Gone Series Complete Collection (174 page)

Diana had not intended it to be this way with Caine. Somehow she’d imagined the one time, but not an endless series of sequels. But Caine’s appetite had not been sated. He had come back to her bed in the night. And then, this morning, before the sun was even up.

Something was happening to her. She was coming to like Caine. Love? She didn’t even know for sure what that meant. Maybe she loved him. That would be strange. He wasn’t exactly lovable. And once you knew the real Caine, he wasn’t even likable.

Diana had always found Caine fascinating. And she’d always found him attractive. Hot, she would have said when she was younger. Hot in a cold sort of way, if that made any sense.

But this was different. She wasn’t using him now. That was her usual attitude toward Caine, at least that’s what she’d always told herself: he was useful. A girl like Diana, a girl who enjoyed taking risks, who enjoyed sticking a knife of wit and cruelty into other girls at school, who enjoyed taunting the panting hormonal boys and leering old men, a girl like that could use a strong male protector.

And Caine was definitely a strong protector. It would take a suicidal guy to cross him. Even before Caine had started to develop powers, he was the kind of boy other boys steered clear of. He wasn’t always the biggest or the toughest-looking, but he was always the most determined. The most ruthless. You knew if you messed with Caine, you’d suffer for it.

She supposed, if she had to be serious, that she’d long ago developed genuine emotions for him. Of some sort. Not love. Not even like. But something. Something normal people might have thought was sick, in a way.

Emotions. But not what she felt now—whatever this was.

Diana plated the quesadilla and poured the soup into a bowl. She set it all on a tray and carried it upstairs. She knocked, opened the door, and placed the tray of food in front of a sleeping Penny. It was like feeding a dog.

She found Caine out on what had once been a well-manicured lawn that covered the ground from the house to the cliff. It was now wild with weeds, some as much as head-high. He was looking toward the distant town through his telescope.

He heard her approach. Without looking back he said, “Something’s happening in town.”

“I don’t care.”

“A cloud. Like a rain cloud. In fact, I think it is raining. It’s just a small cloud. Way down low, though, not an illusion in the barrier.”

“You’re probably seeing a reflection. Or an illusion.”

Caine handed her the telescope. She wanted to refuse it, but she was curious. She looked. The town leaped closer. Not enough to see people, but enough to see that there was indeed a cloud, just one, hanging far too low, staying put in one place. The gray smudge beneath it might be falling rain.

“So?” she asked. “So some freak has developed the power to make a cloud.”

“You don’t wonder who? That’s a pretty major power.”

Diana sighed theatrically. “What do you care?”

“I don’t like the idea of there being another four bar. Two of us is already one too many.”

“It doesn’t mean it’s a four bar,” Diana said. “Brianna and Dekka and Taylor are only threes. They have greater powers than that.”

“At least a three bar, though.” He took the scope back. “You don’t think if they can find a way they’ll come after us? If Sanjit made it there alive, then Sam knows what we have here. You don’t think he’ll come after it?”

“No,” she said honestly. “I don’t think he’ll look for a fight with you. He’s not as insecure as you are.”

Caine snorted a laugh. “Yeah, that’s my problem: insecurity.”

“It doesn’t matter anyway. There’s no way for us to get back even if we wanted to.”

“There’s always a way, Diana. There’s always a way.”

“Don’t,” she said. “Don’t find a way.”

TWENTY-SIX

9
HOURS

“YOU WANT
US
to shoot your brother?” Turk was incredulous.

“Don’t even think about it,” Edilio said. He had a tight grip on his rifle, finger on the trigger. The sights were centered on Turk’s anxious face. But his eyes were bleary and he was stifling a need to cough. “She doesn’t mean it.”

“Too many dead kids,” Astrid said wearily. “There just can’t be any more dead kids. It’s time to end it.”

Edilio felt panic rising within him. What was he supposed to do now? Was Astrid losing her mind like Mary Terrafino?

“I know how many kids have died,” Edilio said. “I buried most of them.”

“It’s all because of Little Pete,” Astrid said.

“No. You don’t know that.” Edilio aimed a furious look at her.

She blinked. Shook her head slightly. Her long hair, soaked, hung like golden snakes. “You aren’t the one taking care of him, Edilio. You’re not the one responsible.”

Edilio coughed, fought it back, coughed again. He tried to steady his mind and calm himself down. Had to keep focus.

“What are you two talking about?” Turk demanded. He was clearly confused.

Edilio felt the house rumble. Heavy footsteps. Orc. It had to be Orc. Orc on whose side? That was the question.

The boy-monster emerged onto the platform. He made a strange slushy sound as he moved, like someone shuffling their feet on wet gravel.

He pushed past Edilio. His head sagged to his chest, and for a moment Edilio had the incredible thought that Orc might have fallen asleep.

No, he was just hammered, Edilio realized. “Drop your guns.”

“No, no, no. What are you two talking about? That’s the first question,” Turk demanded, sensing an advantage he couldn’t quite put his finger on. His gun was still aimed at Astrid.

“Shut up, Turk, and drop your gun. If you murdered Albert, you’re going into exile.”

“What happens if I shoot the ’tard?” Lance demanded.

“You know the law. You kill someone, we give you a trial. And if you’re guilty, you leave town and never come back.”

“That’s not what I’m asking, and you know it, Edilio,” Lance snarled. “Tell me, Astrid. Tell us all. What happens if we shoot the ’tard?”

Panic. It was eating at Edilio’s mind. What was he supposed to do? He had to get control of the situation. He had to be in charge. But what should he do?

Edilio stared down the barrel of his rifle at Turk. His head was swimming. His neck and face were hot.

He shifted his aim, traversed the gun just an inch of arc to bring Lance into his sights.

The first one to decide would win.

“If—,” Astrid said.

BLAM!

The rifle kicked against Edilio’s shoulder. The side of Lance’s handsome face erupted in a fountain of blood.

“Lance!” Turk cried.

Lance brought his own gun around, not aiming at Little Pete now but at Edilio.

BLAM!

Lance’s aim was off. Nowhere near Edilio. Instead the bullet struck Orc in his thigh and ricocheted off.

Turk, his face a mask of fury, aimed at Edilio. But Edilio had already shifted his aim and his sights were back on Turk.

“Don’t!” Edilio warned.

Turk hesitated. But Edilio didn’t see the hesitation, he saw Turk’s gun and only his gun, the round black hole of the barrel, and without thinking he squeezed the trigger.

Another loud bang.

Another kick against his shoulder.

Turk was on his back. His gun was beyond his reach, although he was struggling to get to it.

“I said, don’t!” Edilio yelled again.

Turk held his stomach with one hand and reached for the gun with the other. Edilio’s finger was slippery on the trigger. He could feel something awful inside him, a tidal wave of awful, barely held in check as he aimed at Turk’s head.

Orc crunched Turk’s gun beneath his foot.

Edilio breathed. Sobbed for breath. Coughed.

He lowered his weapon.

Lance shrieked. It was a sound made up of fear and shock and pain. The bullet had struck his cheekbone and come out through his ear. Quivering red flesh hung loose.

Turk groaned more quietly. His throat convulsed. Like a fish on dry land, he was gulping, trying to breathe. His hand still stretched toward his now-useless gun.

Neither boy was dead.

Edilio formed the thought that would shame him later: he should finish them. He should do it now. Just walk up close and
bang!
If he didn’t, they might live, with Lana’s care. And if they lived they’d be back for revenge.

Orc and Astrid were both watching him.

It seemed terribly unfair that even now they were looking to him for some kind of answer.

“I’ll get Lana,” Edilio said.

He turned and ran, and fell down the steps. Heaving with sobs, blinded by rain and tears he ran for Clifftop.

It took Sam and Jack working together to start one of the motorboats. Almost all had dead batteries. But one of the boats had just enough power left to fire the engines.

They roared to life with a deep, wet growl.

“You know, this boat has power enough that it could pull water skiers,” Sam observed.

Dekka smiled fondly at him. “You want to water ski?”

“Not right now. I’m just saying . . .”

“That’s a lie. He wants to go now,” Toto said.

“Yeah, well, I don’t always do what I want,” Sam grumbled. “We need to explore the rest of the lake, then we can head back to town and be welcomed as heroes.”

He’d meant that last part to be self-deprecating, but a part of him actually was looking forward to striding into town to announce that they had found all the water they could ever need, and a fair amount of sugary snacks besides.

Then he would go see Astrid.

And then what would happen?

Then nothing would happen. They would still be right where they’d been.

“Cast off,” Sam called to Jack. Then, with the ropes aboard, he pointed the boat toward the west and roared out of the marina.

The feel of spray on his face and a throbbing engine beneath his feet was intoxicating.

Later they would run out of fuel, and later all the Pepsi would be drunk, and all the noodles would be eaten. But it wasn’t later yet.

They could build a better life here at the lake. Leave behind all the reeking sewage and trash and memories of Perdido Beach. Leave behind the wrecked church and the burned houses. Leave behind that awful cemetery.

This time they would do it right. They’d organize before they ever started to move anyone up here. Form little families that could live aboard the boats or use the boathouse or the marina office. He frowned, trying to count in his head how many of the boats had any kind of superstructure. Maybe half a dozen of the small sailboats, a dozen of the motorboats. And then there were the four or five houseboats.

That wasn’t enough, obviously, but they could set up tents and maybe build small shelters. It’s not like it ever got cold in the FAYZ, not like anyone needed insulation. Just a roof to keep the sunlight off them.

He scanned the shoreline, hoping to spot a campground. Logically there had to be one, there were always campgrounds at a lake. It just stood to reason.

Of course they could be on the other side of the barrier. . . .

Never mind, it was all good. They had enough gas to drive the various Winnebagos and campers and trailers up here from Perdido Beach—there were at least a dozen parked in driveways, although a lot had burned in the big fire.

He would have a boat. Big enough for himself and Astrid and Little Pete. Maybe he would ask Dekka to live with them, too. Assuming he got dibs on one of the houseboats. And why shouldn’t he?

One of those forty-six-footers would probably sleep six. Him and Astrid . . . It occurred to him that in his head he had them sharing the master’s berth. Which wasn’t likely to happen.

Was it?

Maybe. Maybe if they got away from Perdido Beach, maybe . . . A new thought occurred to him. He pushed it aside. But back it came.

What if they got married?

Then they’d be like a family. Him and Astrid and Little Pete.

There was no telling how long the FAYZ would last. Maybe forever. Maybe they would never get out. In that case, what were they all going to do? He was fifteen, Astrid was fifteen, they’d both survived the poof. That was young in the outside world, but it was old in the FAYZ.

“Yeah, but who can marry us?” He spoke the question aloud, not meaning to. He glanced nervously over his shoulder to see if anyone had overheard. Of course not, with the engines roaring and the
boosh-boosh-boosh
of the bow smacking the wavelets.

Dekka was sitting on one of the cushioned seats in the stern, gazing wistfully toward the land. Jack was hunched over one of the laptops, fingers flying over the keys, grinning. Toto was talking to someone who wasn’t there.

“Ship of fools,” Sam said to himself, and laughed.

Water and gas, noodles and Pepsi and Nutella, a crazy truth-telling freak, and despite Dekka’s fear, there was hope.

Quinn. He would make a good justice of the peace. That’s all you needed to perform a marriage, right? That’s how his mom had married his stepfather. If they could elect someone mayor, why not elect someone justice of the peace?

“Marry me and live on a houseboat,” he said.

“I like you, Sam, but not in that way,” Dekka said.

Sam jerked and yanked the wheel to one side. He steadied and tried to ignore the blush that was spreading from his neck up to his cheeks. She was standing next to him.

“How’s the shoulder?” Sam asked.

“See, this is why it’s good that Taylor isn’t still with us,” Dekka said. “If she’d heard you, the news would have spread faster than the speed of light.”

Sam sighed. “I was having a moment of optimism.”

Dekka patted him on the back. “You should, Sam. The FAYZ owes you some good news.”

Orc stood staring.

The kid, the Petard, he was still just floating there in the rain, like it was all nothing.

Astrid looked like a zombie or whatever.

The two shot kids were yelling and spazzing. Grinding Orc’s last nerve. He didn’t care about them. They were no better than he was. Let them scream, but not now, with his head banging like a drum, with the echo of gunshots still bouncing around in his skull.