“It will come back,” Drake said. “It has to.”
Astrid stood at the top of the cliff that gave Clifftop its name.
There were boats out there, out in the dark ocean. She could see the lights going by.
When she craned her neck to the left she could see the glow coming from the camp, from the Carl’s Jr., the lights of the new hotels.
It was all so desperately, terribly near. How far to cheeseburgers and fries and cars that weren’t burned out and policemen to call when danger threatened?
Not a quarter of a mile.
Electricity and freedom from fear. Food and warmth. Her mother and father, cousins and aunts and family friends, and all of them saying, So what was it like? And I bet you’re glad to be out of there.
Were you afraid?
So afraid.
I guess you saw some bad things?
So many I can’t even tell you. So many I can’t remember them all. And some that I can’t get out of my head.
I have scars. Want to see my legs and arms and back? Scars.
Want to see my soul? Scars there, too, but you can’t really see them.
I’m sure you did your best.
Did I? Are you sure I did my best? Because I’m not.
I lied. I manipulated people. I hurt people at times. I was cruel at times. I betrayed trust.
I threw my brother to his death. Yes, to save my life and other people’s lives; does that make it okay?
“In the old days I would have talked to you, God,” she said. “I would have asked for guidance. And I would have gotten nothing, but I’d have pretended, and that would have been almost like the real thing.”
Lana would heal Sam. And then he would march out to fight Gaia.
And Gaia would kill him. But only after she had killed Edilio and Sinder and Diana and Sanjit and Quinn and and and . . . Then she would kill Sam, but before that she would kill Astrid, so that Sam would see, and he would cry out in despair, and only then would Gaia kill him.
Sam would die, and he would die knowing he had failed to save Astrid.
As if summoned from her thoughts Astrid saw Sinder passing around the side of the hotel, heading perhaps to join the desperate crowd huddled down by the highway. Was Sinder’s mother there? Astrid hadn’t really ever talked to the girl about her life before the FAYZ.
A lot of them she had never come to know. A lot she would never now be able to know. She closed her eyes and saw the terrible light from Gaia’s hands. She smelled again the burning of tires and varnished plywood, canvas and flesh.
If Sam died right now, right this minute, it would weaken Gaia, and the rest of them might survive.
“I made that choice once before,” she said to the dark sky. “I did that with Petey, didn’t I?”
The sky had no answer. The sky was bright to the south with burger lights, and to the west the ships glided by, carrying cars, iPads, and oil, and old people who wanted to see whales.
To the north the red glow of fire. It was brighter each minute. It must have spread beyond the forest now. Was it racing across the dry grassland? Was it burning across the fields that had fed them?
Fire? She wanted to laugh. Well, why not? Why not fire? This was the FAYZ, after all.
Somewhere out there the monster plotted their deaths. And if Astrid was going to do anything at all to stop it, it would mean sacrificing someone, either some nameless victim or Sam.
What was the lesson? What was all this teaching her? That sometimes there were no good choices?
“I learned that a long time ago,” Astrid said.
She had told Sam—insisted on it—that he had to do whatever it took to win, even if it meant attacking Diana, even if it meant burning down the world, but only survive, only live, Sam, because I can’t do it without you.
Live.
I can’t walk out of this place without you.
Astrid closed her eyes, shutting out the ships and the stars and the burger lights and the distant fire.
“Petey . . .”
Caine made his way down to the dock. The answer was obvious: if he was going to survive, he had to get to the island. Out of here. Away from Gaia. Not that Gaia couldn’t find him there, but as he’d told Diana, the trick wasn’t to live forever, but to be the last to die.
And to never suffer that pain again. He couldn’t think about it; he couldn’t or he would feel an echo of it, and even that was agony.
There was a kid on guard, one of Quinn’s people, posted there to make sure no one tampered with any of the fishing boats.
Caine didn’t hurt him, just used his power to smack him against the wooden planks until he stopped yelling. Then he tied him up and stuffed a rag in his mouth to keep him quiet. Gaia would find him, too, and kill him in due course. But his death might come a bit later just because he was incapacitated.
Hey, that was a good thing. Right?
Caine saw the boats that had been reserved for emergency use. There should still be a little gas left. It wouldn’t be much—they’d been running on fumes just a few days ago when Caine had been king.
The memory brought a grim smile to his lips. King Caine. Things changed, didn’t they? Now he was ready to try and creep away to hang on to a another few hours of life. Run away.
King Caine to Rat Caine in a heartbeat.
Well, Penny had already knocked the crown off his head, hadn’t she? He recalled the humiliation of waking up to find his hands cemented and a crown stapled to his scalp. Pain, too. But he’d had pain, he knew pain, and while staples in your scalp were no picnic, they were nothing to compare with the agony of having that hard concrete chipped slowly away with a hammer.
Astrid stood at the top of the cliff that gave Clifftop its name.
There were boats out there, out in the dark ocean. She could see the lights going by.
When she craned her neck to the left she could see the glow coming from the camp, from the Carl’s Jr., the lights of the new hotels.
It was all so desperately, terribly near. How far to cheeseburgers and fries and cars that weren’t burned out and policemen to call when danger threatened?
Not a quarter of a mile.
Electricity and freedom from fear. Food and warmth. Her mother and father, cousins and aunts and family friends, and all of them saying, So what was it like? And I bet you’re glad to be out of there.
Were you afraid?
So afraid.
I guess you saw some bad things?
So many I can’t even tell you. So many I can’t remember them all. And some that I can’t get out of my head.
I have scars. Want to see my legs and arms and back? Scars.
Want to see my soul? Scars there, too, but you can’t really see them.
I’m sure you did your best.
Did I? Are you sure I did my best? Because I’m not.
I lied. I manipulated people. I hurt people at times. I was cruel at times. I betrayed trust.
I threw my brother to his death. Yes, to save my life and other people’s lives; does that make it okay?
“In the old days I would have talked to you, God,” she said. “I would have asked for guidance. And I would have gotten nothing, but I’d have pretended, and that would have been almost like the real thing.”
Lana would heal Sam. And then he would march out to fight Gaia.
And Gaia would kill him. But only after she had killed Edilio and Sinder and Diana and Sanjit and Quinn and and and . . . Then she would kill Sam, but before that she would kill Astrid, so that Sam would see, and he would cry out in despair, and only then would Gaia kill him.
Sam would die, and he would die knowing he had failed to save Astrid.
As if summoned from her thoughts Astrid saw Sinder passing around the side of the hotel, heading perhaps to join the desperate crowd huddled down by the highway. Was Sinder’s mother there? Astrid hadn’t really ever talked to the girl about her life before the FAYZ.
A lot of them she had never come to know. A lot she would never now be able to know. She closed her eyes and saw the terrible light from Gaia’s hands. She smelled again the burning of tires and varnished plywood, canvas and flesh.
If Sam died right now, right this minute, it would weaken Gaia, and the rest of them might survive.
“I made that choice once before,” she said to the dark sky. “I did that with Petey, didn’t I?”
The sky had no answer. The sky was bright to the south with burger lights, and to the west the ships glided by, carrying cars, iPads, and oil, and old people who wanted to see whales.
To the north the red glow of fire. It was brighter each minute. It must have spread beyond the forest now. Was it racing across the dry grassland? Was it burning across the fields that had fed them?
Fire? She wanted to laugh. Well, why not? Why not fire? This was the FAYZ, after all.
Somewhere out there the monster plotted their deaths. And if Astrid was going to do anything at all to stop it, it would mean sacrificing someone, either some nameless victim or Sam.
What was the lesson? What was all this teaching her? That sometimes there were no good choices?
“I learned that a long time ago,” Astrid said.
She had told Sam—insisted on it—that he had to do whatever it took to win, even if it meant attacking Diana, even if it meant burning down the world, but only survive, only live, Sam, because I can’t do it without you.
Live.
I can’t walk out of this place without you.
Astrid closed her eyes, shutting out the ships and the stars and the burger lights and the distant fire.
“Petey . . .”
Caine made his way down to the dock. The answer was obvious: if he was going to survive, he had to get to the island. Out of here. Away from Gaia. Not that Gaia couldn’t find him there, but as he’d told Diana, the trick wasn’t to live forever, but to be the last to die.
And to never suffer that pain again. He couldn’t think about it; he couldn’t or he would feel an echo of it, and even that was agony.
There was a kid on guard, one of Quinn’s people, posted there to make sure no one tampered with any of the fishing boats.
Caine didn’t hurt him, just used his power to smack him against the wooden planks until he stopped yelling. Then he tied him up and stuffed a rag in his mouth to keep him quiet. Gaia would find him, too, and kill him in due course. But his death might come a bit later just because he was incapacitated.
Hey, that was a good thing. Right?
Caine saw the boats that had been reserved for emergency use. There should still be a little gas left. It wouldn’t be much—they’d been running on fumes just a few days ago when Caine had been king.
The memory brought a grim smile to his lips. King Caine. Things changed, didn’t they? Now he was ready to try and creep away to hang on to a another few hours of life. Run away.
King Caine to Rat Caine in a heartbeat.
Well, Penny had already knocked the crown off his head, hadn’t she? He recalled the humiliation of waking up to find his hands cemented and a crown stapled to his scalp. Pain, too. But he’d had pain, he knew pain, and while staples in your scalp were no picnic, they were nothing to compare with the agony of having that hard concrete chipped slowly away with a hammer.
