But that was okay. He’d figure it out.
One thing he was considering was picking some cabbages or melons. Not now, not with the sun going down. But maybe in the morning. All that lovely, lovely food right out there in the fields. And he would be able to float just above the ground, out of range of the zekes, but able to reach down and snag a nice, juicy cantaloupe.
Only problem was, how to get out over the field to begin with. And then, how to get back. If there was no breeze, he might stay hovering above a deadly zeke field forever.
That was not a happy thought. Not at all. To make his power really useful he would have to learn how to move once he was in the air.
Right now he was having a hard enough time just keeping his eye on the ground below.
Something was definitely going on down below. There was some big thing going on in the plaza. Someone had driven a convertible right onto the grass. Sam was not going to be happy about that. And now there were maybe fifty kids down there, all milling around like they were having a party.
Duck smelled the meat before he saw it.
He had to squint hard in the failing light. There it was, across the hood of the car. A deer.
Now someone was building a fire in the dry bed of the fountain. The smoke was rising toward Duck, just a whiff, really, although he supposed it could get to be irritating eventually.
He was drifting on the slight breeze, so he wasn’t too worried. What he was, was ravenous. The smell of meat was overwhelming. No wonder kids were freaking out.
He couldn’t see who the kids were, just the tops of their heads, which didn’t tell you much. But then he saw that one boy was tied by a rope to the bumper of the car.
Suddenly Duck had a very bad feeling about this gathering.
He spotted a face he knew, Mike Farmer, one of Edilio’s soldiers. He was staring straight up at Duck.
Duck gave a little wave. He smiled. He was about to say, “Hey, what’s going on down there?”
Then Mike yelled, “There’s one up there! Look! It’s one of them!”
One of who? Duck wondered.
Face after face looked up at him. Even the boy who was tied up. Hunter. It was Hunter, and not looking good, either. Looking like he’d been beaten up.
Others in the crowd looked up at Duck. And then, Zil.
Duck found himself staring down at Zil. Meeting his eyes. Realizing in one terrible moment what was happening below. Sam, gone. Edilio, gone. No one in charge. All of the leaders off. And Zil with Hunter as his prisoner and fresh meat on the menu.
“A chud spy!” Turk shouted.
“Get him!” Zil shouted.
Someone threw a rock. Duck saw it rise toward him, arc gracefully, and fall away.
Another rock, closer, but still too low.
Then Mike raised his rifle to his shoulder and took aim.
•••
Sam was on the bus. Sun shining so bright through the windows.
It was bouncing along. Quinn there beside him. But something was wrong with Quinn, something Sam didn’t want to look at.
Sam felt people staring at him. Eyes on the back of his head. Music playing from far away. Against Me! singing “Borne on the FM Waves of the Heart.”
Something was happening at the front of the bus. The driver. He was clutching at his heart.
I’ve been here, Sam thought. This happened.
This happened.
Only it would be different this time. Last time, so long ago, he had taken the wheel as the driver slumped over from his heart attack.
But had the driver had a tentacle around his throat?
And had Sam been screaming?
Sam lurched to his feet, startled to find himself doing it. He hadn’t intended to. But he was up and lurching from side to side, grabbing seatbacks for support, eyes staring at him.
The driver turned and grinned at him with teeth dripping blood.
The guardrail swung open like a big gate, and the bus roared through and plunged over the cliff. Falling, falling, the rocks and the sea rushing up at him, the whole bus full of kids not really reacting, not caring, just staring and the driver grinning, and now the worms . . .
Sam tried to cry out, but his voice didn’t work. He was choked by the driver’s snake arm, choked and spinning.
Sam knew it was a dream, yes, had to be because the bus just kept falling forever and nothing could fall forever. Could it?
The dreamscape changed suddenly and he was no longer on the bus. He was coming around the corner into his kitchen and Astrid, not his mother, whom he expected to see, but Astrid, was yelling at someone he couldn’t see.
No time for this, Sam told himself. No time for dreaming.
No time to waste here.
Wake up, Sam.
But no part of his body worked anymore. He was glued down. Tied with a thousand tiny ropes that squirmed and writhed like snakes or worms.
And yet now, now, somehow he was moving.
He opened his eyes. Was he seeing this? Was he seeing the room, the floor, the dome ceiling a million miles away?
Was any of it real?
On the floor lay what looked like something washed up from the bottom of the deepest ocean. Pale and fleshy, moist. No more than eighteen inches long. It was pulsating slightly, just a ripple that moved it very slightly. Like a slug might move.
Sam felt sure he should know what the thing was. But he wasn’t even sure it was real. And he had to go now. Now or never. Up out of the dark pit and out into the world while the morphine lasted.
Not real, he thought as he moved past the slug.
Maybe, he said to himself, as he shifted one foot forward. Maybe none of it is real. Except for this foot. And that foot. One then the other.
One thing he was considering was picking some cabbages or melons. Not now, not with the sun going down. But maybe in the morning. All that lovely, lovely food right out there in the fields. And he would be able to float just above the ground, out of range of the zekes, but able to reach down and snag a nice, juicy cantaloupe.
Only problem was, how to get out over the field to begin with. And then, how to get back. If there was no breeze, he might stay hovering above a deadly zeke field forever.
That was not a happy thought. Not at all. To make his power really useful he would have to learn how to move once he was in the air.
Right now he was having a hard enough time just keeping his eye on the ground below.
Something was definitely going on down below. There was some big thing going on in the plaza. Someone had driven a convertible right onto the grass. Sam was not going to be happy about that. And now there were maybe fifty kids down there, all milling around like they were having a party.
Duck smelled the meat before he saw it.
He had to squint hard in the failing light. There it was, across the hood of the car. A deer.
Now someone was building a fire in the dry bed of the fountain. The smoke was rising toward Duck, just a whiff, really, although he supposed it could get to be irritating eventually.
He was drifting on the slight breeze, so he wasn’t too worried. What he was, was ravenous. The smell of meat was overwhelming. No wonder kids were freaking out.
He couldn’t see who the kids were, just the tops of their heads, which didn’t tell you much. But then he saw that one boy was tied by a rope to the bumper of the car.
Suddenly Duck had a very bad feeling about this gathering.
He spotted a face he knew, Mike Farmer, one of Edilio’s soldiers. He was staring straight up at Duck.
Duck gave a little wave. He smiled. He was about to say, “Hey, what’s going on down there?”
Then Mike yelled, “There’s one up there! Look! It’s one of them!”
One of who? Duck wondered.
Face after face looked up at him. Even the boy who was tied up. Hunter. It was Hunter, and not looking good, either. Looking like he’d been beaten up.
Others in the crowd looked up at Duck. And then, Zil.
Duck found himself staring down at Zil. Meeting his eyes. Realizing in one terrible moment what was happening below. Sam, gone. Edilio, gone. No one in charge. All of the leaders off. And Zil with Hunter as his prisoner and fresh meat on the menu.
“A chud spy!” Turk shouted.
“Get him!” Zil shouted.
Someone threw a rock. Duck saw it rise toward him, arc gracefully, and fall away.
Another rock, closer, but still too low.
Then Mike raised his rifle to his shoulder and took aim.
•••
Sam was on the bus. Sun shining so bright through the windows.
It was bouncing along. Quinn there beside him. But something was wrong with Quinn, something Sam didn’t want to look at.
Sam felt people staring at him. Eyes on the back of his head. Music playing from far away. Against Me! singing “Borne on the FM Waves of the Heart.”
Something was happening at the front of the bus. The driver. He was clutching at his heart.
I’ve been here, Sam thought. This happened.
This happened.
Only it would be different this time. Last time, so long ago, he had taken the wheel as the driver slumped over from his heart attack.
But had the driver had a tentacle around his throat?
And had Sam been screaming?
Sam lurched to his feet, startled to find himself doing it. He hadn’t intended to. But he was up and lurching from side to side, grabbing seatbacks for support, eyes staring at him.
The driver turned and grinned at him with teeth dripping blood.
The guardrail swung open like a big gate, and the bus roared through and plunged over the cliff. Falling, falling, the rocks and the sea rushing up at him, the whole bus full of kids not really reacting, not caring, just staring and the driver grinning, and now the worms . . .
Sam tried to cry out, but his voice didn’t work. He was choked by the driver’s snake arm, choked and spinning.
Sam knew it was a dream, yes, had to be because the bus just kept falling forever and nothing could fall forever. Could it?
The dreamscape changed suddenly and he was no longer on the bus. He was coming around the corner into his kitchen and Astrid, not his mother, whom he expected to see, but Astrid, was yelling at someone he couldn’t see.
No time for this, Sam told himself. No time for dreaming.
No time to waste here.
Wake up, Sam.
But no part of his body worked anymore. He was glued down. Tied with a thousand tiny ropes that squirmed and writhed like snakes or worms.
And yet now, now, somehow he was moving.
He opened his eyes. Was he seeing this? Was he seeing the room, the floor, the dome ceiling a million miles away?
Was any of it real?
On the floor lay what looked like something washed up from the bottom of the deepest ocean. Pale and fleshy, moist. No more than eighteen inches long. It was pulsating slightly, just a ripple that moved it very slightly. Like a slug might move.
Sam felt sure he should know what the thing was. But he wasn’t even sure it was real. And he had to go now. Now or never. Up out of the dark pit and out into the world while the morphine lasted.
Not real, he thought as he moved past the slug.
Maybe, he said to himself, as he shifted one foot forward. Maybe none of it is real. Except for this foot. And that foot. One then the other.
