and what he was doing.

Anyway, that was what he told himself. Because admitting that he still, even now, even after everything that had happened, and everything that hadn't happened, couldn't just walk away from Astrid ... that would be too big an admission of weakness.

He couldn't not tell her he was leaving. She had to know that he was still ... whatever he was. He kicked at a crumpled soda can and sent it skittering down the trash-strewn street.

Why was Lana going over to see Astrid? Little Pete must not be feeling well. But how could anyone tell what Little Pete was feeling?

Sam frowned. He didn't want to have some scene with Astrid in front of Lana.

The sky was getting dark. He would be leaving soon. Dekka, Taylor, and Jack would be meeting him across the highway. Each was supposed to keep the whole thing secret.

In reality, of course, Jack would tell Brianna. Taylor would keep it quiet only because she didn't know what was going on, and by the time she did they'd be out of town. Dekka would tell no one. And Sam? He would tell Astrid.

Sam knocked at Astrid's door.

No answer.

Feeling strange and wrong he opened the door to what had until very recently been his own home and went inside.

Astrid and Lana were upstairs; he could hear the murmur of voices.

He took the stairs two at a time and called out, "Astrid, it's me."

They were in Little Pete's room. Astrid and Lana stood a few feet apart with their backs to Sam.

A woman-a grown, adult woman-was sitting on the bed with Little Pete's head in her lap.

"Mom?" Astrid said.

The woman was in her late thirties. She had streaked blond hair and Astrid's translucent pale skin, somewhat aged by sun. Her eyes were brown. She smiled sadly and cradled Little Pete's head. She stroked his hair.

"Mom?" Astrid said again, and this time her voice broke.

The woman did not speak. She did not look up at Astrid. She kept all her attention focused on Little Pete.

"She's not real," Astrid said, and took a step back.

Lana glared at Astrid. Then she noticed Sam, standing there.

Lana's eyes narrowed. "You knew about this, didn't you?" she accused.

"She's not real," Astrid said again. "That's not my mother. That's ... it's an illusion. He's sick. I was out so ... so he made her appear. To comfort him."

"He made her appear." Lana practically spit the words. "He made her appear. Because that's something just anyone can do, any of us can just make a three-dimensional real-life mommy appear to cuddle us when we feel bad."

"Stop it, Petey," Astrid said.

The woman-the illusion of a woman-did not react but kept stroking Little Pete's head.

"Cure him, Lana. Cure him and it will stop." Astrid was pleading. "He has a fever. He's coughing."

As if demonstrating, Little Pete coughed several times.

It was weird. He didn't cover his mouth or change his expression. He just coughed.

"Give it a try, Lana," Sam urged. "Please."