Villain (Gone 8)

Dekka said, “We need to find someone to take care of it. Him. It’s a boy, right? We are not the safest babysitters in the world.”

Shade frowned. “Hey. Not all of the Charmer’s slaves died. There must be hundreds at least running around. But look.”

Cruz did, and realized that there were people on the sidewalks, civilians, but no one was attacking. Some of the people had blood on their chins and necks from attempting to bite and eat others. Many had wounds of their own.

They walked down the Strip, heading for Caesars, hoping to find someone there to take the baby, hoping almost as fervently to find showers and food and beds. They walked, each de-morphed with the exception of Malik; Cruz and Armo in front, Dekka and Shade next, Malik and Francis bringing up the rear.

“Thank you!”

It did not at first occur to Cruz that the shout was meant for her.

“Thank you! Thank you!”

More shouts. And someone started applauding. Ragged, tattered, bloodied bands of survivors lined the sidewalk, with more coming to join them.

“Shade Darby!”

“Berserker Bear! You kick ass!”

“Go, Lesbokitty!”

“No, no, no,” Dekka said, but under her breath. “That will not stand. I am not wearing that name the rest of my damn life.”

By the time they reached Caesars, they were leading a solemn parade, a crowd of hundreds. Wilkes, the security chief, came out to meet them.

iPhones were raised. Video was taken.

“Say something!” someone yelled. And Cruz realized from the ensuing silence that they all wanted this. Needed it, maybe. These damaged people needed someone to say something. Something to make sense of it.

“You should say something,” Cruz said to Shade. “Or you, Dekka.”

“I don’t do speeches,” Dekka said.

Shade shook her head and smiled a sad, wistful smile. “I don’t think it’s me they want to hear from, Cruz.”

CHAPTER 30

The Speech

“HI. UM . . . MY name is Cruz. I want to tell you first of all that Dillon Poe is dead.”

The rapt audience cried, “Bastard!” and “Murderer!” and a few other insults directed at the villain.

“Malik and Francis here”—Cruz waved to indicate them—“they went into that place while it was being blown up. While it was burning. And they . . . they took care of him. He’s gone.”

The applause was loud, bordering on frenzied.

“Look, we tried to . . .” Cruz shook her head. “None of us ever thought we’d be here. You know? That we’d be what we are. Now. Freaks or mutants. Rockborn. Whatever you want to call us.”

“Heroes!” someone shouted.

“No, no,” Cruz protested, urgently. “We didn’t succeed, we didn’t stop him, we didn’t . . . all those people. We couldn’t . . .”

The tears came again and she didn’t brush them away. She needed tears. It felt like the whole world needed tears.

“You tried,” a voice said. It was a calm voice, quiet, but carrying all the more authority for that reason.

Various voices shouted, “You saved the baby,” and “You killed that monster!”