Hunger by Michael Grant
An expectant pause. A dangerous, giddy feeling. The smell of the meat had them all crazy. Zil could feel it.
“You all want some of this delicious venison?”
They roared their assent.
“Then you’ll all grab on to the rope.”
A dozen or more kids leaped forward to seize the rope. Others hesitated. Glanced toward the church. Glanced toward Hunter being held by Zil’s crew.
Lance had tied a noose.
Hank now pushed it down over Hunter’s head and tightened it around his neck.
But there was a disturbance in the crowd. Someone was pushing through. Kids were yelling at the intruder. There was shoving. But finally Astrid appeared, disheveled, flushed, furious. She wasn’t hauling a wagon anymore. And she didn’t have John with her, which was good, Zil thought: Mary and John were popular. A lot of these kids had little brothers and sisters at the day care.
Astrid was a different story. She was tied to Sam, and a lot of kids thought she was too full of her own self. Plus, she had her creepy little brother with her. And no one liked him. Rumor had it that he was some kind of powerful freak himself. But was too retarded to do anything much about it.
Waste of time keeping a retard alive when humans were starving.
“Stop this!” Astrid cried. “Stop this now!”
Zil looked down at her. He was almost surprised to realize that he was not intimidated by her. Astrid the Genius. Sam’s girlfriend. One of the three or four most important people in the FAYZ.
But Zil had the power of the crowd behind him. He felt it in his heart and soul, like a drug that made him all-powerful. Invincible and unafraid.
“Go away, Astrid,” he said. “We don’t like traitors here.”
“Oh? And how do we feel about thugs? How do we feel about murder?” She was really very pretty, Zil noticed. Much hotter than Lisa. And now that he was taking over…
“We’re here to execute a murderer,” Zil said, pointing at Hunter. “We are bringing justice in the name of all normals.”
“There’s no justice without a trial,” Astrid said.
Zil grinned. He spread his hands. “We had a trial, Astrid. And this chud scum was found guilty of murdering a normal.
“The penalty,” he added, “is death.”
Astrid turned to face the mob. “If you do this, you’ll never forgive yourselves.”
“We’re hungry,” a voice cried, and was immediately echoed by others.
“You’re going to murder a boy in a church?” Astrid demanded, pointing toward the church. “A church? In God’s house?”
Zil could see that those words had an effect. There were some nervous looks.
“You will never wash the stain of this off your hands,” Astrid cried. “If you do this, you will never be able to forget it. What do you think your parents would say?”
“There are no parents in the FAYZ. No God, either,” Zil said. “There’s just humans trying to stay alive, and freaks taking everything for themselves. And you, Astrid, are all about helping the freaks. Why? I really wonder why?”
He was starting to genuinely enjoy this. It was great fun to see pretty, smart Astrid looking helpless.
“You know what I think, people?” Zil said. “I think maybe Astrid has some powers she hasn’t told anyone about. Or else…” He paused for dramatic effect. “Or else it’s the little retard who has the powers.”
He saw the fear dawn on her face. Righteous anger surrendering to fear.
So smart, so quick, Astrid was. So dumb, too, Zil thought.
“I think,” Zil said, “we may have another couple of freaks at our little picnic.”
“No,” Astrid whispered.
“Hank,” Zil said, and nodded.
Astrid turned too late to see Hank behind her. He swung. Astrid felt the blow as if it had hit her.
It hit Little Pete.
He fell like a marionette with the strings cut.
“Now!” Zil said. “Grab her.”
Diana could hardly believe it. They had moved quickly, easily up the side of the hill overlooking the power plant and had found the fuel rod.
It had not been hard to find. A fire had started in the dry brush where it hit. Just a low, scurrying fire. Caine was able to pluck the fuel rod up with ease and hold it high in the air.
Jack stood beneath the fuel rod, sweating from the heat, sweating too from fear, Diana guessed. The only light came from the fire.
“I don’t see anything popped or broken,” Jack said. He pulled something that looked like a yellow remote control out of his pocket and stared at it.
“What’s that?”
“It’s a dosimeter,” Jack said. He thumbed a switch. Diana heard an irregular clicking sound. Click. Clickclick. Click. Clickclickclick.
“We’re okay,” Jack said, and breathed a relieved sigh. “So far.”
“What’s that clicking?”
“Whenever it detects a radioactive particle, it clicks. If it starts clicking constantly, we’ll have a problem. There’s a tone when it gets to dangerous levels.”
Even now, Jack loved showing off his geek knowledge. Even knowing what was happening, what had happened. Guessing, at least, what was ahead.
“What you hear now is just background radiation.”
“Let’s get out of here,” Caine said. “Fire climbs. We need to stay ahead of it.”
They climbed the hill. The fire did not catch them. It didn’t seem to be spreading. Maybe because there was no wind.
Down the other side to the highway.
No one had come after them. Sam was nowhere to be seen.
They rested—collapsed was more like it—inside an Enterprise Rent-a-Car office. The two soldiers went on a search through dusty desks and file cabinets, looking for food.
One triumphantly produced a small tin of hard peppermints. There were nine mints. Enough for everyone to have one, and then to salivate over the remaining four.
“Time to get a car,” Caine announced. He had “parked” the fuel rod outside, leaning it against the exterior wall. “We need something with an open top.”
He held up one of the peppermints for the two soldiers to see. “This goes to whoever finds me the best vehicle, with keys.”
The two thugs raced for the door. Diana’s stomach cramped, wringing a cry from her. A small piece of candy did not cure hunger, it sharpened it.
There were no lights in the office. None on the highway outside. Darkness in every direction except for the pale light of non-stars and a non-moon.
They slumped on sagging office chairs and propped weary feet on the desks.
Diana began laughing.
“Something funny?’ Caine asked.
“We’re sitting in the dark, willing to sell our souls for another peppermint, with enough uranium to give a terrorist a wet dream.” She wiped tears from her eyes. “No, nothing’s funny about that.”
“Shut up, Diana,” Caine said wearily.
Diana wondered if using his telekinetic power to “carry” the fuel rod was tiring him out. Maybe.
Diana forced herself to stand up. She went to Caine and put her hand on his shoulder. “Caine.”
“Don’t start,” Caine said.
“You don’t have to do this,” Diana said.
Caine didn’t answer.
One of the soldiers stuck his head in. “I found an Escalade. Keys are inside, but it’s locked.”
“Jack? Go open the car for him,” Caine ordered. “While you’re at it, rip the roof off.”
“Do I get a mint?” Jack asked.
Diana laughed out loud, a borderline hysterical sound.
“What do you think your little friend in the desert will do once you’ve given it what it wants?” When Caine didn’t answer, Diana said, in a puzzled tone, “By the way, should I be saying ‘it,’ or is it a ‘he’?”
Caine covered his face with his hands.
“Does he have a nickname?” Diana went on remorselessly. “I m
From outside came the sound of metal ripping, glass shattering. Jack converting an SUV into a convertible.
“The ‘G’ monster,” Diana said.
Seconds later, the door burst inward. Jack.
“Someone’s coming,” Jack said urgently. “Coming right down the road.”
“Driving?” Caine demanded, leaping up.
“No. We just heard footsteps, like someone running.”
Diana’s heart leaped. Sam. It had to be Sam.
But at the same time, she felt dread. She wanted Caine stopped. She did not want him killed.
Caine ran outside, Diana right behind him, and gunfire erupted. The two soldiers firing blindly down the highway. Bright yellow fire from the muzzles, a deafening noise, and off in the impenetrable gloom the sound of a voice cursing, yelling at them to stop it, followed by furious cursing.
“Stop shooting, you stupid idiots!” Caine roared.
The firing stopped.
“Is that you, Drake?” one of the soldiers called out, shaky and scared.
“I’m going to whip the skin off you!” Drake bellowed.
The gaunt psychopath appeared, eyes glittering in moonlight, hair wild. He was moving strangely, cradling his whip hand with his other hand.
There was something odd about it. Diana couldn’t figure out what.
“What kept you?” Caine asked.
“What kept me? Sam. I took him down,” Drake said. “Me. I whipped him and tore him up and he will never recover, never, not after what—”
“Whoa,” Jack said, so shocked, he dared to interrupt Drake in mid-rant. “Your…your thing.”
Diana saw then the way Drake’s tentacle ended in a flat surface, a stump.
And then, to Diana’s astonishment, Drake sobbed. Just once. Just one stifled sob. He is human, after all, Diana thought. Barely. But capable of fear, capable of feeling pain.
“You didn’t kill him?” Caine asked Drake.
“I told you,” Drake yelled. “He’s done for!”
Caine shook his head. “If you didn’t kill him, he’s not done for. In fact, it looks kind of like the last time you fought Sam: you with part of you missing.”
“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.
“Nothi
“That’s true,” he agreed. “Nothing.”
“Not our fault.”
He made a weak grab at a seagull that hovered just out of reach, floating on its boomerang-shaped wings. He was hungry enough that he would have eaten the bird raw. In midair.
Out of the corner of his eye he noticed a blur on the ground below. The blur stopped suddenly. He couldn’t see her face, but it could only be Brianna. In her hand she held a pigeon.
Brianna could do what Duck could not. Brianna could catch and eat birds. Maybe she would share. After all, they were both freaks. Both on the same side. Right?
“Hey!” he yelled down.
Brianna stared up at him. “You!” she yelled. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you!”
“I’m so hungry,” Duck moaned.
“How did you get up there?”
He was slowly increasing his density, sinking down to earth.
“It goes both ways,” Duck said. “It’s all about density. I weigh whatever I want to weigh. I can weigh so much, I sink through the ground, or I can float so—”
“Yeah, I don’t care. Sam said get you.”
“Me?”
“You. Get down here.”
She ripped a wing off the pigeon and handed a dripping, gelatinous piece of flesh to Duck, who didn’t even hesitate.
He looked up guiltily after a minute of slavering and grunting. “Don’t you want some?”
“Nah,” she said. “My appetite…I don’t know. I’m feeling a little sick.”
Brianna was looking at him in a way that made him distinctly nervous.
“There’ll be some wind resistance,” Brianna said.
“Some what?”
“Say you can control your weight? About ten pounds ought to do.”
“Do for what?”
“Jump on my back, Duck. You are going for a ride.”
The morphine did not eliminate the pain. It merely threw a veil over it. It was still there, a terrible, ravening lion, roaring, awesome, overpowering. But held barely at bay.
Barely.
His wounds were shocking to see. Bright red stripes across his back, shoulders, neck, and face. In places the skin had been taken off.