“Drake will try to kill you,” Diana said urgently. “You
know it’s true.”
Caine heard her. But her voice was so tiny, her warning so insignificant compared to the steady throbbing pressure inside his chest.
The gaiaphage’s hunger was his hunger now. Feeding it would be feeding himself.
Not true, Caine told himself.
A lie.
“Do this, and you will die, Caine,” Diana pleaded. “Do it, and I’ll die.
“Stop, Caine.
“Don’t do it.”
Caine tried to answer, but his mouth was dry and clenched.
Step by step. Up the trail. To it. To him.
Jack was up there. And Drake. Drake talking to Jack. There was a dead coyote lying in the path, headless.
And Dekka, maybe alive, maybe not. Not his concern. Her problem. Shouldn’t have backed Sam. Shouldn’t have fought against Caine.
Not his problem.
He reached the top of the trail. There was the mine shaft entrance.
The fuel rod hovered in the air.
Feed me.
Caine moved closer.
“Do it!” Drake cried.
“Caine, stop!” Diana said.
Caine moved more easily now on level ground. Closer. Close enough. He could hurl the rod from here. Like a javelin. Right into the shaft.
Like a spear.
Easy.
“Don’t,” Diana said. Then, “Jack. Jack, you have to stop this.”
“No way,” Drake snarled.
“Shut up, you psychotic!” Diana shouted in sudden rage, all subtlety abandoned. “Go die, you filthy, stupid thug!”
Drake’s eyes went dead. The dangerous, giddy light went out in them. He stared at her with black hatred.
“Enough,” Drake said. “I was going to wait. But if it has to be now, let’s do it.”
His whip lashed out.
FORTY-THREE