Fear (31 page)

Brianna winked and zoomed away.

Albert had laid the groundwork carefully.

It was very hard for those without Caine-like or Dekka-like powers even to get out of the sea and onto the island. So he’d arranged for Taylor to carry a looped rope out to the island, secure it around a very sturdy tree, and drop the rope over the cliff.

It was right there in plain view. Anyone who went a little way around the western side of the island, past the wrecked yacht, could see it. He’d attached—well, had paid a kid to attach—colorful bits of fabric so that even now, in the eerie brown shadow, the rope was easy to find.

He guided the boat in. There were no waves, just the usual gentle surge. Albert was not a great boat handler, but he’d learned enough, just enough that he could position the boat beside the rope. The rope fell all the way into the water, which meant it was longer—and therefore more expensive—than necessary. But that wasn’t really the point. The rope was where he had arranged for it to be.

The loops made it almost like a ladder. A very awkward ladder that had an unfortunate tendency to push away when you tried to stick your feet in the loops. But once you got started you could climb okay, and especially once the end of the rope had been made fast to the chest in the bottom of the boat.

It was a long climb and Albert regretted not having arrived earlier. He shouldn’t have waited so long. Another hour or two and he wouldn’t have been able to see the ladder, let alone climb it.

He was first up over the lip of the cliff. With a final heave he pushed himself up into the tall grass, rolled out of the way, and, lying on his back, looked up at the sky.

How very strange. Like being inside a soft-boiled egg with the top of the shell chipped away. Sky—normal-seeming sky—but covering only maybe a quarter of the space.

And the growing stain wasn’t night. There were no stars. There was nothing at all. Just blackness.

He stood up and helped the others as one by one they reached the top.

The sea spread for miles before splashing against the black dome. Far away to the south and east was Perdido Beach, lit in sepia, like a crinkly old photo from long ago.

Turning, Albert gazed in quiet satisfaction at the mansion. It was dark, of course. No one was running the generator, which meant Taylor wasn’t here.

She was Albert’s one concern. Taylor could pop in and out whenever she liked. This would be useful for him—Taylor could let him know what was going on in Perdido Beach and the lake.

On the other hand, Taylor was hard to control. Which was why he’d brought a small sack of combination locks. One would go on the pantry, one on the cover of the generator’s switch. Only Albert would know the combinations, so only Albert would control the food and the lights. That would chill Taylor’s independence a bit.

He ordered the girls to pull up the rope and coil it well back from the cliff’s edge. Then he scanned the sea between Perdido Beach and the island. No sign of boats. Which meant most probably no one was coming anytime soon.

But they would. Sitting terrified in the dark, hungry and desperate, kids would see a distant point of light. They would realize it was the island, and that light meant hope.

So just as soon as they had rested a little, had a bite to eat and a look around, Albert would get them busy hauling a couple of the missiles up to the top floor of the mansion. Because whenever that boat came, it, too, would have a light. A single point of light in the darkness.

Albert sighed. He had survived. But he had given up everything. All of Alberco. All he had accomplished. All he had built.

He would miss the challenge of the business.

“Come on, guys,” Albert said. “Come see our new home.”

Drake was pretty sure Brittney had emerged at least once while he was down in this cramped, oily engine room. But he was back now and Brittney had not moved.

Maybe she was getting smarter.

He listened for Sam’s voice. He heard nothing. That didn’t prove Sam was gone. But it meant Drake could take a small risk.

With his tentacle arm he edged the hatch up a quarter of an inch.

The light was definitely different. Strange. Like it was shining through a bottle of Coke or something. Unnatural.

Unsettling.

He pushed the hatch just a bit higher. There was a foot. Not moving. Just there, toes in his direction. He shifted. A second foot. Someone was seated right there, just a couple of feet away. Aimed in his direction.

Problem or opportunity?

That was the question.

The hatch came down suddenly, slammed back into place by running feet.

“Hey, you guys, be careful!”

Diana’s voice! He’d recognize it anywhere.

“Justin, you’re going to break your neck!”

Drake closed his eyes and let the pleasure of it wash over him. She was right there. And from the sound of it there were little kids on board.

Perfect.

Absolutely. Perfect.

Beyond the highway, out in the emptiness at the edge of the desert, Penny stepped on a broken bottle.

It was the bottom of a bottle, the base of what must have been a wine bottle. Green glass. Jagged. A sliver punched up through her calloused sole into the meat of her heel.

“Ahhhh!”

It hurt!

Tears came into Penny’s eyes. Blood gushed from her foot, puddling in the sand. She sat down hard and pulled her foot to her and saw the cut. Lana would have to—

Bandages. Band-Aids.

“Owww! Owww!”

Penny started crying aloud. She was hurt and no one would help her. And what would happen to her when it was dark?

It was all so unfair. So unfair. So wrong.

She’d been on top for not even a few minutes. She’d had Caine right where she wanted him, but no one liked her, and all they did was hate on her, and now her foot was hurt and bleeding.

But not as bad as when her legs were broken. Not as bad as that. And she had survived that, hadn’t she? She had survived and she had come out on top. She wondered how Caine liked having his hands in a block of cement. If they tried to take it off, they would break his hands like her legs had been broken.

Only Lana would help him, wouldn’t she?

She should have taken care of Lana when she had the chance. The Healer might be almost immune to Penny’s power, but would she be immune to a gun? Penny should have had Turk kill the Healer. Yeah, that was what she should have done.

The shadows weren’t lengthening; the light wasn’t really coming from one place. It was like she was down in a well with sun shining up high somewhere directly above, so the light had to bounce down to reach her.

Soon it would be dark.

Then what?

Diana got heavily to her feet just as Justin went tearing past again, full of giddy high spirits and energy.

Atria had wound down. She was in the bow now, reading.

Justin tripped and fell headlong, a projectile aimed right at Diana’s giant belly.

But he didn’t hit.

The little boy flew forward, mouth open, arms stretching out defensively; then he stopped, yanked back, and hit the deck hard.

Diana was moving toward him, worried, when she saw the tentacle wrapped around his ankle. She froze. It made no sense. The tentacle was coming up from the floor!

No. A hatch.

And in a flash the hatch was thrown back and Drake pushed himself awkwardly up.

Diana shot wild looks in every direction, searching for a weapon. Nothing.

Drake was out of the engine space. Standing on the deck. Grinning at her.

She knew she should scream, but her breath was gone. Her heart was hammering with no rhythm, just thudding wildly in her chest.

Drake lifted the boy off the deck with effortless strength, carried him over the side, and plunged him under the water.

Diana stared at him with horror. How could he be here? How was this possible?

“What. No snarky remark, Diana?”

Diana saw legs kicking below the surface of the water. Drake twisted his tentacle just a bit so that the little boy’s face was visible. So that she could see his wide, white eyes. So that she could see that he was screaming away the last of his air, an explosion of suicidal bubbles.

“Let him go,” Diana said, but with no force, because she knew Drake wouldn’t listen.

“There’s a dinghy tied up. Climb your fine butt down into it, Diana. Once you’re in, I let the kid up. Not before. So I’d hurry if I were you.”

Diana sobbed just once, a sudden sharp exhalation.

She could see the fear in the boy’s eyes. The pleading.

If she hesitated, he would drown. And Drake would still be here.

Diana rushed to the bow. She climbed over the rail and dropped awkwardly into the boat. “I’m in!” she cried. “Let him go.”

Drake sauntered down the length of the sailboat. He kept his whip arm in the water. He was dragging the boy through the water, keeping him submerged.

Atria saw now and screamed.

There was a rush of feet coming from below. Roger emerged on deck, panting. Drake smiled at him.

“I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure,” he said. Then he lifted Justin up out of the water. The little boy was silent, eyes closed, pale as death.

Roger’s expression turned murderous. With a roar he ran at Drake. Drake swung Justin like a wet wrecking ball and smashed Roger so hard he went over the side.

When he reached the bow he met Diana’s tearful gaze. He dumped Justin, like a sack of garbage, in the dinghy.

“I think he’s taking a nap,” Drake said, and hopped down into the boat.

Diana knelt over Justin. His eyes were closed. His lips were blue. When she touched his face he felt as cold as death.

Long-lost memories came now. Was it a video they’d shown in some class? In some different world?

It was hard for Diana with her belly to bend over low enough to put her mouth over the little boy’s lips. She had to lift his head to her and she was barely strong enough to do it.

She breathed into his mouth. Pause. Breathe again. Pause.

Drake untied the rope and settled in at the oars. He wrapped two feet of his tentacle arm around the right oar.

Breathe. Pause. Breathe.

Pulse, she should check for a pulse. Diana pressed two fingers against the boy’s neck.

Drake had started singing. It was the song from the Pirates of the Caribbean ride at Disney World.

Something. A flutter in the little boy’s neck.

Breathe. Pause. Breathe.

He coughed. Coughed again and spit up water. Diana pulled him into a sitting position.

“Well, just look at you, Diana: you saved his life,” Drake said. “You want to keep his life?” He waited as though he actually expected an answer. When she said nothing he went on, “If you want to keep him alive, you won’t open your mean little mouth. One sound from you and I’ll drown him like a puppy.”

Already the dinghy was near shore. No more than twenty more pulls of the oars.

Diana shot a glance back at the houseboat. She saw Dekka on the top deck, but she wasn’t looking this way. She was looking up at the shrinking sky.

No Sam. No Edilio.

“Yeah, kinda sucks, huh?” Drake said cheerfully. “Anyway, Dekka couldn’t do anything. Not from that distance.”

Diana scanned the onrushing shore. No one.

Wait. Sinder. She was dragging a massive sack of something down the shore. Jezzie was behind her.

Drake saw the hope in her eyes. He winked. “Oh, don’t worry: we’ll stop and talk to them. We’ll tell them you’ve decided on a little vacation. Say you’re going back to Caine.”

Could Drake be that stupid to believe that anyone would buy that story? To imagine that Sinder and Jezzie would stand calmly discussing things with Whip Hand?

Maybe. Who knew what Drake had been up to? Who could tell how much his psychopathic mind had deteriorated?

He was singing again, more or less in time with the oars.

“What do you want, Drake?” Diana demanded, trying to put on a brave front.

Drake smiled. “Did I ever thank you for sawing off my arm, Diana? I was mad at the time. But if you hadn’t done that for me, I wouldn’t be Whip Hand.”

“I should have sawed through your neck.” Diana spit the words.

“Yeah,” he said, meeting her furious, terrified gaze without flinching. “You should have. You really should have.”

SERGEANT DARIUS
ASHTON
saw the signs that in his absence his quarters had been entered. Nothing most people would notice, but he was by long habit a very organized man. He had a small room in the NCO barracks, no bigger than a walk-in closet, really. The bunk was narrow and the army-issue blanket was so tight you could bounce a quarter off it. The pillow squared just so. And now there was just the slightest indentation where someone had sat on the edge of the bed and then tried to smooth it.