Gone Series Complete Collection (35 page)

“Rather overdramatic, Jack,” Diana remarked.

Caine was walking up the steps now and Drake rushed to catch up.

Diana half lifted Jack and propelled him forward, past the kids with the cinder-block hands.

Jack saw Caine silhouetted in the doorway, Drake rushing to move in front, good little dog that he was.

There was a boom, like the crack of a supersonic jet going overhead.

Drake fell back against Caine. The gun went flying from his hand. Caine kept his footing, but Drake clutched at his ears, on his knees, moaning.

Caine reached back over his shoulder with one hand, not even looking back. He spread his fingers, bared his palms.

The fallen portion of wall came apart, brick by brick. One by one, as though each brick had sprouted wings, they lifted off and flew.

The bricks hurtled past Caine’s head and through the open door as fast as machine gun bullets.

The door slammed shut. The bricks smashed through. Wood splintered with a sound like a jackhammmer. In seconds the door was a shattered mess.

Caine laughed, taunting whoever was on the other side of the door. “Is that you, Andrew? Is that you, thinking you can fight me?”

Caine advanced, still directing the Gatling gun flow of bricks above his head.

“You’ve got your mojo working, Andrew,” Caine yelled. “But you’re still just second best.”

Caine stepped through the decimated doorway.

Diana, ducking beneath the brick stream, her expression wild with excitement, said, “Come on, Jack. You don’t want to miss the show.”

Inside was the grand hallway that Jack knew well. Three stories high, dominated by a massive chandelier. Twin staircases led to the landing on the second floor.

The bricks had already hammered one of those staircases to splinters. The noise was like a chainsaw chewing on metal.

Andrew, a boy Jack had known as a fairly nice kid, not even really much of a bully until his powers had come, stood shell-shocked not ten feet from Caine. There was a wet stain in the crotch of his pants.

The barrage of bricks stopped as suddenly as it had begun.

Andrew made an abortive move for the second staircase.

“Don’t make me destroy that staircase, too,” Caine warned. “It would be very inconvenient.”

The fight went out of Andrew. He let his hands drop to his sides. He looked like a kid whose mother had just caught him doing something wrong. Guilty. Scared. Looking for a way to bargain.

“Caine. I didn’t know it was you, dude. I thought we were, like, you know, being attacked by Frederico.” His voice shook. He tried to cover the telltale stain with his hands.

“Freddie? What has Frederico got to do with anything?”

“Man, Benno disappeared, right? And someone had to run things, right? Frederico tried to take over, even though Benno was more my friend than his and then—”

“I’ll handle Freddie later,” Caine interrupted. “Who do you think you are, trying to run things, Andrew?”

“What was I supposed to do, Caine?” Andrew wheedled. “Benno poofed. Frederico was all, like, I’m taking over. But me, I was standing up for you, Caine.” The idea had obviously just occurred to Andrew. “That’s all I was doing, I was standing up for you. Frederico was, like, Caine sucks, forget Caine, I’m taking over.”

Caine tuned Andrew out and aimed a furious glare at Jack. “How did we miss Benno’s birthday?”

Jack had no answer. His insides turned to water. He shrugged, helpless. Then he began to fumble for his PDA, wanting to prove that Benno’s birthday was not due yet.

Diana said, “Caine, you think maybe sometimes the school records could be wrong? Like maybe some senile school secretary wrote down a one instead of a seven or whatever? Don’t blame Jack. You know Jack is too anal to make a mistake with a number.”

Caine stared hard at Jack. Then he shrugged. “Yeah, whatever. Besides, we still have Andrew getting ready for his big jump.”

Andrew licked his lips, then tried to laugh. “I’m not going to vacate. I’m not taking the exit. See, Benno was asleep. He had powers, but the dude was asleep. So I don’t think if you have powers you poof, not if you’re awake and you’re, you know, ready.”

Diana laughed out loud, a jarring sound.

Caine flinched. Then he said, “That’s an interesting theory, Andrew. We’re going to put it to the test.”

“What’s that mean?”

“We just want to watch,” Drake said.

“Just don’t . . . you’re not going to plaster me, right? I’m still your guy, Caine, I would never use my powers against you. If I knew it was you, I mean.”

Diana snapped, “You’re letting these freaks starve. I can see why you’d be worried about being plastered.”

“Hey, we’re running out of food,” Andrew whined.

“Drake, shoot the creep,” Diana said.

Drake just laughed.

“I think we’ll do this in the dining hall,” Caine said. “Jack, do you have your gear?”

Jack jumped six inches, startled at being addressed again. “No. No. I-I-I have to go back and get it.”

“Drake, take I-I-I and get the stuff,” Caine said. “Diana, take Andrew’s hand and lead him to the dining hall.”

It was a sound that was almost quaint when the sun was shining. But now, in the dark, the yip-yip-howl sent shivers down their spines.

“It’s just a coyote,” Sam said. “Don’t worry about him.”

They could barely see where they were placing their feet, so they moved slowly, tentatively.

“Maybe we should have camped back in that gulch,” Edilio said.

“As soon as we find a fairly flat place to lay out our sleeping bags, I’m all for stopping,” Sam said.

Hours before, they had come to a deep, steep-sided gulch, impossible to bypass, and almost impossible to climb. Little Pete had gone into a complete meltdown while being hauled bodily up the far side of the gulch, and they had all been terrified he might do something.

“Hawaii,” Quinn began saying, as Little Pete howled. “Hawaii.”

“Why you keep saying Hawaii, man?” Edilio had asked him.

“If he freaks and decides to take us on a Little Pete magical mystery tour, I want it to be Hawaii, not back to Astrid’s house.”

Edilio thought that over for a while. “I’m down with that. Hawaii, L. P., Hawaii.”

But Little Pete had not choked anyone, had not teleported anyone or otherwise violated the original laws of physics.

The barrier was farther and farther off to their left, all but invisible in the light of the rising moon. Sam was still determined to follow it, but no longer with any real hope of finding a gate, just because it was the only way he knew to find his way home. Sooner or later the barrier would curve back around to Perdido Beach.

There was a startlingly loud yip, yip, yip.

“Jeez, that was close,” Edilio said.

Sam nodded. “That direction. Maybe we veer off a little, huh?”

“I thought coyotes were nothing,” Edilio grumbled.

“They are. Normally.”

“Tell me you’re not thinking about coyotes growing wings,” Edilio said.

“I think we’re getting more sand and less rock,” Astrid observed. “Petey hasn’t tripped in a while.”

“I can’t see well enough to be sure,” Sam said. “But let’s pull up in five minutes, either way. Everyone start looking for firewood as you go.”

“If I can’t see the ground how am I going to see firewood?” Quinn asked.

“Hey. Look.” Sam pointed. “There’s something over there. I think. Looks like . . . I don’t know, a building or something.”

“I can’t see a thing,” Quinn said.

“It’s just darker than the regular darkness. I’m not seeing stars.”

They veered toward it. There might be food or water or shelter.

Suddenly Sam’s feet landed on a springy surface that reminded him of the soft pine needle flooring of the forest. He bent down and felt what could only be grass.

“Guys, hold up.”

Sam was cautious about using the flashlights. They had a limited supply of batteries and an unlimited supply of darkness. “Quinn. Give us some light here.”

There was no mistaking the green color, even in the harsh white light.

Cautiously Quinn played the light around and illuminated a cabin. Beside it was a windmill.

They approached cautiously, the five of them bunched up around the doorway as Quinn shone the light on a door handle, and Sam touched it, gripped it, and froze.

He heard the sound of running, scuffling steps in the darkness behind them.

“Get inside, you idiots!” a voice, a girl’s voice, screamed.

Quinn swiveled the light, a rush of motion, something pelting toward him.

Other things moving, like a sea of gray in the gloom.

The beam bounced from a bounding dog onto the terrified face of a ragged, filthy girl.

“Run! Run!” she screamed.

Sam grabbed the door handle and twisted it. But before he could throw it open the girl plowed into Sam and bowled him over so that he sprawled onto the wooden floor and gathered a rug as he slid. A dog landed on his chest and bounced off.

Quinn shouted in pain and shock. He had lost the light. It was still shining across a planked floor and he scrambled after it. In the beam Sam saw Astrid’s legs, Edilio falling.

There came a chorus of angry canine yipping and the girl who had run Sam down was fighting to stand up and a dog was barking and snarling and there were other snarls too as swift bodies came in a rush.

“The door! Get the door!” the girl screamed.

Something was on her, something quick and furious, snarling.

Sam lurched to his feet, grabbed the door, and tried to slam it closed, but a furry body was in the way. There was a canine protest, a snarl, and sudden pain in his leg. An iron jaw closed around his knee, bone-crushingly strong.

Sam fell against the door and it closed. He slipped and landed on his butt against the door and the animal, the wild, snarling thing, had its muzzle in his face. Teeth snapped an inch from his eyes.

He shoved his hands outward and encountered rough fur over writhing muscle.

There was a terrible, sharp pain in his shoulder, and he knew the beast’s jaws had closed on his flesh, and now the animal was shaking him, tearing at his flesh, ripping it, digging deeper.

Sam cried out in fear and beat with nerveless fists against the beast. It was futile. The beast shifted its jaws with lightning speed from shoulder to Sam’s neck. Blood sprayed down his chest.

Sam raised his hands, palms out, but the onslaught was too ferocious. His jugular was pumping his brain dry. His hands were no longer his. His entire body now seemed far away. He spiraled down and down into darkness.

A soft, heavy thud.

And the iron jaw loosed its hold.

Another heavy thud.

Sam’s eyes rolled up in his head, but before he passed out, he caught a glimpse of the wild, ragged girl standing over him. The girl raised her hands, both together, over her head. All was in slow motion for Sam, and there were sparks in his eyes as the girl brought down something heavy and rectangular and yellow on the coyote’s head.

THIRTY-TWO

97
HOURS
, 43
MINUTES

LANA LIT
ONE
of Hermit Jim’s lanterns and surveyed the scene. The cabin was just as she had left it. Only now there were two dead coyotes, three scared kids, a creepy, staring four-year-old, and one nearly dead boy on the floor.

She kicked Nip with her toe. No reflex. He was dead, his brain smashed by a solid gold bar. She’d pounded him again and again until her arms were tired.

The other coyote she didn’t know well enough to name. But he had died the same way, too intent on his prey to realize his peril.

Patrick lay in a corner, abashed, confused, not knowing how to behave. One of the kids, a surfer-looking dude, seemed to mirror that confusion.

“Good boy,” Lana said, and Patrick thumped his tail weakly on the floor.

“Who are you?” Lana asked the surfer kid.

“Quinn. My name is Quinn.”

“How about you?” the pretty blond girl asked.

Lana was inclined to dislike her at first sight: she looked like the kind of too-perfect girl who would blow off someone like Lana. On the other hand, she was shielding the strange little boy, cradling him in her arms, so maybe she wasn’t all bad.

A kid with a round face and dark crew cut knelt over the wounded kid. “Guys, he’s hurt bad.”

The blonde scrambled to him. She tore the wounded boy’s shirt open. A river of blood ran down his chest.

“Oh, God, no,” the blonde cried.

Lana pushed her aside and laid a hand against the pumping wound. “He’ll live,” Lana said. “I’ll fix him.”

“What do you mean, you’ll fix him?” the blonde demanded. “We need stitches, we need a doctor. Look at how he’s bleeding.”

Lana said, “What’s your name?”

“Astrid, what does it matter? He’s . . .” She stopped talking then and leaned in close to see. “The bloodflow is slowing.”

“Yeah. I noticed that, too,” Lana said dryly. “Relax. He’ll be fine. In fact . . .” She tilted her head to get a better look at him. “In fact, I’ll bet when he’s not covered in blood, he’s cute. Your boyfriend?”

“That’s not what it’s about,” Astrid snapped. Then, in a low voice, like she didn’t want the others to hear, she said, “Kind of.”

“Well, I know how crazy this sounds, but he’ll be fine in a few minutes.” She pulled her hand away to reveal that the jagged wound was already closed. She covered the wound again. “Don’t ask me how.”

“No way,” the crew-cut kid breathed.

Outside, the coyote pack yipped madly and thudded against the door. But the latch held firm. Lana wedged the back of a chair under the handle and calculated her next move.

The door would not hold forever. But the pack would be aimless, unsure of what to do until Pack Leader came back from his private hunt.

“His name’s Sam,” Astrid said. “That’s Edilio, this is my brother, Little Pete, and I’m Astrid. And I think you just saved our lives.”

Lana nodded. Better. The girl was showing Lana respect. “My name’s Lana. And listen, people, the coyotes aren’t done with us. We need to make sure that door will hold.”