Fear (Gone 5)

“Where is Albert?” Penny demanded petulantly. “I want him here so I can tell him how it is now.”

No answer.

“I said, bring me Albert!” she screamed. “Albert! Albert! Come out, you coward!”

Nothing.

But now the crowd was moving from fearful to mad. They didn’t like this. They were scared and they had come seeking reassurance. What they were getting instead was a shrieking girl who had disabled the most powerful person in town precisely when they desperately needed someone to do something about the fact that the light was dying.

“Let him go, you stupid witch!”

Caine appreciated that, but the cold, calculating part of his mind was wondering just where Albert was. Albert had half a dozen guys who would shoot Penny if he ordered it. For that matter Albert could say something as simple as, “Everyone who wants a job tomorrow, attack her now.”

Where was he?

The top third of the dome was brightening. But that only made it easier to see the tendrils of stain, like a circle of teeth, slowly advancing.

Where was Albert?

Quinn led his boats into the marina.

Last time, maybe, he thought. It made his heart want to break.

He had awakened very early in his camp up the coast—his biological clock ran on fisherman time—and seen that the stain would eat the sun.

They had fished for what they could get in the early hours. But the heart was gone from them. The strike was over whether they wanted it or not: their world was dying, and they had bigger problems than the injustice done, or the loyalty they owed, to Cigar.

Albert and three girls were coming down the dock toward him. The three girls each had a backpack. Albert carried the big ledger book he used to keep track of his businesses.

“Why aren’t you fishing?” Albert asked.

Quinn wasn’t buying that act. “Where are you going, Albert?”

Albert said nothing. How rare, Quinn thought: Albert speechless.

“Not really your concern, Quinn,” Albert said finally.

“You’re running out.”

Albert sighed. To his three companions he said, “Go ahead and get in the boat. The Boston Whaler. Yes, that one.” Turning back to Quinn he said, “It’s been good doing business with you. If you want, you can come with us. We have room for one more. You’re a good guy.”

“And my crews?”

“Limited resources, Quinn.”

Quinn laughed a little. “You’re a piece of work, aren’t you, Albert?”

Albert didn’t seem bothered. “I’m a businessman. It’s about making a profit and surviving. It so happens that I’ve kept everyone alive for months. So I guess I’m sorry if you don’t like me, Quinn, but what’s coming next isn’t about business. What’s coming next is craziness. We’re going back to the days of starvation. But in the dark this time. Craziness. Madness.”

His eyes glinted when he said that last word. Quinn saw the fear there. Madness. Yes, that would terrify the eternally rational businessman.

“All that happens if I stay,” Albert continued, “is that someone decides to kill me. I’ve already come too close to being dead once.”

“Albert, you’re a leader. You’re an organizer. We’re going to need that.”

Albert waved an impatient hand and glanced over to see that the Boston Whaler was ready. “Caine’s a leader. Sam’s a leader. Me?” Albert considered it for a second and shook the idea off. “No. I’m important, but I’m not a leader. Tell you what, though, Quinn: in my absence you speak for me. If that helps, good for you.”

Albert climbed down into the Boston Whaler. Pug started the engine and Leslie-Ann cast off the ropes. Some of the last gasoline in Perdido Beach sent the boat chugging out of the marina.