Then he’d updated his iPhone to make sure he had plenty of free memory for the taping, and grabbed rope, the ladder, his pitons, and a granola bar.
He’d told his grandmother he was heading out to do some rock climbing, which was close to the truth. She’d asked him to take her to Costco on Saturday. He had groaned inwardly but agreed.
Life had been not spectacular, maybe, but okay. Normal, anyway. Then, with a suddenness that he never would have believed possible, everything had changed. Now he was broken in body, and even more broken in mind. Last week he had been a lapsed Methodist; now he worshipped a cannibalistic girl monster. He was self-aware enough to know that this was madness. There was no way to put a good spin on that fact.
Alex wandered the shores of the lake. It was an eerie place as the sun rose. It smelled terrible, and yet his mouth watered from the same scent that had come from his burned arm.
“Food of the gods,” he said, and almost laughed and instead sobbed.
Not what he’d expected when he’d headed out to climb the barrier wall and get some cool video.
“But hey, life, man.”
This was a whole new experience. Pain surged from his shoulder. It did that. It came and went. Mostly it was just there, but every now and then it would rise up like a demon and he would feel a terrible rage at his mutilation.
He looked at it, at the stump. It was horrifying and awesome all at once. She had eaten his tattoo, the one that he’d gotten in San Diego, the one that showed a guy hanging from a rock face.
With it she had eaten his soul, he was pretty sure of that. He could feel that his soul was no longer with him. It made him cry. Also, who would take Gran to Costco? And she had an appointment at . . . Well, wherever, it didn’t matter now. He was a broken toy, and he’d been so easy to break: that’s what would be sad for him. If he’d still had a soul.
“Gaia!” he cried. “Gaia!”
No answer. He himself was hungry now. His body had suffered and he was desperate. But at least he could drink. The lake was freshwater. He waded in a couple of feet and bent to cup water to his mouth. It tasted of ashes and oil.
Then he saw the rope. It floated on the surface, curved like a water snake.
Sometimes he went boating over on Lake Isabella, waterskiing and drinking beer. They often trailed nets full of beers over the side to keep them cool. Maybe . . .
Alex began pulling on the rope. There was definitely something attached, and it was heavy, but it was coming. Hah! A cooler punched full of holes. Water drained out as he hauled it out of the lake. It was heavy, heavier than if it was just beers.
Alex had some trouble untying the rope with just one hand, but his teeth helped. The bicycle chain nearly defeated him, and he almost gave up. But a search of the camp, ignoring as best he could the dead bodies and parts of dead bodies, turned up a crowbar. The crowbar broke the chain lock.
At last he pried open the lid and gasped.
It was a head. Mostly a head. But there was something like a lizard’s tail protruding, whipping back and forth between the pale blue eyes.
The head spit water from its mouth and seemed to be whispering. Looking up at him with cold blue eyes, so like the goddess. This awesome horror had to be a sign from her.
Alex leaned close, pushing past repugnance and fear, to hear a wet, gurgling voice say, “Who the hell are you?”
Computer Jack was next to arrive at Clifftop. Jack hauled the horribly burned, mauled, broken kids with soot-stained faces and bloody clothes, one at a time, up to Lana’s room.
The motor home had broken down, too, and Jack had hauled it with sheer, brute force, pushing from behind, shoving it back onto the road with the incredible strength that had never mattered to him.
In the end they hadn’t been far ahead of the kids who had walked.
One kid had died en route. The rest had cried and wailed and shouted their pain with every lurch and jolt. And all the while Jack had been clenched, waiting for the next attack.
Sanjit ran to get his brothers and sisters to haul water and offer comfort. Sinder did a sort of rough triage, deciding who needed the most immediate help, but Brianna was first, that much was clear. There was a war on, and Brianna was a soldier.
Lana laid her hand on Brianna’s scarred, half-destroyed face, and Brianna cursed feebly.
“What happened, Breeze?” Lana asked while she stretched to also touch a four-year-old whose leg had been burned down to the white bone.
“Gaia,” she said. “The gaiaphage. Trying to kill us all. I—” And that was it for Brianna for a while as her eyes rolled up and she slipped back into the relief of unconsciousness.
Sanjit stepped behind Lana, stuck a cigarette in her mouth, and lit it.
“How many dead?” Lana asked.
Sinder answered, “One of the kids said . . . she said it was all burned down. All the boats, all the vans . . .” Sinder brushed tears from her eyes. “Like more than half the kids up there.”
“Sam?”
“He wasn’t there,” Sinder said.
“Then we’re not beaten yet,” Lana said.
Gaia had dragged herself and her parts away and into a stand of trees. It was all a terrible shock. She had felt pain, terrible pain when Sam had burned her in the battle at Perdido Beach, but she had never before felt such fear. It had never occurred to her that she really had anything to fear from anyone aside from Little Pete.
Weak humans, even mutants, should be no threat to her. The fact that she’d been very nearly destroyed by one girl—one girl!—was disturbing in the extreme. Obviously she had miscalculated. Worse: What did this mean for the outside world?
He’d told his grandmother he was heading out to do some rock climbing, which was close to the truth. She’d asked him to take her to Costco on Saturday. He had groaned inwardly but agreed.
Life had been not spectacular, maybe, but okay. Normal, anyway. Then, with a suddenness that he never would have believed possible, everything had changed. Now he was broken in body, and even more broken in mind. Last week he had been a lapsed Methodist; now he worshipped a cannibalistic girl monster. He was self-aware enough to know that this was madness. There was no way to put a good spin on that fact.
Alex wandered the shores of the lake. It was an eerie place as the sun rose. It smelled terrible, and yet his mouth watered from the same scent that had come from his burned arm.
“Food of the gods,” he said, and almost laughed and instead sobbed.
Not what he’d expected when he’d headed out to climb the barrier wall and get some cool video.
“But hey, life, man.”
This was a whole new experience. Pain surged from his shoulder. It did that. It came and went. Mostly it was just there, but every now and then it would rise up like a demon and he would feel a terrible rage at his mutilation.
He looked at it, at the stump. It was horrifying and awesome all at once. She had eaten his tattoo, the one that he’d gotten in San Diego, the one that showed a guy hanging from a rock face.
With it she had eaten his soul, he was pretty sure of that. He could feel that his soul was no longer with him. It made him cry. Also, who would take Gran to Costco? And she had an appointment at . . . Well, wherever, it didn’t matter now. He was a broken toy, and he’d been so easy to break: that’s what would be sad for him. If he’d still had a soul.
“Gaia!” he cried. “Gaia!”
No answer. He himself was hungry now. His body had suffered and he was desperate. But at least he could drink. The lake was freshwater. He waded in a couple of feet and bent to cup water to his mouth. It tasted of ashes and oil.
Then he saw the rope. It floated on the surface, curved like a water snake.
Sometimes he went boating over on Lake Isabella, waterskiing and drinking beer. They often trailed nets full of beers over the side to keep them cool. Maybe . . .
Alex began pulling on the rope. There was definitely something attached, and it was heavy, but it was coming. Hah! A cooler punched full of holes. Water drained out as he hauled it out of the lake. It was heavy, heavier than if it was just beers.
Alex had some trouble untying the rope with just one hand, but his teeth helped. The bicycle chain nearly defeated him, and he almost gave up. But a search of the camp, ignoring as best he could the dead bodies and parts of dead bodies, turned up a crowbar. The crowbar broke the chain lock.
At last he pried open the lid and gasped.
It was a head. Mostly a head. But there was something like a lizard’s tail protruding, whipping back and forth between the pale blue eyes.
The head spit water from its mouth and seemed to be whispering. Looking up at him with cold blue eyes, so like the goddess. This awesome horror had to be a sign from her.
Alex leaned close, pushing past repugnance and fear, to hear a wet, gurgling voice say, “Who the hell are you?”
Computer Jack was next to arrive at Clifftop. Jack hauled the horribly burned, mauled, broken kids with soot-stained faces and bloody clothes, one at a time, up to Lana’s room.
The motor home had broken down, too, and Jack had hauled it with sheer, brute force, pushing from behind, shoving it back onto the road with the incredible strength that had never mattered to him.
In the end they hadn’t been far ahead of the kids who had walked.
One kid had died en route. The rest had cried and wailed and shouted their pain with every lurch and jolt. And all the while Jack had been clenched, waiting for the next attack.
Sanjit ran to get his brothers and sisters to haul water and offer comfort. Sinder did a sort of rough triage, deciding who needed the most immediate help, but Brianna was first, that much was clear. There was a war on, and Brianna was a soldier.
Lana laid her hand on Brianna’s scarred, half-destroyed face, and Brianna cursed feebly.
“What happened, Breeze?” Lana asked while she stretched to also touch a four-year-old whose leg had been burned down to the white bone.
“Gaia,” she said. “The gaiaphage. Trying to kill us all. I—” And that was it for Brianna for a while as her eyes rolled up and she slipped back into the relief of unconsciousness.
Sanjit stepped behind Lana, stuck a cigarette in her mouth, and lit it.
“How many dead?” Lana asked.
Sinder answered, “One of the kids said . . . she said it was all burned down. All the boats, all the vans . . .” Sinder brushed tears from her eyes. “Like more than half the kids up there.”
“Sam?”
“He wasn’t there,” Sinder said.
“Then we’re not beaten yet,” Lana said.
Gaia had dragged herself and her parts away and into a stand of trees. It was all a terrible shock. She had felt pain, terrible pain when Sam had burned her in the battle at Perdido Beach, but she had never before felt such fear. It had never occurred to her that she really had anything to fear from anyone aside from Little Pete.
Weak humans, even mutants, should be no threat to her. The fact that she’d been very nearly destroyed by one girl—one girl!—was disturbing in the extreme. Obviously she had miscalculated. Worse: What did this mean for the outside world?
