She should feel his pain. She should feel it.
Someone had to feel the pain.
He reached the top of the stairs. He knocked the door of Little Pete’s room open. He stared blankly, confused. A wind whipped through the room. Little Pete hovered in the air several feet above the cot. He glowed.
Astrid was not there.
“Astrid!” Orc bellowed.
From outside, clear and distinct through the open window, an answer.
“Is that you, Orc?”
Orc bounded to the window. It had been opened and in any case the panes of glass were shattered.
Orc’s vision took a moment to stabilize enough for him to make out what he was seeing. And then he couldn’t believe it.
Down below, in the first faint glow of morning, stood Drake.
Behind him and all around the school were things that looked like gigantic cockroaches.
It all had to be a hallucination.
“Drake?” Orc said, blinking hard to test the reality of this apparition.
“I thought that sounded like you, Orc.” Drake smirked. “And you have Astrid up there with you? Excellent. Couldn’t be better.”
“Are you real?” Orc asked.
Drake laughed delightedly. “Oh, I’m real, Orc.”
“Go away.” It was all Orc could think of to say.
“Nah, I don’t think I will,” Drake said. He ran lightly to the door downstairs and disappeared from view.
Orc was completely baffled. Drake? Here?
In seconds Drake appeared at the door of the room. His cold eyes looked past Orc and focused on Little Pete.
“Well, well,” Drake said. “Nemesis.”
Chapter Forty
25 MINUTES
SAM FELT SOMETHING wet. It was everywhere, a cloud rising from below. It was like falling through a tornado of mud. Salt water and sand, liberated by weightlessness, flew upward.
“Spread your arms and legs!” Sam shouted.
Friction. The painful slap of water, the grinding of sand, like flying into a tornado.
Sam felt like his skin was being flayed. He shut his eyes, turned his head to keep his nose and mouth from filling with wet sand, and smacked hard into a surface as solid and unyielding as concrete.
The air exploded from his lungs. It was like being kicked by a mule.
His back arched too far, tendons stretched, his head snapped back, every inch of him stung and water closed over his head.
Instinctively he kicked his way to the surface. The sand washed away and he could force one eye open. He was no more than a dozen yards from shore, in water not even five feet deep.
Then all the water and sand that had floated up to meet them came pouring down.
He looked around frantically for Dekka and Toto. He splashed his way toward the beach through a blinding downpour that lasted a full minute.
Toto was just down the beach, lying on his back and moaning in pain. Sam knelt by him.
“Are you hurt?”
“My legs,” Toto said, and started to cry. “I want to go home.”
“Listen to me, Toto, your legs are broken, but we can fix them.”
Toto looked at him wonderingly, wiped sand from his face, and said, “You are telling the truth.”
“I’ll get Lana. Soon as I can. You just stay put.”
He stood up and yelled, “Dekka! Dekka!”
She did not call back to him, but he saw her swimming toward shore. He ran out and helped her to get to dry ground.
“I’m so sorry, Sam,” she gasped.
“I’m okay. So’s Toto. Just broke his legs is all.” He glanced left and right and spotted the container smashed into a low bluff. Oblong crates and their deadly contents had spilled.
“I don’t know where we are,” Sam said. “I think we’re south of the power plant.” He looked around, frantic. His plan had always been reckless and hopeless, but he’d hoped, somehow, to come down near the power plant. There might be a car still in usable condition at the plant. But here? He wasn’t even sure where here was.
And the container was wrecked. Many of the missiles would be, too.
“Sam!” A voice was calling to him from the direction of the sea. A boat. He saw four people in it, and oars splashing and pulling hard toward them.
“Quinn!”
The boat ran in and beached. Quinn jumped out. “Where did you come from?”
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” Sam said. “Quinn: tell me quick. What’s happening in town?”
Quinn appeared overwhelmed by the question.
Sam grabbed him. “Whatever it is, tell me. Dekka may not have another half hour. Quick!”
“Edilio’s sick. Lots of people sick. It’s bad, kids dropping all over the place. Edilio sent me to bring Caine back. To fight the bugs.”
Sam breathed a shaky sigh of relief. “Thank God he did, Quinn. I probably can’t beat the bugs, maybe he can.”
“But . . . ,” Quinn began, but Sam interrupted.
Plan Two might be dead. But Sam had one last trick up his sleeve, one last wild effort—not to save the town, but maybe to save his friend.
“Dekka, she’s infested. They’re hatching out of her. I promised to . . . to make it easier for her. You understand?”
Quinn nodded solemnly.
“But I have an idea. How fast can you get us to town?”
“Fifteen minutes,” Quinn said.
They rowed like they were rowing for their lives. And in some ways they were, Sam knew. If the bugs emerged from Dekka while they were in this small boat, none of them would survive.