Gone, Page 33

  “I saw the waffle-burgers.”

  There was something on Albert’s mind. Whatever it was, Sam didn’t have the time or the energy, but Albert was becoming an important person, someone not to blow off. “What’s up, Albert?”

  “Well, I’ve done inventory at Ralph’s, and I think if I had a lot of help, I could put together an okay Thanksgiving dinner.”

  Sam stared at him. He blinked. “What?”

  “Thanksgiving. It’s next week.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “There are ovens at Ralph’s, big ones. And no one has taken the frozen turkeys. Figure two hundred and fifty kids if pretty much everyone from Perdido Beach shows up, right? One turkey will feed maybe eight people, so we need thirty-one, thirty-two turkeys. No problem there, because there are forty-six turkeys at Ralph’s.”

  “Thirty-one turkeys?”

  “Cranberry sauce will be no problem, stuffing is no problem, no one has taken much stuffing yet, although I’ll have to figure out how to mix, like, seven different brands and styles together, see how it tastes.”

  “Stuffing,” Sam echoed solemnly.

  “We don’t have enough canned yams, we’ll have to do fresh along with some baked potatoes. The big problem is going to be whipped cream and ice cream for the pies.”

  Sam wanted to burst out laughing, but at the same time he found it touching and reassuring that Albert had put so much thought into the question.

  “I imagine the ice cream is pretty much gone,” Sam said.

  “Yeah. We’re very low on ice cream. And kids have been taking the canned whipped cream, too.”

  “But we can have pie?”

  “We have some frozen. And we have some pie shells we can bake up ourselves.”

  “That would be nice,” Sam said.

  “I’ll need to start three days before. I’ll need, like, at least ten people to help. I can haul the tables out of the church basement and set up in the plaza. I think I can do it.”

  “I’ll bet you can, Albert,” Sam said with feeling.

  “Mother Mary’s going to have the prees make centerpieces.”

  “Listen, Albert…”

  Albert raised a hand, cutting Sam off. “I know. I mean, I know we may have some great big fight before that. And I heard you have your fifteenth coming up. All kinds of bad stuff may happen. But, Sam—”

  This time, Sam cut him off. “Albert? Get moving on planning the big meal.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. It will give people something to look forward to.”

  Albert left, and Sam fought down a yawn. He noticed Astrid deep in conversation with three of the Coates kids. Astrid had been through all kinds of horror, he thought, but somehow, even with her blouse filthy, her blond hair hanging lank and greasy, her face smudged, she looked beautiful.

  When he raised his gaze he could see across the plaza, across the buildings at the far end, clear out to the ocean, the too-placid ocean.

  Birthday. Thanksgiving. Poof. And a showdown with Caine. Not to mention just daily life if they somehow all survived. Not to mention finding a way to escape or end the FAYZ. And all he wanted to do was take Astrid’s hand and lead her down to the beach, stretch a blanket out on the hot sand, lie down beside her, and sleep for about a month.

  “Right after the big Thanksgiving dinner,” Sam promised himself. “Right after pie.”

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  79 HOURS, 00 MINUTES

  COOKIE ROLLED OVER and stood up. His legs were still weak and shaky. He had to hold himself up by leaning on the table.

  But he steadied himself with the arm that had been utterly shattered.

  Dahra Baidoo was there, and Elwood, both staring like they were witnessing a miracle.

  “I suppose they are,” Lana said to herself.

  “It doesn’t hurt,” Cookie said.

  He laughed. It was an incredulous, disbelieving sound. He rotated his arm, all the way forward, all the way up. He squeezed his fingers into a fist.

  “It doesn’t hurt.”

  “Okay, I never thought I’d see that,” Elwood said, shaking his head slowly.

  Tears came to Cookie’s bloodshot eyes. He whispered to himself, “It doesn’t hurt. It doesn’t hurt at all.”

  He took a tentative step. Then another. He had lost a lot of weight. He was pale, and more than pale, almost green. He was shaky, a bear walking on its hind legs and about to topple over. He looked like what he was: a kid who’d taken a round trip to hell.

  “Thank you,” he whispered to Lana. “Thank you.”

  “It’s not my doing,” Lana said. “It’s just…I don’t know what it is.”

  She was tired. Healing Cookie had taken a long time. She’d been in the hospital since eight o’clock that morning, having been awakened by Cookie’s cries of agony.

  His injury was even worse than her own broken arm had been. It had taken her more than six hours, and now whatever benefit she’d gained from sleeping in the park was wasted, and she was weary again. Outside, she was pretty sure the sun was shining, but all she wanted now was a bed.

  “It’s a thing I can do,” Lana said, fighting a yawn and stretching to get the kinks out of her back. “Just a…a thing.”

  Cookie nodded. Then he did something no one expected. He got down on his knees before a shocked Dahra.

  “You took care of me.”

  Dahra shrugged and looked mightily uncomfortable. “It’s okay, Cookie.”

  “No.” He took her hand awkwardly and leaned his forehead into her. “Anything you ever want. Anything. Anytime. Ever.” Tears choked his voice. “Anything.”

  Dahra pulled him back to his feet. He had been as big and as heavy as Orc. He was still big enough to tower over Dahra. “You need to start eating,” she said.

  “Yeah, eat,” Cookie said. “Then what do I do?”

  Dahra looked a little exasperated. She said, “I don’t know, Cookie.”

  Lana had an idea. “Go find Sam. There’s a fight coming.”

  “I can fight,” Cookie confirmed. “As soon as I get some food down and, you know, kind of get my strength back.”

  “McDonald’s is open,” Dahra said. “Try the French toast–burger. It’s better than it sounds.”

  Cookie left. Dahra said, “Lana, I know it’s mostly about Cookie, but I feel like you saved my life, too. I’ve been losing my mind taking care of him.”

  Lana was uncomfortable with gratitude. She always had been, even in small things. Now the idea that people were thanking her for performing near-miracles, that was preposterous. She said, “Do you know any place I could sleep? Like, in a bed?”

  Elwood guided her and Patrick to his house. It was half a mile from the plaza and Lana was practically sleepwalking by the time they reached it.

  “Come on in,” Elwood said. “You want something to eat?”

  Lana shook her head. “Just a place to…that couch.”

  “You could use one of the bedrooms upstairs.”

  Lana was already facedown on the couch. And a split second later, she was asleep.

  Night had fallen by the time she woke. It took a while to figure out where she was.

  Elwood had thoughtfully fed Patrick. There was a clean-licked plate on the kitchen tile. Patrick was curled up before a gas fireplace, though there was no fire.

  Lana was ravenously hungry. She searched the kitchen, feeling like a burglar. The refrigerator had been emptied of everything but lemon juice, soy sauce, a carton of very expired half-and-half, and some very, very old lettuce.

  The freezer was better. There were frozen buffalo wings, something in a Tupperware container, and a microwavable pepperoni pizza.

  “Oh, yes,” Lana said. “Oh, definitely.”

  She popped the pizza in the microwave and punched the numbers. It was fascinating watching it rotate. Her mouth watered. It was all she could do to wait till the microwave dinged.

  She ate the pizza by ripping it with her bare hands, folding up the gooey
slices and scooping up whatever dripped on the counter.

  “Oh, you want some, too?” she asked when Patrick showed up wagging his tail and looking eager. She tossed him a piece, which he caught in the air.

  “Well. We’ve been through it, huh, boy?”

  Lana found the master bedroom shower upstairs and spent half an hour in the stream of hot water. The water ran red and black down the drain.

  Then she invited Patrick in, shampooed him up, rinsed him off, and kicked him out to shake like crazy and spray dog water all over the bathroom.

  She wrapped herself in a towel and went exploring through the house for clothing. Elwood didn’t seem to have any sisters, but his mother was petite, so with some cinching and tying-off Lana managed to put together an outfit.

  She picked her old clothes up and almost fainted from the stench.

  “Oh, my God, Patrick: that’s what I’ve been smelling like? I have to burn these things.”

  But she contented herself with stuffing the bloodstained, dirt-crusted, sweat-stinking, torn, and shredded clothing into a trash bag. Unfortunately she was stuck with her old shoes: Elwood’s mother’s shoes were two sizes too large.

  She trotted down the stairs, feeling better than she had in a very long time. Then she spotted the phone and could not resist the urge to pick it up. Call her mom. Tell her mom…well, something. She knew what everyone had told her about the FAYZ. But, still…

  “No dial tone, Patrick.”

  Patrick was not interested.

  “You know what, Patrick? I’m just going to sit down and cry for a while.”

  But the tears wouldn’t come. So after a while she sighed and carried a warm Diet Pepsi out onto the porch.

  It was the middle of the night. The street was quiet. She was in a town she had grown up in but had been away from for years. She’d run into some kids she’d known back in the day, but most of them hadn’t recognized her beneath her coating of filth. Now maybe at least people would know her. Although it occurred to her that Sam and Astrid and Edilio probably wouldn’t recognize her now that she was clean.

  “I feel like going somewhere, Patrick,” she said. “But I don’t know where.”

  A car turned onto the street. It was moving slowly. Whoever was behind the wheel was clearly not an experienced driver.

  Lana stiffened, preparing to rush back inside and lock the door. She raised a cautious wave, but she couldn’t see the driver and the driver didn’t seem to want to stop and chat. The car continued on down the street and turned off.

  “Some kind of patrol,” Lana said to Patrick.

  She stayed a while longer on the porch before heading back inside.

  She instantly recognized the boy standing in the kitchen.

  Patrick growled and raised his hackles.

  “Hello, freak,” Drake said.

  Lana backed away, but too late. Drake leveled his gun at her.

  “I’m right-handed. ’Least I used to be. But I can still hit you from this distance.”

  “What do you want?”

  Drake motioned toward the stump of his right arm. It was gone from just above the elbow. “What do you think I want?”

  The one time she’d seen Drake Merwin, he had made her think of Pack Leader: strong, hyper alert, dangerous. Now, the lean physique looked gaunt, the shark’s grin was a tight grimace, his eyes were red-rimmed. His stare, once languidly menacing, was now intense, burning hot. He looked like someone who had been tortured beyond endurance.

  “I’ll try,” Lana said.

  “You’ll do more than try,” he said. He convulsed in pain, face scrunched. A low, eerie moan escaped his throat.

  “I don’t know if I can grow a whole arm back,” Lana said. “Let me touch it.”

  “Not here,” he hissed. He motioned with his gun. “Through the back door.”

  “If you shoot me, I can’t help you,” Lana argued.

  “Can you heal dogs? How about if I blow his brains out? Can you heal that, freak?”

  The car Lana had seen driving by was parked, engine running, in the alley behind the house. The boy called Panda was at the wheel.

  “Don’t make me do this,” Lana pleaded. “I would help you no matter what. You don’t have to do this.”

  But there was no point in arguing. If Drake had ever owned a conscience, it had died along with his arm.

  They drove off through the sleeping town.

  Out into the night.

  Howard had seen with his own eyes the small army Sam had assembled. He’d seen them descending on Ralph’s. The grocery store was unguarded, which meant the other sheriffs had decided to get out of the way and make themselves scarce.

  “There’s too many,” Howard had concluded.

  So he and Orc had stolen a car and made their way toward Coates Academy. But they had taken a wrong turn somewhere along the road and ended up on a dirt track leading into the desert as night fell.

  They had turned around, retracing their way to the main road, but that hadn’t worked, either. Finally, they ran out of gas.

  “This was your stupid idea,” Orc muttered.

  “What did you want to do? Stay in town with Sam? He had, like, twenty kids with him.”

  “I could kick his butt.”

  “Orc, don’t be a moron,” Howard snapped in frustration. “If Caine’s not there, and Drake’s not there, and Sammy is marching back into town like a big deal, what do you think that means? I mean, come on, Orc, do the math.”

  Orc’s pig eyes had narrowed to slits. “Don’t call me stupid. I have to, I’ll kick your teeth in.”

  Howard wasted twenty minutes ameliorating Orc’s hurt feelings. Which still left them sitting in a dead car in the middle of nowhere.

  “I see a light,” Orc said.

  “Hey, yeah.” Howard jumped from the car and started running. Orc lumbered after him.

  The twin beams of a car moved at an intercept angle to them. If they slowed down, the car would miss them, never see them.

  “Hurry up,” Howard yelled.

  “Catch them.” Orc urged Howard on as he gave up the race and slowed to a heavy-footed slog.

  “Okay,” Howard yelled. His foot caught on something, and he sprawled into the dirt. He picked himself up and only then felt the sharp pain in his ankle.

  “What the—?” He froze. There was something there in the darkness. Not Orc, something that smelled rank and panted like a dog.

  Howard was up and running in a heartbeat. “Something is after me,” he yelled.

  The car lights were vectoring toward him. He could make it. He could make it. If he didn’t fall again. If the monster didn’t get him first.

  Howard’s feet hit blacktop and he was illuminated, brilliant white. The car screeched. It came to a stop.

  The monster was nowhere in sight.

  “Howard?”

  Howard recognized the voice. Panda was leaning out of the window.

  “Panda? Man, am I glad to see you. We’ve been—”

  Something dark and swift leaped and caught Panda’s arm. He let out a shriek.

  From inside the car, a dog barked frantically.

  Something hit Howard in the back and he hit the pavement on his hands and knees.

  The car lurched forward. The bumper stopped six inches from Howard’s head.

  There came a scream, a male voice. Orc. Orc back in the darkness somewhere.

  There were dogs everywhere, swarming around Howard. No, not dogs, he thought, wolves. Coyotes.

  The car door opened, and Panda fell out, wrapped half around a coyote.

  A loud bang and a stab of orange light.

  But the coyotes didn’t stop.

  Another shot, and one of the coyotes yelped in pain. Drake staggered into view, looking like a scarecrow in the headlights.

  The coyotes retreated, out of the light but by no means gone. Howard got slowly to his feet.

  Drake pointed the gun at Howard’s face. “Did you set these dogs on me?�
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  “They chewed on me too, man,” Howard protested. Then he yelled out at the desert, “Orc. Orc, man. Orc.”

  A voice like wet gravel, but with an eerie high-pitched tone, said, “Give us female.”

  Howard peered into the night trying to make sense of it. It wasn’t Orc. Where was Orc?

  “What female?” Drake demanded. “Who are you?”

  Slowly, on every side, all around the car the desert moved. Shadows crept closer. Howard shrank back, but Drake stood firm.

  “Who’s out there?” Drake demanded.

  A mange-eaten coyote with a scarred muzzle that gave him a sinister grin stepped into the circle of light. Howard almost fell down when he realized it was this coyote who spoke.

  “Give us female.”

  “No,” Drake said, recovering quickly from the shock. “She’s mine. I need her to heal my arm. She has the power and I want my arm back.”

  “You are nothing,” the coyote snarled.

  “I’m the kid with the gun,” Drake said.

  The two of them, two of a kind, it seemed to Howard, stared holes in each other.

  “What do you want with her?” Drake demanded.

  “Darkness say: bring female.”

  “Darkness? What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Give us female,” Pack Leader said, returning to his single-minded point. “Or we kill all.”

  “I’ll kill plenty of you.”

  “You die,” Pack Leader said stubbornly.

  Howard felt it was time to speak up. “Guys. Guys. We have a standoff here. So why don’t we see if we can figure out an arrangement?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Okay, look, Drake, you said something about the female healing your arm?”

  “She has the power. I want my arm back.”

  “And Mr., um…coyote…you’re supposed to take her to some other dog called Darkness?”

  Pack Leader eyed Howard in a way that suggested he was considering how to butcher and eat him.

  “Okay,” Howard said shakily. “I think we can work a deal.”