“It wasn’t Sam,” Drake said through clenched teeth. “I’m telling you, I took Sammy Boy down. Me! I took him down!”
“Then why are you looking suddenly . . . stumpy?” Diana asked, unable to resist the urge to take a shot at her nemesis.
“Brianna,” Drake said.
Out of the corner of her eye, Diana noticed the way Jack’s head lifted and his chest puffed out.
“She showed up. Too late to save Sam. You won’t see Sam again.”
“When I see his body, I’ll believe that,” Caine said dryly.
Diana agreed. Drake was too insistent. Too shrill. Too determined to convince them all.
“Let’s move out,” Caine said.
One of the soldiers turned the key on the mutilated Escalade. The battery was weak. It seemed at first it wouldn’t start. But then the engine caught and roared to life. Lights came on inside the car. Headlights were painfully bright.
“Everyone in,” Caine ordered. “If Drake’s right and Sam is down—even temporarily—we’re done sneaking. It’s ten miles to the mine. Twenty minutes and we’re there.”
“Where’s my peppermint?” Jack asked.
Caine raised the fuel rod and held it poised in the air above their heads. Close enough that the heat was like a bright, noon sun.
Little Pete lay unconscious.
Astrid was hauled, kicked, and shoved as Antoine tied her wrists and breathed alcohol into her face.
Her brain was spinning. What to do? What to say to stop the insanity?
Nothing. There was nothing she could say now, not with hunger ruling the mob. She could do nothing but witness.
Astrid looked into each face, searching for the humanity that should speak to them, stop them, even now. What she saw was madness. Desperation.
They were too hungry. They were too scared.
They were going to kill Hunter, and then Zil would come for Little Pete and for Astrid herself. He would have no choice. The instant Hunter died, Zil and his mob would have drawn a line in blood down the middle of the FAYZ.
“Dear Jesus, I know you’re watching,” Astrid prayed. “Don’t let them do this.”
“Are you ready?” Zil shrieked.
The mob roared.
“Dear Lord . . . ,” Astrid prayed.
“It’s time for justice!”
“. . . no.”
“Edilio, don’t die,” Dekka begged.
“Don’t die.”
Edilio made a gurgling sound that might have been an attempt to speak.
Dekka had his shirt open. The hole was in his chest, just above his left nipple. When she held her hands against it, the blood seeped from beneath her palm. When she took her hand away, for even a second, the blood pumped out.
“Oh, God,” Dekka sobbed.
Another gurgle, and Edilio tried to raise his head.
“Don’t try to move,” Dekka ordered. “Don’t try to talk.”
But Edilio’s right hand jerked upward suddenly. He seemed to be trying to grab her collar, but the hand wouldn’t connect, the fingers wouldn’t grasp. Edilio dropped his hand and seemed for a moment to pass out.
But then, with what had to be almost superhuman effort, he said two words. “Do it.”
Dekka knew what he was asking her to do.
“I can’t, Edilio, I can’t,” Dekka said. “Lana’s the only one who can save you now.”
“Do . . .”
“If I do, she’ll die,” Dekka said. She was bathed in sweat, sweat dripping from her forehead, dripping onto his bloody chest. “If I do it, Lana can’t save you.”
“Do . . . uh . . .”
Dekka shook her head violently. “You’re not going to die, Edilio.”
She grabbed him around his chest from behind. Like she was doing the Heimlich maneuver on him. Using his own weight against her slippery hands to seal the wound.
She dragged him away from the mine shaft. Dragged him down the trail, his heels making tracks in the dirt. She wept and sobbed as she went, staggered under the weight, fell into boulders, but put distance between herself and the mine shaft.
Because he was right. He was right, poor Edilio, he was right, she had to do it. She had to collapse that mine. But Edilio wasn’t going to be buried there, no way. No, Edilio would have a place of honor in the plaza.
The honored dead. Another grave. The first one that Edilio had not dug himself.
“Hang in there, Edilio, you’re going to make it,” Dekka lied.
She collapsed at the bottom of the trail, at the edge of the ghost town. Dekka sat on Edilio and pressed down on the wound. The force of the blood was weaker now. She could almost hold the blood back now, not a good thing, no, because it meant he was almost finished, his brave heart almost done beating.
Dekka looked up straight into the glittering eyes of a coyote. She could sense the others around her, closing in. Wary, but sensing that a fresh meal was close at hand.
FORTY-ONE
33 MINUTES
DUCK WAS SO high up, he could see smoke rising from the distant power plant.
He was still shaking from being shot at. Shot at! He had never hurt anyone.
Now it was like he had been drafted into a war he didn’t even know was going on. It was nuts. He could have been killed. He might still be killed.
Instead, he had floated away, unharmed.
While others fought to survive. While others stood up against the evil that was being done.
Fortunately the slight breeze was wafting him away from the town square, where all the madness was going on. In a few more minutes he would raise his density and drop gently back to earth. Then, hopefully, he would find some food. The smell of cooking meat had left him crazy with hunger.
“Then why are you looking suddenly . . . stumpy?” Diana asked, unable to resist the urge to take a shot at her nemesis.
“Brianna,” Drake said.
Out of the corner of her eye, Diana noticed the way Jack’s head lifted and his chest puffed out.
“She showed up. Too late to save Sam. You won’t see Sam again.”
“When I see his body, I’ll believe that,” Caine said dryly.
Diana agreed. Drake was too insistent. Too shrill. Too determined to convince them all.
“Let’s move out,” Caine said.
One of the soldiers turned the key on the mutilated Escalade. The battery was weak. It seemed at first it wouldn’t start. But then the engine caught and roared to life. Lights came on inside the car. Headlights were painfully bright.
“Everyone in,” Caine ordered. “If Drake’s right and Sam is down—even temporarily—we’re done sneaking. It’s ten miles to the mine. Twenty minutes and we’re there.”
“Where’s my peppermint?” Jack asked.
Caine raised the fuel rod and held it poised in the air above their heads. Close enough that the heat was like a bright, noon sun.
Little Pete lay unconscious.
Astrid was hauled, kicked, and shoved as Antoine tied her wrists and breathed alcohol into her face.
Her brain was spinning. What to do? What to say to stop the insanity?
Nothing. There was nothing she could say now, not with hunger ruling the mob. She could do nothing but witness.
Astrid looked into each face, searching for the humanity that should speak to them, stop them, even now. What she saw was madness. Desperation.
They were too hungry. They were too scared.
They were going to kill Hunter, and then Zil would come for Little Pete and for Astrid herself. He would have no choice. The instant Hunter died, Zil and his mob would have drawn a line in blood down the middle of the FAYZ.
“Dear Jesus, I know you’re watching,” Astrid prayed. “Don’t let them do this.”
“Are you ready?” Zil shrieked.
The mob roared.
“Dear Lord . . . ,” Astrid prayed.
“It’s time for justice!”
“. . . no.”
“Edilio, don’t die,” Dekka begged.
“Don’t die.”
Edilio made a gurgling sound that might have been an attempt to speak.
Dekka had his shirt open. The hole was in his chest, just above his left nipple. When she held her hands against it, the blood seeped from beneath her palm. When she took her hand away, for even a second, the blood pumped out.
“Oh, God,” Dekka sobbed.
Another gurgle, and Edilio tried to raise his head.
“Don’t try to move,” Dekka ordered. “Don’t try to talk.”
But Edilio’s right hand jerked upward suddenly. He seemed to be trying to grab her collar, but the hand wouldn’t connect, the fingers wouldn’t grasp. Edilio dropped his hand and seemed for a moment to pass out.
But then, with what had to be almost superhuman effort, he said two words. “Do it.”
Dekka knew what he was asking her to do.
“I can’t, Edilio, I can’t,” Dekka said. “Lana’s the only one who can save you now.”
“Do . . .”
“If I do, she’ll die,” Dekka said. She was bathed in sweat, sweat dripping from her forehead, dripping onto his bloody chest. “If I do it, Lana can’t save you.”
“Do . . . uh . . .”
Dekka shook her head violently. “You’re not going to die, Edilio.”
She grabbed him around his chest from behind. Like she was doing the Heimlich maneuver on him. Using his own weight against her slippery hands to seal the wound.
She dragged him away from the mine shaft. Dragged him down the trail, his heels making tracks in the dirt. She wept and sobbed as she went, staggered under the weight, fell into boulders, but put distance between herself and the mine shaft.
Because he was right. He was right, poor Edilio, he was right, she had to do it. She had to collapse that mine. But Edilio wasn’t going to be buried there, no way. No, Edilio would have a place of honor in the plaza.
The honored dead. Another grave. The first one that Edilio had not dug himself.
“Hang in there, Edilio, you’re going to make it,” Dekka lied.
She collapsed at the bottom of the trail, at the edge of the ghost town. Dekka sat on Edilio and pressed down on the wound. The force of the blood was weaker now. She could almost hold the blood back now, not a good thing, no, because it meant he was almost finished, his brave heart almost done beating.
Dekka looked up straight into the glittering eyes of a coyote. She could sense the others around her, closing in. Wary, but sensing that a fresh meal was close at hand.
FORTY-ONE
33 MINUTES
DUCK WAS SO high up, he could see smoke rising from the distant power plant.
He was still shaking from being shot at. Shot at! He had never hurt anyone.
Now it was like he had been drafted into a war he didn’t even know was going on. It was nuts. He could have been killed. He might still be killed.
Instead, he had floated away, unharmed.
While others fought to survive. While others stood up against the evil that was being done.
Fortunately the slight breeze was wafting him away from the town square, where all the madness was going on. In a few more minutes he would raise his density and drop gently back to earth. Then, hopefully, he would find some food. The smell of cooking meat had left him crazy with hunger.
