Hunger_A Gone Novel Read online

G R A N T

  in preparation, worked them down beneath the leaves, down

  to cradle the cabbage. Then he fell back on his rear end. “Ow!”

  he yelled.

  “Not so easy, is it?” Edilio teased.

  “Ah! Ah!” E.Z. jumped to his feet. He was holding his right

  hand with his left and staring hard at his hand. “No, no, no.”

  Sam had been only half listening. His mind was elsewhere,

  scanning for the missing birds, but the terror in E.Z.’s voice

  snapped his head around. “What’s the matter?”

  “Something bit me!” E.Z. cried. “Oh, oh, it hurts. It hurts.

  It—” E.Z. let loose a scream of agony. The scream started low

  and went higher, higher into hysteria.

  Sam saw what looked like a black question mark on E.Z.’s

  pant leg.

  “Snake!” Sam said to Edilio.

  E.Z.’s arm went into a spasm. It shook violently. It was as if

  some invisible giant had hold of it and were yanking his arm

  as hard and as fast as it could.

  E.Z. screamed and screamed and began a lunatic dance.

  “They’re in my feet!” he cried. “They’re in my feet!”

  Sam stood paralyzed for a few seconds, just a few seconds—

  but later in memory it would seem so long. Too long.

  He leaped forward, rushing toward E.Z. He was brought

  down hard by a flying tackle from Edilio.

  “What are you doing?” Sam demanded, and struggled to

  free himself.

  “Man, look. Look!” Edilio whispered.

  Sam’s face was mere feet from the first row of cabbages.

  H U N G E R 9

  The soil was alive. Worms. Worms as big as garter snakes

  were seething up from beneath the dirt. Dozens. Maybe hundreds. All heading toward E.Z., who screamed again and again in agony mixed with confusion.

  Sam rose to his feet but went no closer to the edge of the

  cabbage field. The worms did not move beyond the first

  row of turned soil. There might as well have been a wall, the

  worms all on one side.

  E.Z. came staggering wildly toward Sam, walking as if

  he were being electrocuted, jerking, flailing like some crazy

  puppet with half its strings cut.

  Three, four feet away, a long arm-stretch away, Sam saw

  the worm erupt from the skin of E.Z.’s throat.

  And then another from his jaw, just in front of his ear.

  E.Z., no longer screaming, sagged to the ground, just sat

  there limp, cross-legged.

  “Help me,” E.Z. whispered. “Sam . . .”

  E.Z.’s eyes were on Sam. Pleading. Fading. Then just staring, blank.

  The only sounds now came from the worms. Their hundreds of mouths seemed to make a single sound, one big mouth chewing wetly.

  A worm spilled from E.Z.’s mouth.

  Sam raised his hands, palms out.

  “Sam, no!” Albert yelled. Then, in a quieter voice, “He’s

  already dead. He’s already dead.”

  “Albert’s right, man. Don’t do it, don’t burn them, they’re

  staying in the field, don’t give them a reason to come after us,”

  10 M I C H A E L

  G R A N T

  Edilio hissed. His strong hands still dug into Sam’s shoulders,

  like he was holding Sam back, though Sam wasn’t trying to

  escape any longer.

  “And don’t touch him,” Edilio sobbed. “Perdóneme, God

  forgive me, don’t touch him.”

  The black worms swarmed over and through E.Z.’s body.

  Like ants swarming a dead beetle.

  It felt like a very long time before the worms slithered away

  and tunneled back into the earth.

  What they left behind was no longer recognizable as a

  human being.

  “There’s a rope here,” Albert said, stepping down at last

  from the Jeep. He tried to tie a lasso, but his hands were shaking too badly. He handed the rope to Edilio, who formed a loop and after six misses finally snagged what was left of

  E.Z.’s right foot. Together they dragged the remains from the

  field.

  A single tardy worm crawled from the mess and headed

  back toward the cabbages. Sam snatched up a rock the size

  of a softball and smashed it down on the worm’s back. The

  worm stopped moving.

  “I’ll come back with a shovel,” Edilio said. “We can’t take

  E.Z. home, man, he’s got two little brothers. They don’t need

  to be seeing this. We’ll bury him here.

  “If these things spread . . . ,” Edilio began.

  “If they spread to the other fields, we all starve,” Albert

  said.

  Sam fought a powerful urge to throw up. E.Z. was mostly

  H U N G E R

  11

  bones now, picked not quite clean. Sam had seen terrible

  things since the FAYZ began, but nothing this gruesome.

  He wiped his hands on his jeans, wanting to hit back,

  wishing it made sense to blast the field, burn as much of it

  as he could reach, keep burning it until the worms shriveled

  and crisped.

  But that was food out there.

  Sam knelt beside the mess in the dirt. “You were a good

  kid, E.Z. Sorry. I . . . sorry.” There was music, tinny, but recognizable, still coming from E.Z.’s iPod.

  Sam lifted the shiny thing and tapped the pause icon.

  Then he stood up and kicked the dead worm out of the

  way. He held his hands out as though he were a minister

  about to bless the body.

  Albert and Edilio knew better. They both backed away.

  Brilliant light shot from Sam’s palms.

  The body burned, crisped, turned black. Bones made loud

  snapping noises as they cracked from the heat. After a while

  Sam stopped. What was left behind was ash, a heap of gray

  and black ashes that could have been the residue of a backyard barbecue.

  “There was nothing you could have done, Sam,” Edilio

  said, knowing that look on his friend’s face, knowing that

  gray, haggard look of guilt. “It’s the FAYZ, man. It’s just the

  FAYZ.”

  TWO

  106 HOURS, 16 MINUTES

  T H E R O O F W A S on crooked. The blistering bright sun

  stabbed a ray straight down into Caine’s eye through the gap

  between crumbled wall and sagging roof.

  Caine lay on his back, sweating into a pillow that had no

  case. A dank sheet wrapped around his bare legs, twisted to

  cover half his naked torso. He was awake again, or at least he

  thought he was, believed he was.

  Hoped he was.

  It wasn’t his bed. It belonged to an old man named Mose,

  the groundskeeper for Coates Academy.

  Of course Mose was gone. Gone with all the other adults.

  And all the older kids. Everyone . . . almost everyone . . . over

  the age of fourteen. Gone.

  Gone where?

  No one knew.

  Just gone. Beyond the barrier. Out of the giant fishbowl

  called the FAYZ. Maybe dead. Maybe not. But definitely

  gone.

  H U N G E R

  13

  Diana opened the door with a kick. She was carrying a

  tray and balanced on the tray was a bottle of water and a can

  of Goya brand garbanzo beans.

  “Are you decent?” Diana asked.

  He didn’t answer. He didn’t understand the question.
/>   “Are you covered?” she asked, putting some irritation into

  her tone. She set the tray on the side table.

  Caine didn’t bother to answer. He sat up. His head swam

  as he did. He reached for the water.

  “Why is the roof messed up like that? What if it rains?” He

  was surprised by the sound of his own voice. He was hoarse.

  His voice had none of its usual persuasive smoothness.

  Diana was pitiless. “What are you, stupid now as well as

  crazy?”

  A phantom memory passed through him, leaving him

  feeling uneasy. “Did I do something?”

  “You lifted the roof up.”

  He turned his hands around to look at his palms. “Did I?”

  “Another nightmare,” Diana said.

  Caine twisted open the bottle and drank. “I remember

  now. I thought it was crushing me. I thought something was

  going to step on the house and crush it, squash me under it.

  So I pushed back.”

  “Uh-huh. Eat some beans.”

  “I don’t like beans.”

  “No one likes beans,” Diana said. “But this isn’t your

  neighborhood Applebee’s. And I’m not your waitress. Beans

  are what we have. So eat some beans. You need food.”

  Caine frowned. “How long have I been like this?”

  14 M I C H A E L

  G R A N T

  “Like what?” Diana mocked him. “Like a mental patient

  who can’t tell if he’s in reality or in a dream?”

  He nodded. The smell of the beans was sickening. But he

  was suddenly hungry. And he remembered now: food was in

  short supply. Memory was coming back. The mad delusion was

  fading. He couldn’t quite reach normal, but he could see it.

  “Three months, give or take a week,” Diana said. “We had

  the big shoot-out in Perdido Beach. You wandered off into

  the desert with Pack Leader and were gone for three days.

  When you came back you were pale, dehydrated, and . . . well,

  like you are.”

  “Pack Leader.” The words, the creature they represented,

  made Caine wince. Pack Leader, the dominant coyote, the

  one who had somehow attained a limited sort of speech. Pack

  Leader, the faithful, fearful servant of . . . of it. Of it. Of the

  thing in the mine shaft.

  The Darkness, they called it.

  Caine swayed and before he rolled off the bed, Diana

  caught him, grabbed his shoulders, kept him up. But then

  she saw the warning sign in his eyes and muttered a curse

  and managed to get the wastebasket in front of him just as

  he vomited.

  He didn’t produce much. Just a little yellow liquid.

  “Lovely,” she said, and curled her lip. “On second thought,

  don’t eat any beans. I don’t want to see them come back up.”

  Caine rinsed his mouth with some of the water. “Why are

  we here? This is Mose’s cottage.”

  “Because you’re too dangerous. No one at Coates wants

  H U N G E R

  15

  you around until you get a grip on yourself.”

  He blinked at another returning memory. “I hurt someone.”

  “You thought Chunk was some kind of monster. You

  were yelling a word. Gaiaphage. Then you smacked Chunk

  through a wall.”

  “Is he okay?”

  “Caine. In the movies a guy can get knocked through a

  wall and get up like it’s no big deal. This wasn’t a movie. The

  wall was brick. Chunk looked like roadkill. Like when a raccoon gets run over and over and over and keeps getting run over for a couple of days.”

  The harshness of her words was too much even for Diana

  herself. She gritted her teeth and said, “Sorry. It wasn’t pretty.

  I never liked Chunk, but it wasn’t something I can just forget,

  okay?”

  “I’ve been kind of out of my mind,” Caine said.

  Diana wiped angrily at a tear. “Answer the question: Can

  you give an example of understatement?”

  “I think I’m better now,” Caine said. “Not all the way better. Not all the way. But better.”

  “Well, happy day,” Diana said.

  For the first time in weeks Caine focused on her face. She

  was beautiful, Diana Ladris was, with enormous dark eyes

  and long brown hair and a mouth that defaulted to smirk.

  “You could have ended up like Chunk,” Caine said. “But

  you’ve been taking care of me, anyway.”

  She shrugged. “It’s a hard new world. I have a choice: stick

  by you, or take my chances with Drake.”

  16 M I C H A E L

  G R A N T

  “Drake.” The name conjured dark images. Dream or reality? “What’s Drake doing?”

  “Playing junior Caine. Supposedly representing you.

  Secretly hoping you’ll just die, if you ask me. He raided the

  grocery store and stole some food a few days ago. It’s made

  him almost popular. Kids don’t have a lot of judgment when

  they’re hungry.”

  “And my brother?”

  “Sam?”

  “I don’t have another long-lost brother, do I?”

  “Bug’s gone into town a couple of times to see what’s going

  on. He says people still have a little food but they’re getting

  worried about it. Especially since Drake’s raid. But Sam is

  totally in charge there.”

  “Hand me my pants,” Caine said.

  Diana did as he asked, then ostentatiously turned away as

  he pulled them on.

  “What defenses do they have up?” Caine asked.

  “They keep people all over the grocery store now, that’s

  the main thing. Now Ralph’s always has four guys with guns

  sitting on the roof.”

  Caine nodded. He bit at his thumbnail, an old habit. “How

  about freaks?”

  “They have Dekka and Brianna and Taylor. They have

  Jack. They may have some other useful freaks, Bug isn’t sure.

  They have Lana to heal people. And Bug thinks they have a

  kid who can fire some kind of heat wave.”

  “Like Sam?”

  H U N G E R

  17

  “No. Sam’s like a blowtorch. This kid is like a microwave.

  You don’t see any flames or anything. It’s just that suddenly

  your head is cooking like a breakfast burrito in a Kitchen-

  Aid.”

  “People are still developing powers,” Caine said. “Any

  here?”

  Diana shrugged. “Who knows for sure? Who’s going to be

  crazy enough to tell Drake? Down in town a new mutant gets

  some respect. Up here? Maybe they get killed.”

  “Yeah,” Caine said. “That was a mistake. Coming down on

  the freaks, that was a mistake. We need them.”

  “Plus, in addition to some possible new moofs, Sam’s people still have machine guns. And they still have Sam,” Diana said. “So how about if we don’t do something stupid like try

  and fight them again?”

  “Moofs?”

  “Short for mutant. Mutant freaks. Moofs.” Diana shrugged.

  “Moofs, muties, freaks. We’re out of food, but we’ve got plenty

  of nicknames.”

  Caine’s shirt was laid over the back of a chair. He reached

  for it, wobbled, and seemed about to fall over. Diana steadied

  him. He glared at her hand on his arm
. “I can walk.”

  He glanced up and caught sight of his reflection in a mirror over the dresser. He almost didn’t recognize himself.

  Diana was right: He was pale, his cheeks were concave. His

  eyes seemed too large for his face.

  “I guess you are getting better: you’re becoming a prickly

  jerk again.”

  18 M I C H A E L

  G R A N T

  “Get Bug in here. Get Bug and Drake. I want to see them

  both.”

  Diana made no move. “Are you going to tell me what happened to you out there in the desert with Pack Leader?”

  Caine snorted. “You don’t want to know.”

  “Yes,” Diana insisted, “I do.”

  “All that matters is I’m back,” Caine said with all the bravado he could manage.

  Diana nodded. The movement caused her hair to fall forward, to caress her perfect cheek. Her eyes glittered moistly.

  But her lush lips still curled into an expression of distaste.

  “What’s it mean, Caine? What does ‘gaiaphage’ mean?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve never heard the word

  before.”

  Why was he lying to her? Why did it seem so dangerous

  that she should know that word?

  “Go get them,” Caine said, dismissing her. “Get Drake and

  Bug.”

  “Why don’t you take it easy? Make sure you’re really . . . I

  was going to say ‘sane,’ but that might be setting the bar kind

  of high.”

  “I’m back,” Caine reiterated. “And I have a plan.”

  She stared at him, head tilted sideways, skeptical. “A

  plan.”

  “I have things I have to do,” Caine said, and looked down,

  incapable, for reasons he couldn’t quite grasp, of meeting her

  gaze.

  “Caine, don’t do this,” Diana said. “Sam let you walk away

  H U N G E R

  19

  alive. He won’t do that a second time.”

  “You want me to bargain with him? Work something

  out?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well then, that’s just what I’m going to do, Diana. I’m

  going to bargain. But first I need something to bargain with.

  And I know just the thing.”

  Astrid Ellison was in the overgrown backyard with Little

  Pete when Sam brought her the news and the worm. Pete was

  swinging. Or more accurately he was sitting on the swing as

  Astrid pushed him. He seemed to like it.

  It was dull, monotonous work pushing the swing with

  almost never a word of conversation or a sound of joy from