Gone Series Complete Collection (84 page)

Edilio drew a gun—too big, too brightly colored, and too plastic to be real from his backpack. He pumped it once, leveled it at waist level, and fired.

A thin stream of watered-down yellow paint sprayed thirty feet.

At the same time Steve drew twin cans of spray paint from his pants, aimed, and fired.

Edilio and Steve both sprayed in a circle, twirling, hitting kids and cars and foliage.

“There!” Sam yelled.

Bug was almost completely invisible at night. But a lot less invisible with a spray of yellow paint across his chest.

Bug bolted, looking like nothing more than a dancing, racing streak of fluorescence. He pelted away, yelling, “Open the door! Open the door!”

Dekka took a stance. “Make it look good, but not too good,” Sam whispered.

Suddenly Bug tripped. Gravity had ceased to exist, but he stumbled out of Dekka’s range, regained his feet, and hit the door.

“Nice,” Sam said.

The door opened, and Bug fell into the darkness beyond.

“You think he heard?” Edilio asked.

“Yeah. He’ll be blurting it to Caine right about now. So we go in hard and fast.”

“How?” Edilio asked.

“Right through the wall,” Sam said grimly. “Howard! Orc!” he yelled. He pointed at the turbine room door, which had slammed shut behind Bug. “Take out that door. Edilio, grab your best guy and go with them. Make lots of noise. Make it look good. Everyone else with me.”

“Lots of noise,” Edilio echoed in a worried voice.

Sam tightened his grip on Edilio’s shoulder. “If I were ever going to have a Mexican sidekick, you’d be the guy.”

“Yeah, right.”

“Ready?”

“Nope.”

“So let’s go,” Sam said. Then, louder, “Let’s go!”

They raced for the door that Bug had taken. Across the parking lot at a crazy run. Edilio, Steve, and one other soldier, half pushing Orc ahead of them as Howard drifted strategically slower and fell behind in relative safety.

Sam, Dekka, and the remaining soldiers kept pace, then peeled off, dodging left and racing along the building.

Taylor stayed behind with two guys guarding the rear.

Orc ran straight for the door. He plowed into it like a bull, full-speed, heedless. The sound of the impact echoed around the parking lot.

The metal door crumpled but did not give. Orc reared back and kicked it with his stone foot. He fell on his back, but the door flew open.

Gunfire erupted from inside.

Orc stayed flat. The others dodged aside.

Edilio began firing through the doorway, an earsplitting din. The muzzle flash was like a strobe light.

Sam and Dekka raced away, hugging the wall.

“About here, I think,” Sam said, panting.

The two of them stepped away from the wall, and Sam raised his hands.

Blistering green fire exploded from Sam’s upraised palms. The brick wall glowed red. Almost immediately the masonry began to crack, and then Dekka made her own move. Gravity beneath the wall ceased to exist.

The wall began to crack. Flakes of mortar and stone flew straight up in the air. Some of the smaller chunks caught fire and burned as they rose. The wall was coming apart, but too slowly.

“Orc!” Sam yelled.

The boy-monster rolled to his feet and came at a rush.

“Dekka, off!” Sam yelled.

The green fire died, gravity returned with a rain of dirt and gravel, and through it ran Orc. He hit the weakened wall with one massive shoulder. The cinder block collapsed in like a fallen pie crust.

Orc backed up, then hit it again and he was through. Sam dashed after him, but unlike Orc he was not immune to the heat he had himself created. It was like rushing into an oven. He brushed against a bit of red-hot brick and yelped in pain.

Sam froze.

Inside, beyond the cinderblock wall, was not the control room. Instead of breaking through to the control room and catching Caine off guard, he was in an outer room filled with old-style metal filing cabinets.

The whole plan had just fallen apart. The diversion was now pointless.

Dekka was right behind Sam. “So much for the element of surprise,” she said.

No time for regrets, Sam told himself, but it was a bitter moment. Surprise might have saved lives. Surprise might have allowed them to rescue the hostages.

“The next wall should be easier,” Sam said. “Take cover!”

Dekka jumped behind a row of filing cabinets as Sam attacked the inner wall. The temperature in the filing room went from stifling to dangerous in seconds.

Sam’s light burned away paint and wallboard in a few seconds, but beyond it, inside the wall, was a barrier of dull, gray metal.

“It’s a radiation shield,” Sam yelled to Dekka. “Lead.”

The lead melted quickly at the touch of Sam’s probing fire. Liquid lead dribbled down the wall and pooled, instantly igniting anything it touched.

But now the file room was too hot for anyone. The air was gone, and Sam was woozy, unfocused, forgetting what he was doing.

“Orc! Grab him!” Dekka yelled as she dove back outside, gasping for breath.

Sam felt himself lifted off his feet. It was curiously pleasant. Outside, the shock of cold air on his face snapped him back to reality.

He glanced to his right. Gunfire still kept the turbine room doorway clear. Edilio was flattened against the wall, unable to do anything but reload and keep firing blindly. His soldiers had been ordered back to safety behind parked cars.

The attack was failing.

Sam stood up, fighting nausea and dizziness. He faced the wall again. He could shoot through the outer wall, through the room beyond, and hit the lead shield. But his deadly light was diffused at that distance. And he had no room to ply the blowtorch back and forth and widen the hole.

He raised his hands and unleashed the power. The lead sheath melted quickly. But too late, Sam knew. Too late for surprise. Too late.

And in the end, too little.

A red-rimmed hole about the size of a manhole cover dripped melted lead like tears.

Then a familiar voice cried, “Sam!”

Sam ignored it.

“Sam, in three seconds I’m pushing one of my hostages into this hole you’ve made,” Caine yelled. “One!”

Sam widened the gap as much as he could, working the edges, melting lead.

“Two!”

He couldn’t stop, Sam told himself.

But if he didn’t stop, he had no doubt, none, that Caine would make good on his threat. Caine could literally hurl one of the hostages into the fiery hole Sam was burning.

Sam dropped his hands. The light died.

“That’s better,” Caine yelled.

“Come out now, Caine, and maybe I let you walk away in one piece,” Sam blustered.

“Here’s the thing, brother,” Caine called back. “I have two of your people. Give a shout-out, kids.”

“It’s me, Sam. It’s Mike Farmer! Mickey’s here, too. And Britt, she’s . . . she’s hurt.”

Sam shot a look at Dekka. She stared back at him, stone faced. Caine had said two hostages. So he was counting Brittney as dead.

And no mention of Brianna. The Breeze was not a hostage. At the same time, Sam told himself, Mike hadn’t listed her, either. So at least she wasn’t lying defeated in that room.

The gunfire at the doorway had ceased. Edilio still stood ready, but not knowing what to do next.

“Let them go, Caine,” Sam said wearily.

“I don’t think I’m going to do that,” Caine answered.

Sam ran his hand through his hair, beside himself with frustration.

“What is it you want?” Sam asked. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“I have the power plant, that’s obvious,” Caine said. “Stupid of you to lose it, Sam.”

Sam had no answer to that.

“What I’m going to do, Sam, is turn off the power to Perdido Beach.”

“You do that, you’ll be sitting in the dark, too,” Sam shouted back.

“You’d think so, wouldn’t you?” Caine said with a laugh. “But it turns out that’s not true. It seems we can turn off some parts of the grid from here and not affect other parts.”

“I think you’re bluffing, Caine. I’ve seen the control room. It would take you a week to make any sense out of it.”

Caine laughed easily. “Oh, man, you are right about that, brother. Hey, it would probably take me a month. And Diana’s no better at the techie stuff. And Drake, well, you know Drake. But . . .”

Sam knew what was coming next. He closed his eyes and hung his head.

“Fortunately, our mutual friend Computer Jack, here, he’s pretty much got it whipped. In fact . . . How’s it going, Jack? Got it yet?”

There was a murmur, barely audible. Then, Caine again, taunting. “Guess what, Sam?”

Sam refused to answer.

“Jack here says the lights just went off in Perdido Beach.”

Caine laughed, a wild, triumphant sound.

Sam caught Taylor’s eye. She teleported over to him. “Check it out,” he said. The girl nodded once and disappeared.

“You sending Brianna to check it out?” Caine shouted. “Or Taylor?”

Sam said nothing. He waited.

Taylor popped back into view, right beside him.

“I bounced to a bend in the road where you can see town,” she reported.

“And?”

TWENTY-FIVE

17
HOURS
, 54
MINUTES

DUCK HAD
ARGUED
with himself all the way home. Hunter’s problem was not his problem, he told himself. Okay, maybe he was a freak now, too, like Hunter, but so what? He had some stupid, useless power—why did that mean he had to buy a piece of Hunter’s grief?

Hunter was a jerk. And all the people Duck liked were normals. Mostly. He liked Sam, of course, in a sort of distant way. But, man, how was he suddenly supposed to be choosing sides in a fight he didn’t even know was happening?

However, he didn’t like the idea of just leaving Hunter hiding out hungry in the rubble outside the church. That seemed kind of harsh.

By the time he had reached the relative safety of his home, Duck had talked himself out of doing anything one way or the other. And then he talked himself into the opposite position. And back again.

He found himself looking in the kitchen cupboards. Just to see. Just to see if it was even possible to help Hunter out.

There wasn’t much to see in the kitchen. Two cans of veggies. A jar of hot dog relish, but not even the sweet kind. A half-empty bag of flour and some oil. He’d learned how to cook a sort of nasty-tasting tortilla with the flour and a little water and oil. It was the current popular favorite in the FAYZ, something even the most kitchen-impaired could kind of figure out.

He didn’t want to even think about what they’d all be eating in a week. From what Duck had heard, there was food in the fields, but no one wanted to pick it if there were zekes. He shuddered at the thought.

But he supposed he could spare the hot dog relish. Not exactly something good for you, but Hunter had sounded pretty desperate. And nowadays everyone was eating things that would have made them gag before.

Duck had a sudden vision of actual hot dogs. The real thing, steaming hot, nestled in a tender white bun.

Duck’s aunt was from Chicago. She had taught him about genuine Chicago hot dogs with, what was it? Seven toppings? He wondered if he could remember them all.

Mustard. Relish. Onions. Tomatoes.

His mouth was watering at the thought. But then his mouth would have watered at the idea of a real hot dog topped with Brussels sprouts.

He made up his mind. It wasn’t about freaks versus normals. It was about whether he could just leave Hunter out there cowering all through the night.

No. He’d bring him the relish and then, if Hunter needed a place to hide, he’d let him stay in the basement here at the house.

Duck slipped the relish into the pocket of his jacket and headed with great reluctance back into the night.

It took only a few minutes to reach the church.

“Hunter. Yo, Hunter,” he called in a hoarse whisper.

Nothing.

Great. Perfect. He was being punked after all.

He turned and started to walk away. But around the corner came a group of seven, maybe eight kids. It took him only a second to spot the baseball bats.

Zil was in the lead.

“There’s one!” Zil shouted, and before Duck could even react the seven boys were rushing him.

“What’s up?” Duck asked.

The boys surrounded him. There was no denying their menacing attitude, but Duck was determined not to give them an excuse to start swinging.

“What’s up?” Zil mocked. “The Human Drill wants to know what’s up.” He gave Duck a shove. “One of your kind killed my best friend, that’s what’s up.”

“We’re sick of it,” another boy chimed in.

Various voices muttered agreement.

“Guys, I didn’t hurt anyone,” Duck said. “I’m just . . .”

He didn’t know what he was just. The hostile eyes around him narrowed.

“Just what, freak?” Zil demanded.

“Walking, man. Anything wrong with that?”

“We’re looking for Hunter,” Hank said.

“We’re going to kick his butt.”

“Yeah. Maybe rearrange his nose,” Antoine said. “Like maybe it would look better sticking out the side of his face.”

They laughed.

“Hunter?” Duck said, working to sound innocent.

“Yeah. Mr. Microwave. Killer chud.”

Duck shrugged. “I haven’t seen him, man.”

“What’s that in your pocket there?” Zil demanded. “He’s got something in his pocket.”

“What? Oh, it’s nothing. It’s—”

The baseball bat swung with unerring accuracy. Duck felt the blow on his hip where the relish hung in his jacket pocket. The soggy sound of wet glass shattering.

“Hey!” Duck yelled.

He started to push his way through them, but his feet wouldn’t move. He looked down, uncomprehending, and saw that he had sunk up to his ankles in the sidewalk.

“Okay, stop making me mad,” he cried desperately.

“Stop making me mad,” Zil repeated in a taunting, singsong voice.

“Hey, man, he’s sinking!” one of them yelled.

Duck was up to mid-calf. Trapped. He met Zil’s contemptuous gaze and pleaded, “Come on, man, why are you picking on me?”