Plague (8 page)

“EDILIO.
WAKE UP!”

Edilio blinked. Rubbed his eyes. Saw Brianna standing there next to his bed.

“What?” he mumbled.

“Albert told me to get you,” Brianna said.

Brianna always looked determined, pugnacious, and tough. Just sitting around, she looked all of those things. But now she was armed for battle.

She had a small runner’s backpack converted to a sort of holster. She’d cut a hole in the bottom so the barrel of a sawed-off shotgun could stick through. The stock was just where she could reach over her shoulder and grab it.

She had a long knife, a bowie knife, in a scabbard hanging from a camouflage belt. The scabbard was tied to her leg so it wouldn’t flap when she ran. A dozen red plastic shotgun shells rode snugly in slots on the belt.

A summons in the middle of the night was bad. A summons in the middle of the night from a heavily armed Brianna was worse.

Much worse.

“What happened?”

“Drake,” Brianna said. Then she grinned. Because that was Brianna.

Edilio sat up. “Okay. You got Sam?”

“Can’t find Sam,” Brianna said.

Edilio felt an overpowering desire to go back to sleep. Drake on the loose? And no Sam? “Where’s Albert?”

“He said he’d meet you at town hall,” Brianna said. “He’s rounding up the others. The council.” She said that last word with a sneer.

Edilio stabbed a finger at her. “You do not go after Drake on your own.”

“Yeah? Who else you got?” Brianna said.

Edilio didn’t have a good answer to that. “Get Dekka. And get Astrid. I don’t care if you have to drag her by her hair, you get Astrid to town hall.”

Brianna was way too happy at that prospect. She spun, blurred, and was gone.

Edilio dressed quickly, grabbed his weapons, and ran the few blocks to town hall, hoping he could make it that far without running into Drake. He would fight if he had to, but it was hard to win a fight against someone who couldn’t be killed.

He was the first to arrive at town hall. Albert was next, dressed in spotless business casual as always. Howard came in, looking shell-shocked.

“I can’t find him. I can’t find him.” Howard was weeping. “I think he fell through the floor, I mean, you know how big Orc is. Then Drake, he busted out and . . . Orc’s most likely drunk.”

“Most likely,” Edilio snapped. “Since you make sure he stays that way, Howard.”

“We didn’t ask to be running some prison for zombies,” Howard shot back.

“Where were you when this went down?” Edilio accused.

“I was . . . I had to see a dude.”

Delivering bottles of booze, Edilio knew. When would the alcohol supply run out? Everything else had run out. “Have either of you seen Sam? Brianna can’t find him.”

Albert sighed. “He’s out of town.”

Edilio felt the blood drain out of his face. “He’s what?”

Astrid arrived, coldly furious. “I’m not on the council anymore. You have no right—”

“Shut up, Astrid,” Edilio said.

Astrid, Albert, and Howard all stared. Edilio was as amazed as any of them. He considered apologizing—he had never spoken to Astrid that way. He’d never spoken to anyone that way.

The truth was he was scared. Sam was out of town? With Drake running loose?

“What makes you think Sam is out of town?” Edilio asked Albert.

“I sent him,” Albert said. “Him and Dekka. Taylor and Jack, too. They’re looking for water.”

“They’re what?”

“Looking for water.”

Edilio shot a glance at Astrid. She looked down. So: she knew it, too.

Edilio swallowed hard. He was finding it hard to breathe. And at the same time he was finding it hard not to scream at Albert and Astrid both. Both of them so smart, so superior. Dumping this on him now.

Howard said, “Orc must have gone after Drake. Oh, man, I don’t know if he can beat Drake, not like Drake is now. Oh, man.”

Edilio hoped Howard was right that Orc was chasing Drake. He hoped it mightily because the alternative was that he had not one but two monsters running around town. Mostly when Orc was drunk he just sat. But sometimes he got himself worked into an angry drunk, and then things got crazy.

Edilio glanced at the door. One or both could come busting in here at any second.

His gun was at his side. For all the good it would do.

“Brianna’s looking for Drake,” Edilio said, thinking out loud.

“You sent her out against Drake?” Albert demanded.

“Sent her? Who sends Brianna out to get into a fight? She goes on her own. Anyway, it’s not like you’ve left us with anyone else.”

Albert had the decency not to say anything to that.

“You know, you guys put me in charge. I didn’t ask to be in charge. I didn’t want to be in charge. Sam was in charge and all you guys ever did was give him grief,” Edilio said. “You two, especially.” He pointed at Albert and Astrid. “So, okay, Astrid takes over. And then Astrid finds out it’s not so much fun being in charge. So it’s like, okay, let’s get the dumb wetback to do the job.”

“No one ever—,” Astrid protested.

“And me, like a fool, I’m thinking, okay, that must mean people trust me. They asked me to be in charge, be the mayor. Come to find out, I’m not making decisions; Albert’s making decisions. Albert’s deciding we need to find more water and sending our two best fighters off into the countryside. Now I’m supposed to fix everything? It’s like you go, ‘Fight a war,’ but you sent my army off on a wild goose chase.”

“The water situation’s worse than you realize,” Albert said.

“Listen to yourself, man!” Edilio exploded. “Why don’t I know what the water situation is? Because you run all that and you don’t tell me. You don’t tell me what’s going on and then you send Sam off on a nice walk. You know, Albert, you want so bad to be the big man, the Donald Trump of Perdido Beach, why don’t you go deal with Drake? Why are you coming to me?”

He was starting to fantasize about using his gun on Albert when Taylor suddenly appeared in the room. Everyone jumped about six inches.

“Jeez, would you stop that?” Howard yelled. “Give me a heart attack.”

“Hunter’s dead,” Taylor said without preamble. “It was these . . . these things. They came crawling up out of him and were eating him, oh God, I mean, it was like . . . I mean he was crying and Dekka prayed with him and he tried to fry his own brain just like he did with Harry only I guess it didn’t work, I guess he couldn’t do it, so Sam . . .” She swallowed. “Anyone have some water?”

“What about Sam?” Astrid demanded.

“He did it for him. Sam. I mean, he . . . Hunter was, you know . . . so Sam.” She pantomimed raising her hands, like Sam, like he would do when using his power.

Astrid closed her eyes and crossed herself.

“Rest in peace,” Edilio said and crossed himself as well.

“Sam burned the boy?” Howard asked. Then, bitterly sarcastic said, “Yeah, you all pray to Jesus. Because Jesus is really providing a lot of help here. Sounds to me like Sam was the one doing what had to be done.”

“Look, I need a glass of water or something,” Taylor pleaded. She sat down on the floor, leaned back against the wall, and started crying.

Edilio pulled open a drawer in the big desk. He had a water bottle, but just an inch was left in it. Reluctantly he handed it to Astrid, who passed it to Taylor.

Taylor drained the water. “That’s not all. Sam sent me to give you a message, Edilio. He said, ‘Tell Edilio I couldn’t kill the bugs.’”

“The things that came out of Hunter?” Howard asked.

Taylor closed her eyes. Tears squeezed out and rolled down her cheeks. “Yes. The things that came out of Hunter. Sam shot them, you know, with his light. But they’re like, reflective or whatever. Anyway, it didn’t kill them.”

“Sam can burn through a brick wall,” Howard said. “What kind of thing is it he can’t kill?” Then he answered his own question. “Something very nasty.”

“Taylor, bounce back and tell Sam to come back to town,” Albert said.

“I’m not going back there!” Taylor cried.

“Whoa,” Edilio said, holding up both hands. “Hey, you don’t decide this, Albert. You don’t give orders. I’m the mayor, and there are four council members here. You, me, Ellen, and Howard.”

Albert looked like he might argue, but Astrid stepped in. “Taylor, what did Sam say he was going to do next?”

“He said something about going to take out the cave where the greenies live. Where Hunter told them they are. That’s why I’m not going back. You didn’t see those things crawling out of Hunter, eating him alive.”

Suddenly Albert jerked. Like someone had stuck a pin in him. “I forgot. I was busy . . . I was . . .” His eyes were fearful. “Roscoe. Roscoe was bitten by one of those things in Hunter. He told me, I didn’t think that . . .” He looked at Astrid. “When Hunter was delivering his kills. Roscoe said something under Hunter’s shirt bit him. I just forgot.”

From outside there came the sound of a bellowing, anguished roar. Then the sound of smashing glass.

“Orc,” Howard said.

“See if you can find him, talk to him,” Edilio said. But Howard was already on his way out the door.

No one spoke for a few minutes. They heard another smash, more like metal this time.

Edilio used the silence to think. Orc drunk and on a rampage. Well, it wasn’t the first time, but it was bad. Orc had become an asset lately. If he was back to being a danger again then that was very bad news. More likely it was just temporary and Howard would get him under control.

The Roscoe thing was bad. Very bad. Edilio knew what he should do. And he didn’t like it.

As for Drake, well, that was the real problem, that and the water.

Edilio had some help, some soldiers, some pretty good, some pretty useless. He had Brianna.

Could Brianna take on Drake?

“What will Drake do?” Edilio asked.

“He’s not just Drake,” Astrid said. “Remember, he’s Brittney, too. That makes it hard for him. If he makes some plan, she can unmake it when she takes over. If he tries to sneak up on anyone, he has to worry that she’ll emerge and screw it up.”

“Yeah,” Albert said, brightening. “Yeah, that’s right. It’s not Drake, it’s Drake slash Brittney.”

“If we get a chance at Brittney, we could tie her up, lock her up,” Edilio said. “Yeah. If Brianna finds him we have her follow him, watch, and let us know when Brittney comes out.”

“That’s a plan,” Albert said, obviously relieved. “So we let Sam keep going.”

Edilio nodded. “For now. But Taylor, we may still need—”

Taylor was no longer in the room.

SO
VERY, VERY sweet to be out of that basement. To be breathing fresh air.

Drake stuck close to the shadows of burned-out houses so the fresh air smelled of ash and charcoal and melted plastic. But it was better than the mildew and dust in the basement.

Drake had a list in his head. Sam. Caine. Dekka. Brianna. They would die first. As quickly as Drake could kill them.

That had been his big mistake with Sam at the power plant. He had taken his time to enjoy whipping him. Even now the memory of it sent a shudder of sheer pleasure through Drake’s body.

But he had taken too long killing Sam and then Brianna had showed up.

Not this time. This time he would start by killing Sam. Then, if he could find him, Caine.

That was the thing with the powerful freaks, you had to kill them quick. You had to strike with speed and surprise.

Sam. Caine. Dekka. Brianna. Orc and Taylor, too.

And then, with them gone, he could take his sweet time with Astrid. And even longer with Diana.

Drake laughed out loud.

Jamal said, “What’s so funny?”

“I’m Santa Claus, Jamal. Making a list, checking it twice.”

Jamal stayed a few steps behind him. Toting his big automatic rifle in his one good arm. The other arm in a makeshift sling. Scared out of his mind, no doubt. Still feeling the burn of Drake’s whip. Oh, yes, he would feel that for quite some time.

“Where is Sam staying?” Drake asked Jamal.

“Albert sent him off to look for something out in the woods or whatever. Out there.” Jamal gestured vaguely. “I wasn’t supposed to know, but I heard.”

Drake turned on Jamal. “What? Sam’s not here?” He’d missed out on a lot, being trapped like an animal.

“He’ll be back in a couple days, I guess.”

Drake cursed. “Where’s Caine, then?”

“He’s on some island, like, where these rich dudes lived in the old days.”

Worse and worse.

No. No . . . Better and better.

Drake grinned. Neither of the big powers was around to stop him. Change of plans.

“Dekka?”

Jamal shrugged. “I don’t know, man, I don’t follow that scary dyke around town.”

“Now, now,” Drake chided mockingly. “We mustn’t diss people because of what they are.” He took Jamal’s face in his hand and squeezed. “I’m going to kill her but not because of what she is, right? I’m going to murder her because she has to be murdered. You good with that, Jamal?”

Jamal was as tense and stiff as a board. He made an affirmative grunt.

“You down with murder?” Drake pressed, sticking his face right in Jamal’s. “I want to hear it from you.”

He watched as a curtain dropped behind Jamal’s eyes. Jamal said, “Yeah. Yeah, Drake.”

“Then let’s go murder some people,” Drake said cheerfully and released Jamal’s face.

Drake walked half a block and stopped.

“Not now,” he groaned. He cursed extravagantly, but already he was changing. Metal braces formed on his teeth. His lean body grew flabbier.

“Brittney’s coming,” Drake snarled. “But I’ll be back, Jamal. Don’t for—”

Sam, Dekka, and Jack had stopped for a meal a half mile from Hunter’s camp. Some cooked fish that smelled none too fresh, boiled artichokes, and some pigeon jerky.

They’d thought about just going to sleep, but no one had wanted to. The horror was far too fresh. Sleep would only mean nightmares. And Sam did not want to see Hunter again.

In the dark they could only make slow progress, but everyone wanted some distance and to get the expedition done. The high spirits were gone. Fear and loathing tracked them in the dark.

Jack was trailing well behind when Sam and Dekka had started talking, killing time as they walked slowly, cautiously, through waist-high brush. Talking, talking about anything but Hunter’s sad cries.

It had started with Sam admitting that yes, he had made a play for Taylor but noting that he had been very, very drunk. From there it had gone to his relationship with Astrid, which he did not want to talk about. Any thought of Astrid was laced with pain and loneliness. What he had done to Hunter, what he had seen happening to Hunter, filled him with a powerful longing to be with Astrid. They had been through so much already. How many times had he held her and reassured her everything would be all right? How many times had she kissed him and put her arms around him when she knew he was spiraling down into depression?

From the start, from the first day, they had been each other’s strength.

Not that they’d never fought. They were both strong willed and they had fought many times over things large and small. But the fights had always gone somewhere, they’d been worked through and resolved.

But now this cold distance between them. Something inside Astrid had broken after Mary’s death. That day had killed some part of Astrid and now it was like she didn’t even care enough to fight.

Sam said some of that to Dekka, talking out of sheer loneliness and need. But it made him uncomfortable, like he was betraying Astrid even talking about her.

And the truth was, so much of the problem between him and Astrid wasn’t about anything earth-shattering, it was just about sex. And Sam couldn’t really talk about that without sounding more like a jerk than he could stand.

So he diverted the conversation to Dekka. Which led to talking about Brianna. And Sam found himself quickly trapped in a conversation that was every bit as uncomfortable as talking about Astrid.

“I know you mean well, Sam,” Dekka was saying.

“The worst that happens is Brianna says, ‘No way, I’m not gay.’” He glanced back at Jack to make sure he was out of ear-shot.

Dekka sighed. “You don’t understand, Sam. You think that’s all there is to it, just be honest. But see, right now I have this little, tiny like, like flower of hope, right? It’s not much, but it’s what I am holding on to. I just . . . I can’t have her look at me and laugh. Or make a face and be grossed out. Because then I have nothing.”

It was the longest speech Sam had ever heard Dekka deliver.

“Yeah,” he said. “I get that.” He fervently wished he’d never opened his mouth.

There was a noise in the bushes off to one side. “Is that you, Jack?” Sam called in a loud voice.

“I’m over here,” Jack said, from the completely opposite direction. “I’m . . . I’m peeing.”

Sam stopped. He made a gesture to Dekka, indicating she should shield her eyes. Then he launched a fireball into the air, a Sammy sun. The bushes immediately became a green-tinged ghost space.

Just off the trail a coyote flinched at the light but did not run away. It snarled, bared its teeth, and crouched for a leap.

Dekka was faster than Sam. The coyote found itself floating a few feet off the ground, unable to kick, unable to leap.

It was a bizarre sight, the mangy, dirt-yellow coyote squirming and yowling in midair. But at last it let itself go limp.

“Why are you attacking us?” Sam asked. “Does Pack Leader know you’re trying to kill humans?”

“I Pack Leader,” the coyote said in its strangled, weird voice.

Sam stepped closer. Humans were not the only creatures to have evolved in the lawless universe of the FAYZ. One of the earliest had been the coyotes who served the gaiaphage. Some had mutated to develop the shorter tongues and flattened muzzles that allowed them a mangled sort of speech.

“Look,” Jack said. He was coming closer, pointing. “He has them, too.”

Sam walked cautiously around Pack Leader to see the other side. There were the insect jaws protruding from the matted fur. Two, maybe three of them.

“I came for hunter kill me,” Pack Leader said.

Sam knew this was not the original Pack Leader. Lana had killed that Pack Leader. But whether this was the second coyote to hold the title or some other coyote, he didn’t know. This one had slightly better powers of speech than the first.

“Hunter’s dead,” Sam said.

“You kill.”

“Yes.”

“Kill me, Bright Hands.”

Sam had no sympathy for the coyote. The coyotes had participated in the town plaza massacre. There were bodies buried in the cemetery that had been so badly ripped by coyote teeth that they were unrecognizable.

“The flying snakes cause this?” Sam asked, pointing at the awful parasites.

“Yes.”

“Where are they?”

Pack Leader made a purely coyote growl deep in his throat. “No words.”

“Then show us,” Sam said. “Take us to them.”

“Then you burn me?”

“Then I’ll burn you.”

At first Brittney was confused. She wondered if she was dreaming. Dreaming of fresh, cool air and a sky overhead.

But no, she was not in the basement.

Drake had escaped!

She had to do something. Had to warn someone. Even if it meant being returned to the basement. If Drake was loose in the world, he would do evil.

But to be locked away again . . . Surely she could take just a moment to be free. Just a moment . . .

She realized she was not alone.

“Who are you?”

“Jamal. I . . . I work for Albert, kind of. A bodyguard, like.”

The boy stood stiff, rigid, hand gripping the stock of his rifle too tightly. His other arm had been hurt.

“Why are you here, Jamal? Are you here to catch Drake?” She noticed a few feet of rope coiled and hung from Jamal’s belt. “I don’t think you can tie him up. He’s very dangerous.”

“I know that,” Jamal said. He was tugging the rope free.

Brittney suddenly understood why Jamal was there. She bolted.

Jamal ran after her.

“Don’t run or I have to shoot you,” Jamal cried.

He was faster than she was. Everyone was faster than Brittney. But he was fumbling one-handed with the rope and had to sling the gun over his shoulder. All Brittney had to do was run.

She burst into the town plaza. Not knowing what she was looking for, not consciously. But she found herself running up the stone steps toward the ruined church.

Jamal caught her on the steps, grabbed her hair, and yanked back. Her legs went out from under her and she fell hard on her back, slamming onto sharp-edged granite.

But Brittney no longer felt real pain. She had long since gone beyond pain.

Jamal tried to straddle her, but he tripped on the rope and she pushed away from him.

“Stop it!” Jamal yelled.

Brittney rolled down a couple of steps, climbed to her feet, and plowed straight back into Jamal. She knocked him aside and dashed past him.

The church roof had collapsed long ago. But a path had been cleared to the inside. The cross had been propped back upright, leaning a bit but still there, silver in the moonlight.

Brittney ran toward the cross, tripped on debris, and slammed into a pew.

Jamal was on her in a flash, cursing, fumbling, trying to grab her, swat away her punching hands, trying to get the rope around her.

“No! No! No!” Brittney shouted.

Jamal punched her in the side of the head.

Brittney blinked and punched back. She kicked and flailed and punched as well as she could from her position half beneath a pew. And Jamal kicked her back viciously.

But Jamal could still feel pain. He backed away suddenly, eyes wild and dripping sweat. He leveled the rifle at her.

“I don’t want to shoot you,” Jamal pleaded.

“You can’t kill me,” Brittney said and got heavily to her feet.

“I know. Drake told me you’d say that. But I can blow up your face and then you won’t be better right away. That’s what he said. He told me to shoot you right in the face and tie you up.”

“I wish you could kill me,” Brittney said. And then, in a loud voice, trying to shout at heaven, she cried, “Jesus, I am in your house. I am in the house of the Lord begging you for death!”

“Just let me tie you up,” Jamal pleaded. “He’ll whip me if I don’t.” There were tears running down his face and Brittney felt sorry for him. They were both bound to Drake, unable to get away from him.

Jamal aimed the gun at her face.

“Don’t,” Brittney said. “We have to fight Drake, we have to get help. Sam. He has to burn Drake to ashes and scatter the ashes in the ocean.”

“Please don’t make me do this,” Jamal pleaded.

Brittney yelled, “Help! Some—”

Orc had run until he was tired. That didn’t take long. He was drunk and dehydrated. Weaker than he should have been. More easily tired.

But despair drove him on, staggering and weeping and bellowing in rage through the night.

“Never wanted to be no guard,” he yelled at the closed and darkened houses. “Everybody hear that? I didn’t ask to be no prison guard!”

He stood swaying back and forth, big stone-fingered fists clenched.

“No one wants to talk to me, huh?”

He smashed one arm down on the roof of a car. The driver’s-side window had long since been beaten in so the door could be opened and the car could be searched. The trunk was open, too, and the recoil from Orc’s blow made it bounce.

“Need another bottle,” he muttered. Then louder, yelling at the darkened windows and locked doors, “I want a bottle. Someone give me a bottle so I won’t hurt anyone.”

No answer. The streets were silent.

He started crying again and brushed angrily at the tears. He started running once more, ran for a block and stopped, wheezing and threatening to topple over.

Then he spotted the boy. A kid. Maybe eight, maybe nine or ten, hard to say. The boy was walking bent over, holding his stomach. Every few feet he would stop and cough and then groan from the pain of coughing.

“Hey-ey!” Orc yelled. “You! Go get me a bottle.” The word “bottle” came out “bah-hull.”

The sick boy blinked and seemed only then to notice the monster in the street ahead of him. He clutched a stop sign to keep himself from collapsing.

“Hey. You, kid. I’m talking to you!”

The boy started to answer, then started coughing. He coughed and groaned and sat down.

Orc stomped over to him. “You ig, um, ig . . . ignoring me?”

The boy shook his head weakly. He made a gesture toward his throat, tried to speak, couldn’t.

“I don’t want to . . . ,” Orc began, but lost the thread of his speech. “Just go get me a bah-hull.”