Hunger
Page 98
“No, no,” Mike said through heaving sobs. “The wires are still up.”
“What wires?” Brianna demanded.
“Drake. He stretched wires all over the place so if you came in, they’d cut you up.”
Dekka noted the look of shock on Brianna’s usually cocky face.
“That’s why Jack was trying to kill Drake,” Mike said. “Jack told him he had to take them all down, and Drake pretended like he did, but he didn’t.”
Dekka said, “Guess it’s a good thing Jack likes your act, Breeze. Mike here got away.”
Brianna had no answer.
“Don’t let it shake you up, girl,” Dekka said. “You had a bad day. We’ve all had a very bad day.” She sat down beside Mike and put her arm around his shoulders. “I’m so sorry about Mickey. I know you guys were buds.”
Mike shook her off. “You don’t care about Mickey. You care about her because she’s a freak, like you.”
Dekka decided to let that go. Couldn’t blame Mike for being a little crazed. Couldn’t really blame him if he fell apart completely.
To Brianna, Dekka said, “You had a close call. But right now the important thing is you start listening to other people and not do crazy stuff that leaves you trapped on a roof when we need you. Or worse yet, sliced up.”
“Yeah,” Brianna said, abashed. Then, recovering a little of her usual sass, she added, “Thanks, Mom.”
Dekka loved that. Brianna’s wild recklessness. She loved that. So much the opposite of Dekka herself. She didn’t let Brianna know she loved it because right now Dekka was in charge, responsible. But Brianna wouldn’t be Brianna without the crazy part.
Alive. She was alive.
And had a thing for Jack.
But alive.
THIRTY-ONE
13 HOURS, 35 MINUTES
COME TO ME. I have need of you.
“I can’t breathe,” Lana said, although if she spoke with her mouth, she heard no sound from it, nor did she feel her tongue and lips moving.
The gas compound deprives you of oxygen.
Yes. That was it. The gas. One spark and . . . somewhere she had a lighter. One spark and she would be free. Dead. Dead-free.
She laughed and the laughter became crimson daggers stabbing into her brain. She clutched her head and cried out in pain. She heard no sound. She did not feel her hands pressed against her temples.
Crawl to me.
Body not working. Was it? Was she on her hands and knees? Was her body still real?
Was she blind, or was it too dark to see?
Had she been unconscious? How long?
Moving, she was sure she was moving. Only maybe it was a breeze blowing past her.
I expel the carbon-hydrogen compound.
The . . . what? Carbon . . . what? Her mind was reeling, swirling, round and round and as it swirled out came the knives of pain to stab at her, to torture her. Head exploding. Heart hammering in her chest, trying to escape, ripping her ribs apart to get out of her.
No, all hallucination. Madness and lies.
But the pain was real. She could feel that, the pain. And the fear.
The oxygen-nitrogen mix flows.
Air. Replacing the gas. It did nothing to lessen the pain in her head. But her heart slowed.
She could see again, just a little, the headlights of the truck throwing the faintest light down the mine shaft to where she lay face down on rock. Lana brought her hand up in front of her face. Fingers. She could not quite make them out, but she knew they were there.
She touched her face. She could feel her hand. She could feel her cheek. Wet with tears.
Come to me.
No.
But she was on hands and knees now, moving. The rock tore the flesh of her palms and knees.
No. I won’t come to you.
But she came. Moved. Hands and knees. Crawled.
Had it ever been possible to resist it?
No.
I am the gaiaphage.
You are mine.
I am Lana Arwen Lazar. My mother named me for . . . For something. Someone . . . My . . .
I hunger.
You will help me feed.
Leave me alone, Lana protested feebly as her arms and legs kept moving, her head hung down like a dog. Like . . . like someone . . .
I am the gaiaphage.
What does that mean? Lana asked.
She had more sense of herself now. She could reach into her memory and remember who she was and why she was here. She could recall the foolish hope she had nurtured of destroying the Darkness. The gaiaphage.
But now she saw its hand in everything she had done. From the start it had been calling to her. Twisting her thoughts and actions to its will.
She’d never had a chance.
And now she crawled.
Superman’s other girlfriend, Lana. Aragorn’s true love, Arwen. Lazar, shortened from Lazarevic. Lazarus, who rose from the dead. Lana Arwen Lazar. That’s who she was.
She was unable to stop crawling. Down and down the mine shaft.
Come to me.
I have need of you.
What need? Why me?
You are the Healer.
You have the power.
Are you hurt? A flicker of hope at the thought that the creature might be wounded.
Lana’s limbs were so heavy now, she could barely move. Barely slide her knees two inches across rough stone. Barely push her palms forward. But her eyes now registered the faint green glow she had remembered always from her first trip down this awful mine shaft.
A glow like luminescent watch dials. A glow like the glow-in-the-dark stars Lana’s dad had pasted to her ceiling when she was little.
The thought of her father tore at Lana’s soul. Her mother. Her father. So far away. Or dead. Or, who knew? Who would ever know?
“What wires?” Brianna demanded.
“Drake. He stretched wires all over the place so if you came in, they’d cut you up.”
Dekka noted the look of shock on Brianna’s usually cocky face.
“That’s why Jack was trying to kill Drake,” Mike said. “Jack told him he had to take them all down, and Drake pretended like he did, but he didn’t.”
Dekka said, “Guess it’s a good thing Jack likes your act, Breeze. Mike here got away.”
Brianna had no answer.
“Don’t let it shake you up, girl,” Dekka said. “You had a bad day. We’ve all had a very bad day.” She sat down beside Mike and put her arm around his shoulders. “I’m so sorry about Mickey. I know you guys were buds.”
Mike shook her off. “You don’t care about Mickey. You care about her because she’s a freak, like you.”
Dekka decided to let that go. Couldn’t blame Mike for being a little crazed. Couldn’t really blame him if he fell apart completely.
To Brianna, Dekka said, “You had a close call. But right now the important thing is you start listening to other people and not do crazy stuff that leaves you trapped on a roof when we need you. Or worse yet, sliced up.”
“Yeah,” Brianna said, abashed. Then, recovering a little of her usual sass, she added, “Thanks, Mom.”
Dekka loved that. Brianna’s wild recklessness. She loved that. So much the opposite of Dekka herself. She didn’t let Brianna know she loved it because right now Dekka was in charge, responsible. But Brianna wouldn’t be Brianna without the crazy part.
Alive. She was alive.
And had a thing for Jack.
But alive.
THIRTY-ONE
13 HOURS, 35 MINUTES
COME TO ME. I have need of you.
“I can’t breathe,” Lana said, although if she spoke with her mouth, she heard no sound from it, nor did she feel her tongue and lips moving.
The gas compound deprives you of oxygen.
Yes. That was it. The gas. One spark and . . . somewhere she had a lighter. One spark and she would be free. Dead. Dead-free.
She laughed and the laughter became crimson daggers stabbing into her brain. She clutched her head and cried out in pain. She heard no sound. She did not feel her hands pressed against her temples.
Crawl to me.
Body not working. Was it? Was she on her hands and knees? Was her body still real?
Was she blind, or was it too dark to see?
Had she been unconscious? How long?
Moving, she was sure she was moving. Only maybe it was a breeze blowing past her.
I expel the carbon-hydrogen compound.
The . . . what? Carbon . . . what? Her mind was reeling, swirling, round and round and as it swirled out came the knives of pain to stab at her, to torture her. Head exploding. Heart hammering in her chest, trying to escape, ripping her ribs apart to get out of her.
No, all hallucination. Madness and lies.
But the pain was real. She could feel that, the pain. And the fear.
The oxygen-nitrogen mix flows.
Air. Replacing the gas. It did nothing to lessen the pain in her head. But her heart slowed.
She could see again, just a little, the headlights of the truck throwing the faintest light down the mine shaft to where she lay face down on rock. Lana brought her hand up in front of her face. Fingers. She could not quite make them out, but she knew they were there.
She touched her face. She could feel her hand. She could feel her cheek. Wet with tears.
Come to me.
No.
But she was on hands and knees now, moving. The rock tore the flesh of her palms and knees.
No. I won’t come to you.
But she came. Moved. Hands and knees. Crawled.
Had it ever been possible to resist it?
No.
I am the gaiaphage.
You are mine.
I am Lana Arwen Lazar. My mother named me for . . . For something. Someone . . . My . . .
I hunger.
You will help me feed.
Leave me alone, Lana protested feebly as her arms and legs kept moving, her head hung down like a dog. Like . . . like someone . . .
I am the gaiaphage.
What does that mean? Lana asked.
She had more sense of herself now. She could reach into her memory and remember who she was and why she was here. She could recall the foolish hope she had nurtured of destroying the Darkness. The gaiaphage.
But now she saw its hand in everything she had done. From the start it had been calling to her. Twisting her thoughts and actions to its will.
She’d never had a chance.
And now she crawled.
Superman’s other girlfriend, Lana. Aragorn’s true love, Arwen. Lazar, shortened from Lazarevic. Lazarus, who rose from the dead. Lana Arwen Lazar. That’s who she was.
She was unable to stop crawling. Down and down the mine shaft.
Come to me.
I have need of you.
What need? Why me?
You are the Healer.
You have the power.
Are you hurt? A flicker of hope at the thought that the creature might be wounded.
Lana’s limbs were so heavy now, she could barely move. Barely slide her knees two inches across rough stone. Barely push her palms forward. But her eyes now registered the faint green glow she had remembered always from her first trip down this awful mine shaft.
A glow like luminescent watch dials. A glow like the glow-in-the-dark stars Lana’s dad had pasted to her ceiling when she was little.
The thought of her father tore at Lana’s soul. Her mother. Her father. So far away. Or dead. Or, who knew? Who would ever know?
