Gone Series: Plague Part 8

Lana rounded on him. "Interesting power for an autistic to have, isn't it?" she demanded. "Especially when you think about all the stories going around about how the dome went clear for a few seconds when Little Pete blacked out."

"There are a lot of mutants," Sam said as blandly as he could.

"Wasn't he at the power plant when the FAYZ came?" Lana asked.

Astrid and Sam exchanged a glance. Neither spoke.

"He was at the plant," Lana said. "The plant is the center of the FAYZ. The very center."

"Please try to heal him," Astrid urged.

"He's got a fever and a cough, big deal," Lana said. "Why is it so urgent that he be healed?"

Again, Sam had no answer.

Lana moved closer. The woman's hand was still on Pete's forehead. But she didn't react when Lana laid her own hand on Little Pete's chest.

"So, that's your mother," Lana said more calmly.

"No," Astrid said.

"Weird seeing an adult, isn't it?"

"It's an illusion," Astrid said weakly. "Little Pete has the power to ... to make his visions seem real."

"Yeah," Lana said dryly. "That's all it is. The blink, when everyone saw the outside, that was just an illusion. And your mom, here, that's an illusion."

The woman disappeared suddenly. Little Pete's head fell back against his pillow.

"You're helping him," Sam said. "He's getting better."

"You know what's interesting?" Lana said in a mockery of casual chitchat. "The sun and the moon and the stars here are all illusions, too. So many illusions. So many coincidences. So many secrets."

Sam didn't look at Astrid. He wished he hadn't come. More, he wished Astrid hadn't brought Lana here, although he understood it.

After a while Lana stepped back from Little Pete. "I don't know if that fixed him or not."

"Thanks," Astrid said.

"I can feel it, you know," Lana said softly.

"The healing?"

Lana shook her head. "No. It. I can feel it. It touches him. It watches him. I can feel it. It reaches him." Her brow creased and she seemed almost to be wincing in pain. "Just like it reaches me."

Without looking at either of them, Lana rushed from the room.

They stood silent, neither knowing what to say.

"I'm going to be away for a couple of days," Sam said finally. "The water situation ... I'm going to search out another lake."

A tear spilled down Astrid's cheek.

"That must have been hard," Sam said. "Even knowing it wasn't real."

Astrid used one finger to brush away the tear. "Lana's smart. She'll put it all together." She sighed. "If things get bad they'll come after him. The kids will come after Petey."

"Before I go I'll ask Breeze to keep an eye on you," Sam said.

Astrid stared gloomily at her brother. He coughed twice and then lay quiet. "The thing is, I don't know what would happen."

"If he got sick?"

"If he died. I don't know. I do not know."

Pete.

THE DARKNESS WAS watching him, touching him with its wispy tendril, listening for him to speak.

He would not speak. The Darkness could not help him. The Darkness only wanted to play, and it was so jealous when Pete played with anyone else.

Come to me, it said over and over again.

Pete's legs were weak. He stood poised atop the gla.s.s but his legs hurt and his feet, too, like the gla.s.s sheet was slicing into him.

He had felt better when his mother was there. She was quiet, the way he liked. She had not tried to touch him except to let him lie there against her breast and feel the soft rise and fall of her breathing.

But then the breathing had begun to wear on him, making him distracted. If it didn't stop ...

But then it did stop when he made her go away. He could remember the good part, before the sound of breathing got to be too much, and not have to hear it anymore.

Loud sister was talking and then another. The other touched him with her hand. He looked at her and was puzzled. A faint green tendril spiraled up to touch her. She seemed to be on both sides of the gla.s.s at once.

He felt her touch and it made him tense. He endured it, but inside he was feeling worse and worse.

Hot. Like fire was inside him.

He didn't want to hear any more from his body.

The other left. She took her hand away and left. But he could feel an echo of her inside him. She had touched the Darkness, but she refused its pleas to come and play.

He wondered ... but now his body was drawing his attention again. Hot and cold, hungry and thirsty.

It bothered him.

Chapter Eight.

54 HOURS, 21 MINUTES.

"KILL IT! KILL me!"

It was m.u.f.fled, but you could still hear it. They'd closed the air-conditioning vents-wasn't like there was air-conditioning anymore-but still the desperate wail came up from the bas.e.m.e.nt.

Howard was out at some kind of stupid meeting. Some big deal. Howard always had big deals.

Charles Merriman, who everyone called Orc, rummaged in the mess beside his couch. There had to be something left in one of these bottles. He didn't want to have to go into the back room closet and get another bottle.

"It's the only way. Sam! Sam! Tell Sam to do it!"

Orc wasn't drunk. Not drunk enough to ignore the sound of that stupid girl's voice. That took a pretty good drunk and right now he was only drunk enough that he didn't want to get up off the couch.

His stony fingers lifted a bottle. Wild Turkey. Only about half an inch of brown liquid left in the bottom. He twisted the cork. The gla.s.s neck of the bottle shattered in his grip. That happened fairly often. Orc had a hard time gauging his strength when he was a little drunk.

He blew slivers of gla.s.s away. He raised the bottle high, careful to keep the sharp points away from his still-human mouth.

The one part of him that could be cut: his mouth.

Well, his mouth and his eyes.

He drained the fiery liquid into his mouth and swallowed. Oh, yeah. Yeah. But not enough.

Orc levered himself up. He was heavy, like you'd expect of a boy made of wet gravel. Like a walking creature of wet cement. He couldn't fit on a scale although Howard had tried once to weigh him.

He had crushed the scales.

He stomped toward the booze closet where Howard kept his stash. With the exaggerated care of a person not in control of his body, Orc opened the closet door.

A few bottles of clear booze. A few bottles of brown booze. A couple bottles of Cabka, the liquor Howard made by distilling cabbage and rotten oranges. It was nasty stuff. Orc preferred the brown booze.

He snagged a bottle and after a few seconds of clumsy fumbling he gave up and twisted the gla.s.s neck off.

"Is that you up there, Orc? I hear you stomping around." Drake. The girl Brittney was gone now, replaced by Drake.

"You still alive, you stupid, alcoholic pile of rock?" Drake taunted. "Still following Sam's orders? Doing what you're told, Orc?"

Orc stomped angrily on the floor. "Shut up or I'll come down there and smash you like a bug!" Orc roared.

Drake laughed. "Sure you will, Orc. You don't have the stones. Wait, that was a funny! The stone monster who doesn't have any stones."

Orc stomped again. The entire house shook when he did it.

Drake called him various names, but now Orc had about a quarter of the bottle inside him. The warmth spread throughout his body.

He yelled something equally rude back at Drake. Then he staggered back to his couch and sagged heavily into it.

He didn't mind Drake so much. Drake was a creep.

It was the girl who made Orc want to cry.

She was a monster. Like Orc. Begging for death. Begging for someone to let her go to her Jesus.

Kill me, kill me, kill me, she begged every day and every night.

Orc took a deep swig.

Tears seeped from his human eyes and fell into the rocky crevices of his face.

Someone was knocking at the front door. Normally Howard would answer. But then Orc heard Jamal's voice yelling, "Hey, Orc! Open up, man."

Jamal was one of the very few people besides Howard who ever came to see Orc. Of course it was just so he could get a drink. But still, any company was better than listening to Drake or Brittney.

"Want a drink, Jamal?"

"You know it," Jamal said. "Albert's busting on me all day."

"Yeah," Orc said. He didn't care. He snagged a bottle and handed it to Jamal, who took a deep swig.

Orc flopped onto his mattresses, the floor groaning beneath him. Jamal took a chair and kept the bottle.

"Who is that up there?" Drake's voice floated up. "Is that Jamal or Turk? Too heavy to be Howard."

"It's Jamal," Jamal yelled.

"Don't talk to him," Orc said, but without much conviction.

"Hey, Jamal, how about letting me out of here?" Drake asked, almost playful.

Orc yelled something obscene back at him.

"Only if you kill Albert first," Jamal shouted, then laughed and took another drink.