—Sam Temple
He read the letter aloud, as he had promised to do. Toto muttered, “That’s true,” a couple of times. Mohamed waited while Sam wrote out a copy for Albert. He took both and stuck them in his jeans pocket.
“Listen, Mo, one more thing. Tell Caine—tell my brother—that I was expecting him to use those missiles of his against us. And I was ready for a war. But we are past that now.”
“Okay.”
“Toto, have I written and spoken the truth?”
Toto nodded, then added, “He believes it, Spidey.”
“Good enough, Mo?”
Mohamed nodded.
“Walk fast,” Sam said. Then in a mordant tone he added, “Enjoy the sunshine.”
“Get me a knife,” Lana said when they had what was left of Taylor laid out in an unoccupied hotel room.
Sanjit had carried her legs, one in each hand, and laid them on the bed beside her.
“Knife?” It was just Lana and Sanjit now; Virtue was watching the rest of the family. He had no stomach for this. And no one wanted the little kids to come in and see this horror.
Lana didn’t explain, so Sanjit handed her his knife. She looked at the blade for a moment, then at Taylor, who was now breathing a little more audibly, a thready, uncertain sound. Lana pushed Taylor’s shirt up a little and drew the blade across her abdomen. The cut was shallow and bled only a little.
“What’s that for?” Sanjit didn’t doubt Lana, but he wanted to know, and to keep up a flow of conversation to keep from thinking about Taylor.
“I tried to regrow eyeballs and got BBs. The time before that when I tried to regrow an entire limb I didn’t get quite what I expected,” Lana said.
“Drake?”
“Drake. I just want to test my powers on Taylor before…” She fell silent as she touched the wound she had made.
The wound was not closing. Instead it was bubbling, like someone had poured peroxide into it.
Lana drew back. “Something is not right.”
Sanjit saw her brow furrow deeply. She seemed almost to be cringing away from Taylor. “The Darkness?” Sanjit guessed.
Lana shook her head. “No. Something … something else. Something wrong.” She closed her eyes and rocked back slowly on her heels. Then, like she was trying to surprise someone, she twisted her head to look behind her.
“I would tell you if someone was sneaking up behind you.”
“It’s not the Darkness,” Lana said. “Not this. But I can feel … something.”
Sanjit was inclined by his nature to be skeptical. But Lana had told him everything about her desperate battles with the gaiaphage. He could understand how even now she could feel the creature’s mind reaching for hers, its voice calling to her. Things that he’d have dismissed as impossible in the old world—things that were impossible—happened here.
But this was something different, or so she said. And her eyes were not filled with the barely suppressed rage and fear she showed when the Darkness reached her. Now she seemed puzzled.
Suddenly Lana grabbed Sanjit’s arm, yanked him closer, and felt his forehead with her palm. Then she released him and placed her palm on Taylor’s forehead.
“She’s cold,” Lana said, eyes gleaming.
“She’s lost a lot of blood,” Sanjit said.
“Has she? Because it looks to me as if all her injuries are sealed off.”
“Then what would make her so cold?” Because now Sanjit had noticed it, too. He touched the severed legs, then Taylor’s forehead, then his own. Taylor’s legs were the same temperature as her torso.