Hunger (15 page)

And she grinned because, you know, it really was freaking cool.

***

It was another town that Lisa didn't recognize, a place with homes made of concrete walls and tin roofs, of cardboard shacks outfitted with plastic sheets. The ground was a paste of mud and rock. Drainage ditches overflowed, clogged with raw sewage. Dozens of small fires choked the air with the greasy black smoke from tires and other refuse burning lazily. A bony dog lapped at the tainted water that had pooled in the road, where some adults stood bathing listlessly. Children avoided the pigs rooting about trash piles. Flies hovered. Odors mingled, weaving together in a heated haze and floating upward, assaulting Lisa's nose.

Midnight touched down, its gallop slowing to a cantor and then to a walk. Lisa gazed upon the townsfolk, the scattered clusters of people shuffling about, zombielike, some wearing brightly colored shirts that belied the washed-out look in their eyes. A group of women wearing head scarves waited outside a building—some standing, others leaning against the decrepit walls, still others sitting, their faces half hidden by their hands as they prayed or napped or wept. Men sat outside empty shops, scowling, casting glares at the passersby and at the police driving by on patrol.

Yes, Famine had been here before. Its scars were everywhere, spread like pockmarks on the face of the town.

Heading toward the outskirts, past the loose rocks and flooded crops and muddy rivers, rows of women marched with straw baskets and oversize bundles balanced on their heads, trekking to work or, perhaps, to market. Lisa's mind flashed on the Disney movie
Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs
, when the dwarfs sang "Heigh-Ho!" as they exited the diamond mines. Disgusted with herself, Lisa looked away.

And she locked gazes with a skeletal child dressed in rags.

His—her? Lisa couldn't tell—eyes were bulbous, huge, filled with pain and resignation that no one, let alone a child, should ever have to encounter. Clutching a cookie, the child stared up at Lisa.

"You can see me?" she asked, stunned.

The child didn't reply, but the huge eyes blinked.

Lisa slid off her steed and approached the child slowly, her hand out, palm up, as if encountering a dog. "It's okay," she murmured. "I promise, I won't hurt you."

The child sighed, and Lisa's heart broke.

For the second time that night, she reached within herself and touched the power of Famine, then grabbed hold and pulled. It wrestled with her, trying to slip away, but Lisa held fast. Either Famine was growing used to her, or she was getting better at controlling it, for this time it didn't snap at her like a rabid hound. That didn't mean it was easy, not by any stretch; Lisa trembled from exertion and sweat beaded on her brow.

I can do this.

Her teeth clenched, she extended her power outward, shaping it into a funnel and touching it to the child's mouth in a gesture as gentle as a mother's kiss.

The child closed its eyes, perhaps waiting for the inevitable.

Slowly, Lisa released the energy within her, trickling it into the starving child.
Careful
, she told herself,
careful ... Can't go too fast.
Gnashing her teeth until her molars screamed, Lisa bled life into the child, drop by drop. And then she hit the saturation point.

The girl—yes, a girl; Lisa knew that now—snapped her eyes open with a gasp, finding for the first time in her short life, her belly didn't ache. She placed a tiny hand on her swollen stomach, wondering at the sense of fullness.

Yes. Oh thank you, yes.

Sweating and shaking, Lisa cut off the power flow and let the funnel dissipate. The line connecting her to the girl snapped, and Lisa staggered backward, nearly stumbling into the muck of the street. Finding her balance, she pressed a hand against her forehead until she no longer felt dizzy.

Being a Good Samaritan, she decided, was harder than it looked.

She kept her head down until the world caught up to her. When she finally lowered her hand and looked up, she found the child standing in front of her, smiling.

Offering Lisa her cookie.

Lisa's breath caught in her throat, and her heart swelled like an orchestra's crescendo. Okay, maybe being a Good Samaritan was hard, but
wow
—in this moment, it was worth it.

Swallowing back tears, Lisa smiled and accepted the gift, suddenly famished. She bit down and chewed, then nearly spat it out—Famine identified the ingredients as a mixture of vegetable fat, salt, and dirt.

Dirt cookies
, she thought numbly, staring at the food in her hand.
This girl has been eating dirt cookies.

The child watched, her large eyes expectant.

Still smiling, Lisa forced the "treat" down; she even mimed rubbing her belly and made a yummy sound. The child grinned, revealing two baby teeth. With a look of extreme satisfaction, she toddled off, her rags slipping off her bony shoulders. Lisa watched until the child disappeared from view.

Midnight snorted.

"You can criticize, if you'd like," Lisa murmured. "I'm glad we helped."

The horse snorted again.

Lisa turned to face those white, skeptical eyes. "Hey, you had pralines."

Her steed fixed her with its milky gaze, then flicked its ears, abashed.

"I'm glad you liked them." Lisa patted the horse's powerful neck, wondering what to do next. She wouldn't have enough energy to help even a handful of people here, let alone everyone. But she could try. The youngest children, at least, she could help—some of them, anyway.

After one last pat of Midnight's neck, she began to pick her way around the muddy patches of the road, intending to approach the myriad of mostly naked children swarming around garbage heaps. It was nasty, and rancid—the stench made her eyes water—but she could always shower when she got home.

Lisa halted in her tracks. A man off to the side of the road had caught her eye. He was dumping what looked like grass shavings onto the ground, adding to an already large pile.

Curious, she walked closer. The pile wasn't grass, she realized, but string beans, or something similar...

She squinted, taking in the long, wet stalks, and then she knew. The part of her that was Famine identified it as rice plants—specifically, rice from a submerged paddy.

Famine showed her how the seeds had been planted in small beds and then put into plowed, waterlogged fields. Later, the rice would have been harvested. In her mind, Lisa could see the farmers with their knives, tying the rice stalks into bundles and leaving them in their fields so that they'd dry before they were threshed, and then the new grain would again be dried.

But the problem here had been all the rain; twenty days of freak rains, drowning plants, washing away the livestock, caving in homes. Famine showed her the destructive sheets of rain, the rising ground water, the desperate townsfolk in their leaking shacks. Rice, unlike other crops, thrived in standing water. But if the rice was kept completely submerged for more than a few days, the plants would die.

Lisa knew this. Famine had told her. Famine understood food intimately, and on a deep level, so did Lisa.

Brown rice
, the Thin voice whispered.
One hundred thirty-five calories.

Shut up.
Lisa watched the farmer laying out the dying rice plants, feverishly working to dry them in the hopes of saving some of his harvest so that he and his family wouldn't starve. He had to dry the plants. His desperation glowed around him in a black nimbus.

Lisa smiled. She was thirsty, anyway; that dirt cookie had been horribly dry and salty.

Heedless of her shoeless feet, she walked through the mud to get to the small area of road where the farmer toiled. The sun had baked this small patch of ground to hard clay. Spread out on the road, the rice plants looked faded and overboiled, like some of her mother's attempts at string beans.

Lisa crouched down, ignoring the farmer who was adding to the pile of drowned plants. Frowning with concentration, she touched one of the limp rice stems. She felt the excess moisture, heard the plant crying out for the sun. She imagined sucking that wetness from the rice, from all the rice, pulling it into her, quenching her thirst. And Famine drank.

The rice slowly dried.

At one point, Midnight had walked over to her, positioning itself to shield Lisa from the blasting sun. She barely noticed. Famine drank, and Lisa shivered from the cold.

Soon other men joined the farmer, adding their own wet bundles to the heap. They chatted, animated and pointing, and the first farmer removed his dry stash to let the others have more room.

Lisa's head jerked up, and she blinked furiously. Why had she been nodding off? Where was she? Panicking, she darted her gaze about, not understanding why there were painfully thin men and women near her, carting away bundles of grass out of the road. Her vision blurred, and when she stood tall, her stomach and legs rebelled, stabbing her. She doubled over, nauseated and cramping.
What's happening?
she wanted to shout, but her teeth were chattering and she was panting and nothing made any sense...

She nearly screamed when a horse neighed right behind her.

Scrabbling up, she cocked her fist back and then froze, staring at the large black horse with glowing white eyes. It cocked its head, as if asking a question.

"I know you," she said slowly. "I..."

She was drowning. She had to get the water out. She...

She was going to vomit.

She staggered toward the refuse pile, lightheaded and too far gone to be bothered by the flies or the stench. The children there didn't see her, except for one wide-eyed little girl who would grow up to be a powerful Mambo and keep the balance between the spirits and her people.

Lisa crashed to her knees.

The force inside of her surged up and fountained out in a massive spray of power and energy. Life—it washed over the children and the hogs and the garbage, plumping up both humans and animals and transforming fetid refuse into fertilizer ready to be given back to the land.

Exhausted and weak, Lisa slumped to the ground. Around her, children laughed for the first time in months as they danced on newly strong legs. Parents cried from joy as they hugged their babies, suddenly healthy, and gave their thanks to the powerful
loa
who'd blessed their children. Farmers sang as they collected their saved harvest.

They wouldn't starve. Not today, anyway.

Midnight bumped its nose against Lisa's back.

"I'm okay," she croaked. "Just tired."

The steed nickered softly, its breath tickling her ear.

"Yeah. Okay. I'm getting up."

She slowly pulled herself to her knees, and once again she found the little girl looking up at her, a radiant smile on her small face. The girl pointed at Lisa, then looked over her shoulder.

Behind her, a crowd of people held armfuls of red and white flowers.

Lisa said, "What...?"

As if waiting for her acknowledgment, the little girl nodded.

The people approached, hesitantly, reverently, and as they bowed their heads low, they gently placed the flowers at the base of the fertilizer pile. On they came, men and women, old and young, their bodies hardened from a difficult life of toil and uncertainty, raining flowers from their fingers. Soon there was a pile of blossoms that reached Lisa's shins.

Her vision blurry with tears, Lisa said, "For me?"

The little girl smiled.

Overcome, Lisa cried, her tears running into her mouth as she laughed. They were thanking her. She'd helped them, and they were thanking her. Her chest burned with pride.

Her hands trembling, she reached out to touch the flowers. And Famine ate.

When the flowers all disappeared, the people cheered. They returned to their homes, searching for candles and rum, clothing themselves in white, ready to give thanks to the powerful spirits that had saved their children and their rice.

Lisa, alone except for Midnight, let out a burp. She tasted flowers on her tongue.

"Excuse me," she said, pulling herself to her feet. Then she giggled, utterly giddy. That had been all sorts of awesome. Well, not the burp, but everything else. She'd helped those people, and they'd thanked her. Grinning madly, she reached out to stroke Midnight's neck. She could help other towns; she could slowly make her way across the world and ease its hunger...

The black horse stiffened, then bared its teeth.

"Midnight? What's wrong?"

A shadow fell over her, bringing with it the smell of old blood and new steel.

"Mouse," a woman's voice hissed, "just what do you think you're doing?"

Oh God.

Terror gripped Lisa, squeezing her lungs and stealing her breath. She tried to swallow, but her throat was too thick with fear.

War had come for her.

She felt the Red Rider's presence radiating behind her, unadulterated rage hitting her back like the blast of an oven's heat. It was the snarl of a berserker, the breath of a tornado, the deadly promise of a monster in the closet, waiting for her to close her eyes. It was primal and furious, and it threatened to stop Lisa's heart.

Midnight stepped forward and let out a neigh of challenge. Another horse answered, its voice a bone-deep rumble. It was a sound filled with scorn and violence, and it turned Lisa's legs to gelatin.

I'm going to die.

She wanted to swoon, to close her eyes and pray to wake up, to scream for her mother to help her, to beg for James to arrive like a white knight and save her. She wanted to run, to hide, to melt away from the world. She wanted to be invisible and unimportant again. She wanted it all to go away.

She screwed her eyes closed and hoped that dying wouldn't hurt too much. Death seemed like a nice guy; maybe dying would be soft like a kiss. Maybe he'd sing to her before sending her on to eternal sleep.

"
Well," Death says, "if you want to get all melodramatic about it. Do you want to die?
"

Did she want to die?

In the darkness of her mind, she saw the little girl's wide-eyed face, her joyous smile. She tasted a cookie made of dirt and vegetable fat and salt. She smelled flowers given in thanks. She heard the sounds of a village no longer crying from hunger and fear, heard instead the footsteps of people lost in a celebratory dance, heard the rhythm of drums and flesh.