Hunger (Gone 2)
Page 160
Astrid remained silent. Silent for too long. But she seemed to be rocking back and forth, just slightly. And he almost thought he heard her whispering.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“I’m praying.”
“What for?”
“A miracle. A clue. Food.”
Sam sighed. “What food?”
“A Quiznos. Turkey, bacon, and guacamole.”
“Yeah? If God gives you a Quiznos, can I have a bite?”
“No way. You have to pray for your own food.”
“Three hundred kids are praying for food. And yet, we have no food. Three hundred kids praying for their parents. Praying for this all to be over.”
“Yeah,” she admitted. “Sometimes it’s hard having faith.”
“If there’s a God, I wonder if he’s sitting in the dark on the end of his bed wondering how he managed to screw everything up.”
“Maybe,” Astrid said with just a little bit of a laugh.
Sam was not in a laughing mood. “Yeah? Well to hell with your God.”
He heard a sharp intake of breath. It gratified him. Good. Let her be shocked. Let her be so shocked, she went away and left him to sit here alone in the dark.
Neither of them spoke for a long while. Then Astrid stood up, breaking the slight physical contact between them.
“You don’t want to hear this,” Astrid said, “but they couldn’t find you, so they found me. And now I’ve found you.”
“I really don’t care,” Sam warned.
But Astrid would not stop. “Bug has come over to our side. He was on a mission for Caine. They have a freak who can see dreams and Caine wanted Bug to get her, take her to some mine in the hills. Some monster.”
“Yeah?” Sam said. Not like he cared. Like he was just being polite.
“And Cookie showed up. He had to walk all the way back to town. He walked through the night. He had a note from Lana.”
Nothing. Sam had nothing to say to that.
Astrid sat quiet for a second then added, “Bug says they call it the gaiaphage. Lana calls it the Darkness.”
Sam covered his face with his hands. “I don’t care, Astrid. Handle it yourself. Pray to Jesus and maybe He’ll handle it.”
“You know, Sam, I’ve never thought you were perfect. I know you have a temper. But I’ve never known you to be mean.”
“I’m mean?” He laughed bitterly.
“Mean. Yes, that was mean.”
Their voices were rising swiftly. “I’m mean? That’s the worst you can throw at me?”
“Mean and self-pitying. Does that make it better?”
“And what are you, Astrid?” he shouted. “A smug know-it-all! You point your finger at me and say, ‘Hey, Sam, you make the decisions, and you take all the heat.’”