Fear (Gone 5)

“Yep. But we still go after Drake. He’s got Diana, and we can’t leave her to him. He hates women, you know.”

“Yeah. I did notice that about him.” Brianna felt energy flowing through her again. The tiredness, the frustration, they were gone. And the coming darkness? Well, she could still swing a very, very fast machete. “The boy hates chicks, right? Let’s go give him a good reason to.”

Astrid walked holding Cigar’s hand. Sometimes it would freak him out and he’d be convinced she was going to eat him. His mind was gone. Or if not gone forever, then gone for now. Gone until he somehow got help.

But he could see what she could not. He could see her brother. She had sensed it from the start when she had seen the coyote with the human face. Not stupid, but ignorant, heedless. Something or someone with staggering power and no idea how to use it.

Little Pete was an unseen, almighty god who played ignorant, heedless games with the helpless creatures in the FAYZ.

Maybe the stain was his, too.

Maybe he was the one shutting down the light.

Well, it would figure, wouldn’t it? Sooner or later the game had to end.

She walked on tired feet toward Perdido Beach, knowing now that it was a hopeless effort.

They were all mere humans, after all. And the closest thing they had to a god was a reckless, indifferent child.

TWENTY-EIGHT

10 HOURS, 35 MINUTES

“THAT’S THE BEST I can do,” Roger said. The lower half of his face and the front of his shirt were covered with blood. The deck was smeared with it.

Sam looked down at Jack, covered with a blanket. They couldn’t move him. They couldn’t really do much for him unless they found a way to bring Lana to him.

Roger had started with green thread. At first that was all anyone could find. That was what he had used to sew up the artery or vein or whatever it was that lay slit and exposed by the angry slash in Jack’s neck.

The outer part of the wound was sewn up with white thread, though formerly white was more like it. It was red now.

They had smeared a little of their precious stock of Neosporin on the wound and covered it with a bandage torn from an old flag. Jack’s neck was red, white, and blue, though the bandage was soaking through with seeping blood as well.

Roger was the unofficial nurse. Mostly because he seemed nice and was good with kids. He had taken on the job of sewing up Jack’s neck.

He’d said it was like trying to sew a piece of pasta. A piece of pasta that pulsed and sprayed blood.

“Thanks, Roger,” Sam said. “You absolutely stepped up, dude.”

“He’s so pale,” Roger said. “Like a piece of chalk.”

Sam had nothing to say about that. Lana could save Jack. But she was far away, and soon there would be almost no way to even contact her.

Where was that little bimbo Taylor? They needed her.

He had stopped being mad at Brianna, because now he was just too worried about her. If she was out there running around after Drake, Sam would kill her. Hug her first. Then kill her.

This couldn’t be. It just couldn’t. Poor Jack, who had maybe not always been the most stand-up guy in the world but who had never had a mean bone in his geeky body. And Breeze missing. And Diana. Howard dead. Orc … somewhere.

And Astrid.

It was all coming apart in his hands. He was watching his whole world bleed out like Jack.

“We’ve got Astrid, Dekka, Diana—and I hope Brianna—all out there in the desert with Drake,” Sam said. “Orc’s on his way back out. And in an hour they’ll all be in absolute darkness.”

“And Justin,” Roger said, making a point of it.

“And Justin,” Sam agreed.