Fear (Gone 5)

ABANA BAIDOO WAS shaking as she reached her car outside Denny’s. She could barely take a breath.

No. No way she was letting this happen. But if she was going to stop it she had to focus. And not focus on how angry she was at Connie Temple.

Liar!

She pulled out her iPhone and, despite her fumbling, shaking fingers, found the mailing list of families.

First, email.

Everyone! Emergency! They are blowing up the dome. I have solid proof that they are blowing up the dome. All families immediately call your senators and congressmen and the media. Do it now. And if you are close to the area come! The chemical spill story is a lie! Don’t let them stop you!!!!!

Then text. The same message, but shorter.

Nuclear explosive is being used to blow up the anomaly. Call everyone! This is not a joke or a mistake!!!

Then, without delay, she opened her Twitter app.

#PerdidoFamilies. Nuclear explosion planned. Not joke or mistake. Help now. Come if u can!

Facebook app, same message, but a little longer.

There. Too late for anyone to cover up now.

Connie was coming from the restaurant at a run. She raced to her own car, hopped in, started it, and pulled up, tires squealing beside Abana. Abana rolled down her window.

“Hate me later, Abana,” Connie said. “Follow me now. I think I know a dirt road.”

Connie didn’t wait but took off, laying rubber across the parking lot.

“Hell, yeah,” Abana said, and drove with one hand as the tweets and messages started pinging her phone.

THIRTY-FOUR

4 HOURS, 21 MINUTES

“HE CAN’T CONTROL it,” Astrid said. The first words she’d spoken in what felt to Sam like an eternity.

He’d become aware after a while that she had stopped crying. But she had not pulled away then. And for a long time afterward he wondered if she was asleep. He’d determined that if she was asleep he’d let her go right on doing so.

He knew Edilio and all the rest were e

xpecting him to solve something, everything. He recalled the high of realizing he wasn’t the leader, carrying everything on his shoulders. He remembered the liberation of believing that his role was as warrior. The great and powerful warrior and that was all. And he was that. Yes: he was. He had the power in his hands, and he knew he had the strength and courage and violence to use that power.

But he was also, at least as much, the boy who loved Astrid Ellison. Right now he was powerless to put that part of himself aside. He couldn’t have left her side when she was like this, ever, not if Drake had shown up and challenged him to one-on-one combat to the death.

He was a warrior. But he was also this. Whatever this was.

“Who?” he asked.

“Petey. Pete. It doesn’t feel right to call him Petey now. He’s changed.”

“Astrid, Petey’s dead.”

She sighed and pulled away. He stretched his arm and got pins and needles in payment. His arm was asleep.

“I let him in. In my head,” Astrid said.

“His memory?”