Gone Series: Plague Part 33

Despite the rain her mouth was dry as parchment. Her throat wouldn't make sounds. Her finger was on the trigger, stroking the grooves, feeling it. Her thumb was on the safety.

She clicked it off.

All she saw now was Turk's face, and the v-sights of the pistol.

"You aren't going to pull that trigger, Astrid," Turk said.

A sound from the steps. Running feet.

Edilio emerged. He had an automatic rifle aimed at Turk. "It's over, Turk," Edilio said.

Astrid dropped the pistol to her side. She breathed a huge, shaky sigh of relief.

"You going to let Astrid just own this freak?" Turk demanded of Edilio.

"Drop all your weapons. Right now!" Edilio yelled.

The two younger kids looked to Turk for guidance.

Lance was the one who moved. He raised his own pistol and pointed it at Little Pete. "Anyone shoots anyone, the 'tard takes one in the head."

"Man, you don't want to do this," Edilio warned. "Yeah? Well, listen up, Edilio: Albert's dead."

Edilio's eyes opened wide.

"See, the situation has changed rapidly," Lance said in a parody of a newscaster's voice. "So, now, ladies and gentlemen, what we have here is a Mexican standoff. You squeeze one off, Edilio, chances are I can still get the kid. Bang."

"You should understand what a Mexican standoff is," Turk mocked. He raised his own gun and aimed it at Astrid. "See? Now it's even more complicated. Lance is right: Albert is, uh, not feeling well. Forever. So no one is even paying you, wet-back. You need to walk away. Run before the immigration cops get here." He laughed.

A terrible thought formed in Astrid's brain: if Little Pete was killed it might all end.

A simple act of murder ...

What kind of life did he have? Was Little Pete's life worth all of this? Was it worth Edilio dying? Was it worth the many more deaths that would surely happen? Was it worth all of them dying in this violent, foul, G.o.d-forsaken FAYZ?

"Go ahead," Astrid said flatly. She let her pistol drop to the sodden carpet. It splashed. "Go ahead. Shoot him. Kill Little Pete."

Diana and Caine had made love several more times. In her bed. In his bed. In the big bedroom with its ego wall of the two movie star parents grinning out from photos taken with Leo DiCaprio, Natalie Portman, that actress who was in Mamma Mia!, Steven Spielberg, Heath Ledger, and a bunch of people who were probably famous but looked more like they were businessman types.

Diana was in the kitchen, wearing a robe and slippers and heating some food for Penny. New England clam chowder. A quesadilla. A mismatched kind of meal, she supposed, but Penny wasn't going to complain. They were all still a long, long way from complaining about food.

Diana had not intended it to be this way with Caine. Somehow she'd imagined the one time, but not an endless series of sequels. But Caine's appet.i.te had not been sated. He had come back to her bed in the night. And then, this morning, before the sun was even up.

Something was happening to her. She was coming to like Caine. Love? She didn't even know for sure what that meant. Maybe she loved him. That would be strange. He wasn't exactly lovable. And once you knew the real Caine, he wasn't even likable.

Diana had always found Caine fascinating. And she'd always found him attractive. Hot, she would have said when she was younger. Hot in a cold sort of way, if that made any sense.

But this was different. She wasn't using him now. That was her usual att.i.tude toward Caine, at least that's what she'd always told herself: he was useful. A girl like Diana, a girl who enjoyed taking risks, who enjoyed sticking a knife of wit and cruelty into other girls at school, who enjoyed taunting the panting hormonal boys and leering old men, a girl like that could use a strong male protector.

And Caine was definitely a strong protector. It would take a suicidal guy to cross him. Even before Caine had started to develop powers, he was the kind of boy other boys steered clear of. He wasn't always the biggest or the toughest-looking, but he was always the most determined. The most ruthless. You knew if you messed with Caine, you'd suffer for it.

She supposed, if she had to be serious, that she'd long ago developed genuine emotions for him. Of some sort. Not love. Not even like. But something. Something normal people might have thought was sick, in a way.

Emotions. But not what she felt now-whatever this was.

Diana plated the quesadilla and poured the soup into a bowl. She set it all on a tray and carried it upstairs. She knocked, opened the door, and placed the tray of food in front of a sleeping Penny. It was like feeding a dog.

She found Caine out on what had once been a well-manicured lawn that covered the ground from the house to the cliff. It was now wild with weeds, some as much as head-high. He was looking toward the distant town through his telescope.

He heard her approach. Without looking back he said, "Something's happening in town."

"I don't care."

"A cloud. Like a rain cloud. In fact, I think it is raining. It's just a small cloud. Way down low, though, not an illusion in the barrier."

"You're probably seeing a reflection. Or an illusion."

Caine handed her the telescope. She wanted to refuse it, but she was curious. She looked. The town leaped closer. Not enough to see people, but enough to see that there was indeed a cloud, just one, hanging far too low, staying put in one place. The gray smudge beneath it might be falling rain.

"So?" she asked. "So some freak has developed the power to make a cloud."

"You don't wonder who? That's a pretty major power."

Diana sighed theatrically. "What do you care?"

"I don't like the idea of there being another four bar. Two of us is already one too many."

"It doesn't mean it's a four bar," Diana said. "Brianna and Dekka and Taylor are only threes. They have greater powers than that."

"At least a three bar, though." He took the scope back. "You don't think if they can find a way they'll come after us? If Sanjit made it there alive, then Sam knows what we have here. You don't think he'll come after it?"

"No," she said honestly. "I don't think he'll look for a fight with you. He's not as insecure as you are."

Caine snorted a laugh. "Yeah, that's my problem: insecurity."

"It doesn't matter anyway. There's no way for us to get back even if we wanted to."

"There's always a way, Diana. There's always a way."

"Don't," she said. "Don't find a way."

Chapter Twenty-Six.

9 HOURS.

"YOU WANT US to shoot your brother?" Turk was incredulous.

"Don't even think about it," Edilio said. He had a tight grip on his rifle, finger on the trigger. The sights were centered on Turk's anxious face. But his eyes were bleary and he was stifling a need to cough. "She doesn't mean it."

"Too many dead kids," Astrid said wearily. "There just can't be any more dead kids. It's time to end it."

Edilio felt panic rising within him. What was he supposed to do now? Was Astrid losing her mind like Mary Terrafino?

"I know how many kids have died," Edilio said. "I buried most of them."

"It's all because of Little Pete," Astrid said.

"No. You don't know that." Edilio aimed a furious look at her.

She blinked. Shook her head slightly. Her long hair, soaked, hung like golden snakes. "You aren't the one taking care of him, Edilio. You're not the one responsible."

Edilio coughed, fought it back, coughed again. He tried to steady his mind and calm himself down. Had to keep focus.

"What are you two talking about?" Turk demanded. He was clearly confused.

Edilio felt the house rumble. Heavy footsteps. Orc. It had to be Orc. Orc on whose side? That was the question.

The boy-monster emerged onto the platform. He made a strange slushy sound as he moved, like someone shuffling their feet on wet gravel.

He pushed past Edilio. His head sagged to his chest, and for a moment Edilio had the incredible thought that Orc might have fallen asleep.

No, he was just hammered, Edilio realized. "Drop your guns."

"No, no, no. What are you two talking about? That's the first question," Turk demanded, sensing an advantage he couldn't quite put his finger on. His gun was still aimed at Astrid.

"Shut up, Turk, and drop your gun. If you murdered Albert, you're going into exile."

"What happens if I shoot the 'tard?" Lance demanded.

"You know the law. You kill someone, we give you a trial. And if you're guilty, you leave town and never come back."

"That's not what I'm asking, and you know it, Edilio," Lance snarled. "Tell me, Astrid. Tell us all. What happens if we shoot the 'tard?"

Panic. It was eating at Edilio's mind. What was he supposed to do? He had to get control of the situation. He had to be in charge. But what should he do?

Edilio stared down the barrel of his rifle at Turk. His head was swimming. His neck and face were hot.

He s.h.i.+fted his aim, traversed the gun just an inch of arc to bring Lance into his sights.

The first one to decide would win.

"If-," Astrid said.

BLAM!.

The rifle kicked against Edilio's shoulder. The side of Lance's handsome face erupted in a fountain of blood.

"Lance!" Turk cried.

Lance brought his own gun around, not aiming at Little Pete now but at Edilio.

BLAM!.

Lance's aim was off. Nowhere near Edilio. Instead the bullet struck Orc in his thigh and ricocheted off.

Turk, his face a mask of fury, aimed at Edilio. But Edilio had already s.h.i.+fted his aim and his sights were back on Turk.

"Don't!" Edilio warned.

Turk hesitated. But Edilio didn't see the hesitation, he saw Turk's gun and only his gun, the round black hole of the barrel, and without thinking he squeezed the trigger.

Another loud bang.

Another kick against his shoulder.

Turk was on his back. His gun was beyond his reach, although he was struggling to get to it.

"I said, don't!" Edilio yelled again.

Turk held his stomach with one hand and reached for the gun with the other. Edilio's finger was slippery on the trigger. He could feel something awful inside him, a tidal wave of awful, barely held in check as he aimed at Turk's head.

Orc crunched Turk's gun beneath his foot.

Edilio breathed. Sobbed for breath. Coughed.

He lowered his weapon.

Lance shrieked. It was a sound made up of fear and shock and pain. The bullet had struck his cheekbone and come out through his ear. Quivering red flesh hung loose.

Turk groaned more quietly. His throat convulsed. Like a fish on dry land, he was gulping, trying to breathe. His hand still stretched toward his now-useless gun.

Neither boy was dead.