Plague
Page 97
They stood, Caine and Brianna, in the kitchen, the center of the house, as far as possible from the windows, but now the bugs had their mandibles shoved in through the doors and windows, questing, slicing the air, their ropelike tongues lashing madly.
The entire house was like a drum pounded by dozens of drumsticks.
“You know, I’m kind of disappointed,” Brianna said. “Situation like this? Sam would come up with a plan.”
Chapter Thirty-Eight
59 MINUTES
SAM HAD COME up with a plan.
Three, actually. One involved the very faint hope that Jack would reach Little Pete and do something awful.
The second involved something purely insane. Flying a huge container of missiles through the air, dropping them in just the right place, finding a vehicle with gas and a functioning battery, then figuring out how to fire the missiles in time to save the town.
That was insane.
The third plan involved Dekka. He wasn’t even going to tell her about that. Because it wasn’t just insane, it was monstrous.
None of the plans had a chance of working. Sam knew that.
Sam’s foot was beyond pain. It was agony. Dekka was doing all she could for him by lessening gravity somewhat but he still had to move forward, and he had to move as fast as he could.
“How are you doing, Dekka?” he gasped as he hobble-trotted.
“Stop asking, Sam,” she said.
“You have to—,” he began.
“What? What do I have to do, Sam? They’re eating me from the inside, what do you want me to say?”
“She’s telling the truth—”
“Shut your stupid mouth, you freak!” Dekka snapped at Toto.
They were close, Sam could feel it. They had to be. They had to reach the train before the bugs finally burst from Dekka and ate her alive.
He needed her to live a while longer. To the bitter, bitter end, he needed her and she was spending her last minutes running and trying to help him and he was helpless, could do nothing but keep hoping she would stay alive, suffer some more, conquer her fear, all for a stupid, pointless, doomed plan.
“There!” Toto said. “I see the train.”
The light was faint, gray, watery, and inadequate. But yes, Sam could see the train.
He gritted his teeth and ran now, full out, every step like a knife plunged into his foot with the pain radiating all the way up his leg.
“I can’t even see which container it was, Spidey.”
Sam cupped his hands and grew a ball of sickly greenish-tinged light. It swelled until he could see the two faces of his companions. To his horror the light showed a bug had eaten its way through the front of Dekka’s blouse. She was trembling.
“Dekka,” he said. “You don’t have to . . . I can . . .”
She grabbed his arm with a painfully hard grip. “I’m with you, Sam. I guess I don’t get to take the easy way out.”
“This is the container with the weapons,” Toto called. Then, as an afterthought he added, “That’s true.”
“Sam,” Dekka said. “If I die . . .”
“Then we fall,” Sam said. “You and me, Dekka. If I have to go, it’ll be an honor to be with you.”
Sam slammed the container shut and the three of them climbed to the top. The container was not perfectly flat on top, it was ribbed for strength. But the steel ribs were no more than six inches high. They flattened themselves down on their backs, facing up.
“Here we go,” Dekka said. She spread her hands flat against the container, palms downward.
The container rose.
Sam lay staring up at the sky, which was no real sky. The stars were paling. The moon had set.
How fast were they rising? The barrier was quite near, just a few dozen yards away from the train. For the first time in his life, he wished he’d paid more attention in geometry. There was no doubt a formula for how long it would be before they scraped against the barrier.
If Astrid were here, she would be able to—
Scrreeech!
The door end of the container was scraping and the entire container tilted wildly.
“Hold on!” Sam yelled.
He gripped the ribs even tighter. But he realized with a pleasant surprise that he was weightless against the container. He was holding on to keep from floating up.
Chunk! Chunk! Screeee!
The container banged a couple of times, tilted even more sharply, and yet rose. Rose!
Suddenly Sam’s knuckles, chest, and face were against the barrier. It was like grabbing a power line. Pain that obliterated every other thought. It was not his first time touching the barrier, but it was the first time he’d had his face pressed against it.
“Dekka!” Sam cried.
“Doing my best!” she yelled.
The container became more nearly level and Sam could at least loosen his grip on the steel ribs, which allowed him to press his hands down by his side and keep them from being crushed.
The barrier moved away from his face, blessed relief, but all the while the screeching sound of steel being dragged along the barrier continued.
Screeeeee.
Still rising. Faster. The air rushed past as their speed increased.
How high? They would either stall or fall or, if somehow Dekka could keep it up, they would rise and follow the curve of the dome. As they reached the top of the arc, their faces would be crushed against the barrier again. Sam wasn’t looking forward to that.
Sam rolled onto his stomach and wormed his way to the edge of the container. There wasn’t much to see below. No lights. No way to know exactly where they were. He wished he had Albert’s map, maybe he could make some sense out of the patterns of shadow and dimly perceived, starlit heights.
The entire house was like a drum pounded by dozens of drumsticks.
“You know, I’m kind of disappointed,” Brianna said. “Situation like this? Sam would come up with a plan.”
Chapter Thirty-Eight
59 MINUTES
SAM HAD COME up with a plan.
Three, actually. One involved the very faint hope that Jack would reach Little Pete and do something awful.
The second involved something purely insane. Flying a huge container of missiles through the air, dropping them in just the right place, finding a vehicle with gas and a functioning battery, then figuring out how to fire the missiles in time to save the town.
That was insane.
The third plan involved Dekka. He wasn’t even going to tell her about that. Because it wasn’t just insane, it was monstrous.
None of the plans had a chance of working. Sam knew that.
Sam’s foot was beyond pain. It was agony. Dekka was doing all she could for him by lessening gravity somewhat but he still had to move forward, and he had to move as fast as he could.
“How are you doing, Dekka?” he gasped as he hobble-trotted.
“Stop asking, Sam,” she said.
“You have to—,” he began.
“What? What do I have to do, Sam? They’re eating me from the inside, what do you want me to say?”
“She’s telling the truth—”
“Shut your stupid mouth, you freak!” Dekka snapped at Toto.
They were close, Sam could feel it. They had to be. They had to reach the train before the bugs finally burst from Dekka and ate her alive.
He needed her to live a while longer. To the bitter, bitter end, he needed her and she was spending her last minutes running and trying to help him and he was helpless, could do nothing but keep hoping she would stay alive, suffer some more, conquer her fear, all for a stupid, pointless, doomed plan.
“There!” Toto said. “I see the train.”
The light was faint, gray, watery, and inadequate. But yes, Sam could see the train.
He gritted his teeth and ran now, full out, every step like a knife plunged into his foot with the pain radiating all the way up his leg.
“I can’t even see which container it was, Spidey.”
Sam cupped his hands and grew a ball of sickly greenish-tinged light. It swelled until he could see the two faces of his companions. To his horror the light showed a bug had eaten its way through the front of Dekka’s blouse. She was trembling.
“Dekka,” he said. “You don’t have to . . . I can . . .”
She grabbed his arm with a painfully hard grip. “I’m with you, Sam. I guess I don’t get to take the easy way out.”
“This is the container with the weapons,” Toto called. Then, as an afterthought he added, “That’s true.”
“Sam,” Dekka said. “If I die . . .”
“Then we fall,” Sam said. “You and me, Dekka. If I have to go, it’ll be an honor to be with you.”
Sam slammed the container shut and the three of them climbed to the top. The container was not perfectly flat on top, it was ribbed for strength. But the steel ribs were no more than six inches high. They flattened themselves down on their backs, facing up.
“Here we go,” Dekka said. She spread her hands flat against the container, palms downward.
The container rose.
Sam lay staring up at the sky, which was no real sky. The stars were paling. The moon had set.
How fast were they rising? The barrier was quite near, just a few dozen yards away from the train. For the first time in his life, he wished he’d paid more attention in geometry. There was no doubt a formula for how long it would be before they scraped against the barrier.
If Astrid were here, she would be able to—
Scrreeech!
The door end of the container was scraping and the entire container tilted wildly.
“Hold on!” Sam yelled.
He gripped the ribs even tighter. But he realized with a pleasant surprise that he was weightless against the container. He was holding on to keep from floating up.
Chunk! Chunk! Screeee!
The container banged a couple of times, tilted even more sharply, and yet rose. Rose!
Suddenly Sam’s knuckles, chest, and face were against the barrier. It was like grabbing a power line. Pain that obliterated every other thought. It was not his first time touching the barrier, but it was the first time he’d had his face pressed against it.
“Dekka!” Sam cried.
“Doing my best!” she yelled.
The container became more nearly level and Sam could at least loosen his grip on the steel ribs, which allowed him to press his hands down by his side and keep them from being crushed.
The barrier moved away from his face, blessed relief, but all the while the screeching sound of steel being dragged along the barrier continued.
Screeeeee.
Still rising. Faster. The air rushed past as their speed increased.
How high? They would either stall or fall or, if somehow Dekka could keep it up, they would rise and follow the curve of the dome. As they reached the top of the arc, their faces would be crushed against the barrier again. Sam wasn’t looking forward to that.
Sam rolled onto his stomach and wormed his way to the edge of the container. There wasn’t much to see below. No lights. No way to know exactly where they were. He wished he had Albert’s map, maybe he could make some sense out of the patterns of shadow and dimly perceived, starlit heights.
