Hunger (Gone 2)

“Not me, I’m getting out of here,” Mickey said. He turned and ran.

“You want to run, too?” Brittney challenged Mike.

“Lana’s not exactly here right now,” Mike said. “What if they shoot me? I’m just a kid, you know.”

Brittney tightened her grip on her machine gun. It hung from a strap over her shoulder. She’d long since gotten used to the weight of it. She had test-fired it four times, following Edilio’s training program. The first time she’d dropped it and burst into tears and Edilio had asked her if she wanted to quit.

But then Tanner had made his presence known, a soft voice that spoke to her when she was scared and told her not to worry, that he was in Heaven with Jesus and the angels. And he was so happy, not hurt or afraid or lonely anymore.

The next time she’d held on as the gun kicked in her hands. After that she’d more or less hit what she aimed at.

“If that’s Caine out there, I’m going to get him,” Brittney said.

“I hate him,” she said. “I mean, I hate what he did. Hate the sin, not the sinner. And I’m going to shoot him so he won’t hurt anyone else.”

The banging had stopped. Now something different was happening. The door seemed to be bulging inward. It creaked and groaned. There was a loud snap.

It was going to give way.

“Run away, Mike,” Brittney said. He was weak. Well, kids were, sometimes. She had to forgive that. “But leave your pistol.”

“Where do you want me to put it?”

Brittney stared at the door. It was bulging, straining. Something or someone very, very strong was pushing against it.

“On the floor. Underneath the last console. Back where no one can see it.”

“You should come,” Mike pleaded.

Brittney’s finger curled around the trigger. “No. I don’t think I’m going to do that.”

She heard his footsteps retreating down the hallway. She expected the door to give way in a few seconds. And then she figured she would be in Heaven with her little brother.

“Lord? Please help me to be brave,” Brittney said. “In Jesus’ name. Amen.”

“It’s okay if I die, Tanner,” she said, in a different sort of prayer, one she knew her dead brother could hear. “As long as Caine dies first.”

TWENTY

18 HOURS, 29 MINUTES

BRIANNA HAD NOT found Sam on the road to the power plant as she raced back to town. He was not on any of the roads. The only vehicle she had seen had Quinn, Albert, Cookie, and Lana out for a ride in a giant pickup truck. She’d thought about stopping them, telling them to go to the power plant, but none of the four was much of a fighter. Quinn and Cookie were both supposed to be soldiers, but the person she needed to find was Sam, not his useless old surfing buddy.

Sam wasn’t at the gas station. He wasn’t at town hall or in the plaza. He wasn’t anywhere she looked.

And Brianna was burning out fast. The speed was exhausting. Not as tiring as it should have been, probably, given that she had just run something like fifteen miles or so, dodging back and forth, up and down streets and alleyways. But exhausting. And the hunger was like a lion inside her, tearing at her insides.

Her sneakers were in tatters. Again. They didn’t build Nikes for going as fast as a race car.

Then she heard a loud bang. It was hard to guess where it had come from. But then suddenly there were kids running. Slow. Very slow. But as fast as they could run, poor things.

“What’s going on?” she demanded, screeching to a stop.

No one answered. If anything, they seemed scared of her.

It was clear, though, that they were running away from, and not toward something. So she zipped back up the street and in less time than it would have taken a normal heart to beat twice she was standing in Astrid’s open doorway.

“Hey. Anybody home?”