But he gritted his teeth, took a deep breath, and visibly steeled himself for a decision he knew might be wrong. Might even be fatally wrong.
“Breeze,” he said grimly. “Listen to me before you go tearing off. I want you to follow them, see where they go. But this leaves us with, like, no one playing defense. Orc’s off on a drunk, Sam and Dekka and Jack are out of town, kids are falling out sick all over the place, and Drake may still be lurking . . .” He stuck his finger at her. “Don’t take risks, don’t be your usual reckless, stupid self: come back as soon as you can, as soon as you see where they’re going.”
Brianna executed a mock salute—she didn’t mind being called stupid so long as he was acknowledging her bravery— and loped off at an easy sixty miles an hour to catch up with the swarm.
“Don’t sweat it, Edilio,” she called over her shoulder. “The Breeze is all over these bugs.”
Orc was running dry. He stared balefully at the bottle in his hand. Shouldn’t he be dead by now? How much booze did it take before you just died already?
His mind labored to work out solutions to the problem. Probably still a couple bottles back at the house, if kids hadn’t looted them. If not, he had another option, but it was a long walk and he wasn’t really in the mood for a long walk. A long walk would sober him up.
He was on his way to the house and drowning his brain in booze again when he thoughtlessly walked past the stop sign.
No body lay crumpled there.
For a moment he thought he might be in the wrong place. Or that maybe he was mistaken about the body. But then he vaguely recalled running into Howard and Howard promising to fix things.
So now the little boy’s body would be rotting in an unused house. Probably not the only body lying around. Probably.
Orc took a drink. He was shaky in body and mind. He was used to booze, but even by his standards he had punished his body in the last day. His stomach burned. His head hammered. Now he had to fight down an urge to run and run and run until . . .
Until what?
Run where?
They would figure it out, sooner or later. That he had slammed that little boy, that little boy who never hurt Orc or probably anyone else. Just some sick kid.
Someone would have seen it happen, or one of the smart ones—Astrid or Albert or Edilio—would figure it out. And he wouldn’t even be given a chance to explain. They would make him leave, go live outside town, like they had Hunter.
But he wasn’t Hunter. He couldn’t live out there. Out there was where the coyotes were.
Orc remembered the coyotes. He remembered the way they had sunk their muzzles into his living guts and ripped and torn his insides out.
That’s when it had started. That’s when the ripped-up flesh had turned into gravel and the rocky, pebbly, monster skin had grown to take over his whole body.
No. They couldn’t make him live out there.
Astrid had rules, though; she had made them up and that’s what they would do, push him out, Go away, Orc, go away and die, you freak.
Yeah, well, Charles Merriman was inside this monster. He was not an orc. He was Charles Merriman.
He had to talk to Astrid. She’d always been nice to him. The only one who’d been nice to him. They were her stupid rules, so she would be able to figure out something. She was smart, after all. And nice.
With that vague thought sloshing around in his brain, Orc stomped off toward Astrid’s home.
Two blocks away he noticed something very strange. So strange he thought he might be imagining it. Because it wasn’t right, that was for sure.
There was a cloud. Up in the sky. As he gaped up at it the sun started to slide behind it.
Cloud. A dark, gray cloud.
He kept moving. Kept drinking. Kept looking at that crazy cloud up in the sky.
He stepped onto Astrid’s street. From half a block away he saw the wreckage strewn out over trees and yards and draped over fences.
Then the house. That stopped him dead in his tracks. The top of the house was gone.
And there stood Astrid, right up on top, right out in the open because the walls were all gone, and there was her ’tard brother, only he was kind of, like, floating in the air above a bed.
Orc gaped up at Astrid, but she didn’t notice him. She was looking up at the sky, up at the cloud. Her hands were at her side. In one hand she held a huge-looking pistol.
A brilliant flash lit everything up.
A tree not ten feet away blew apart.
CRRR-ACK!
BOOOOM!
Lightning. Thunder.
Splinters and leaves from the tree came down in a shower all around Orc.
And suddenly the cloud seemed to drop from the sky, only it wasn’t the cloud itself, it was rain. Gray streamers of water, pouring down.
It was like stepping into a cold shower. The rain fell on Orc’s marveling, upturned face. It pooled in his eyes, it ran in streams through his quarry of a body.
Astrid cried out, words irrelevant. Orc heard the despair, the fear. She was soaked through, standing there with her big gun, screaming at her brother, sobbing.
Orc opened his mouth and water flowed in. Clean, fresh, as cold as ice water.
Chapter Twenty-Four
9 HOURS, 6 MINUTES
BRITTNEY SAW THE huge, blue-eyed bugs. She saw the cave. And she understood none of it.
Then she saw Jamal’s gun. Shreds of his clothing. The blood that soaked them.
Nothing left but his clothing, his shoes, and his gun.
The bugs skittered madly past her carrying rocks eight, nine, ten times their own size. Like busy ants. But ants the size of wolves or Shetland ponies.