She held up one hand as if blessing him.
He heard her voice. He was surprised that she spoke in English. He’d always thought of God’s mother as speaking Spanish.
“Run, Edilio,” she said.
He started to repeat the prayer. Santa María, Madre de Dios . . .
But she grabbed him by his outstretched arm and said, “I know you’re sick but run. RUN! I can’t save you!”
For some reason the Virgin Mary had Brianna’s voice.
Edilio stood up. The sudden movement sent jagged bolts of pain into his head. For a moment he couldn’t even see, but he plowed ahead on leaden feet. Fell and rolled and got back up, blind, staggering. He ran and ran and coughed until he doubled up on the ground.
He sat there for a while. Waiting to find the strength to follow Brianna’s orders, to run.
He looked up and saw that he was across the plaza. He saw the desperate sick and the peaceful dead on the steps.
And he saw demons, huge monsters, armored cockroaches with impossible red devil eyes.
They swarmed onto the steps.
• • •
Brianna saw Lana come charging out of the so-called hospital with Sanjit. The bugs were swarming.
Edilio had run, thankfully, now here was Lana. Brianna cursed and yelled, “Lana, run! Run. Out the back of the building!”
Lana drew her pistol. “No way,” she said. She took aim at the first bug she saw and fired three times. One of the ruby eyes drooled white and red pus, but the bug never stopped eating a girl who, Brianna could only pray, had already died.
“Don’t be an idiot. We need you alive. Get out! Get out! You”—she grabbed Sanjit by the neck—“get her out of here; we need her alive!”
Brianna had seen the most effective way to kill the bugs, but she wasn’t Caine. She didn’t have his powers.
But she had her own.
Brianna stuck out her chin. Caine had been crushed beneath the collapsing house. It was on her now.
The knife flashed in her hand. She was not going to win this fight, but she wasn’t going to run, either.
Dekka had seen the beasts within her.
Death, oh God, let me die.
Too much to bear. Death, she had to die, to end it, to kill them and herself and never see what they were doing to her.
The container had slipped from her. In blind panic, in sheer terror, she had lost control.
She tried to regain it now, but she was falling, wind-whipped, twirling like a top. She couldn’t even tell which way was up or down.
She spread her hands and focused but focus on what? Where was the ground? Stars and pale mountains and black sea all spun wildly. The container flashed by again and again, as if it was an hour marker on a fast-running clock. And two twisting shapes, arms windmilling.
She had to save Sam. That much, at least.
Her breathing came in gulps. Her eyes were streaming tears, blurred to uselessness. How could she stop the spinning?
Dekka pulled her arms in tight and entwined her legs. Less wind resistance. She made some sense of it now: she was falling headfirst. She was still spinning, but slower, and she was definitely falling headfirst like an arrow falling to earth. Suddenly, far too clear, she could see a line of surf directly below.
She had to get lower than Sam. Sam and Toto were below her, still spinning crazily. But Dekka, with less wind resistance, fell just a little faster.
Suddenly, though, the ground was coming clear. Rushing up to smash her to jelly.
She was below Sam. Now!
She spread her fingers, focused, and canceled gravity below.
And continued to fall. She had canceled gravity. She had not canceled momentum.
In seconds they would hit the water or the ground. Either would smash them to jelly.
• • •
Caine raised the debris off himself.
The bugs were all gone. He saw the tail of one as it raced away.
If he went after them, he’d probably get killed.
But stay here and do what? Be safe? He’d have been safe on the island. He hadn’t come back to be safe.
Two possible outcomes: the bugs killed everyone and then who would Caine rule over? Or the bugs were defeated by someone else. And then how would he ever get control? Power would go to whoever won this fight.
Still Caine hesitated. A big, warm bed. A beautiful girl to share it with. Food. Water. Everything he needed, just a few miles away on the island. The logical, rational answer was obvious.
“Which is why the world stays messed up,” Caine said under his breath. “People aren’t rational.”
He took a few deep, steadying breaths, and prepared to die for power.
Orc had not managed to kill himself. Again.
He wept a bit when he realized that he was going to live. He was doing his best, but throwing up and passing out were getting in the way of death-by-drink.
He stood up, needing to pee, but he was already peeing as he stood. So no need.
Something moved. He swung his head ponderously to look. A monster. In a cracked fragment of mirror just barely clinging to the wall.
Orc stared at his reflection. Six feet, maybe more, of gray, wet gravel. He threw back his head, arms wide, and howled.
“Why? Why?”
He burst into tears and pounded his fists against his face. Then with stone fingers he ripped the last of the living flesh from his face. Blood ran red.
And now he howled at his own reflection. “Why?”
He lurched away. He ran in bounding, wild leaps toward the stairs.
Astrid.
He had no clear thought for what he would do when he found her. She was just the only one who had ever helped him. She was the only one who had ever seen him as Charles Merriman and not just Orc.