Hunger (12 page)

Lana nodded. She looked a little bleak, a little forlorn. Which seemed impossible to Quinn. Lana was second only to Sam in hero status. And the difference was that some people really kind of hated Sam, while no one hated Lana. Sam might make you do something—pick up garbage, take care of the prees at the day care, shoot someone with a machine gun—but all Lana ever did was heal people.

“Yeah. It’s kind of cool,” Lana said. “But I don’t really know anyone.”

“No way. You know everyone.”

Lana shook her head ruefully. “No. Everyone knows me. Or at least they think they do.”

“Well, you know me,” Quinn said, and made a kind of slanted grin so she’d know he wasn’t trying to get above himself and act like her equal.

But that wasn’t how she took it. She nodded, so serious that she looked like she might cry. “I miss my parents.”

Quinn felt the sudden, sharp pang he’d felt about every hour back when all this started, and now felt only a couple of times a day. “Yeah. Me too.”

Lana held out her hand, and Quinn, after a moment’s amazed hesitation, took it.

Lana smiled. “Is it okay if I just hold your hand and don’t, you know, heal you of anything?”

Quinn laughed. “Whatever’s wrong with me, it isn’t something even you can heal.” Then, “You want to dance?”

“I’ve been waiting to talk to Albert, standing around here for like, an hour, and you are the first person to ask me,” she said. “Yeah. I would kind of like to dance.”

The song had just changed to a hip-hop tune, a raucous, flatly obscene rap. It was a few years old, but still catchy, and had the added attraction of being a song no one in the room had been allowed to listen to three months earlier.

Quinn and Lana danced, even bumped hips a couple of times. Then Hunter changed the mood to a moderately slow, dreamy song by Lucinda Williams. “I love this song,” Lana said.

“I…I don’t know how to dance slow,” Quinn said.

“Me neither. Let’s try it, though.”

So they held each other awkwardly and just swayed back
and forth. After a while Lana laid her face against Quinn’s shoulder. He could feel her tears on his neck.

“This is kind of a sad song,” Quinn said.

“Do you dream, Quinn?” Lana asked.

The question took him aback. She must have felt him flinch because she looked at his face, looking for the explanation in his eyes.

“I have nightmares,” he said. “The battle. You know. The big battle.”

“You were really brave. You saved those kids in the day care.”

“Not all of them,” Quinn said shortly. He fell silent for a moment, back in the dream. “There was this coyote. And this kid, right? And…and…Okay, so I could have shot him, maybe, a little sooner, right? But I was scared of hitting the kid. I was so scared I’d hit that little kid, so I didn’t shoot. And then it was, like, too late. You know?”

Lana nodded. She didn’t show any sympathy, and strangely Quinn thought that was a good thing because if it wasn’t you, and
you
hadn’t been there, and
you
hadn’t been holding a machine gun with your finger frozen on the trigger, and
you
hadn’t heard your voice coming out of your throat in a scream like an open artery, and
you
hadn’t seen what he had seen, then you didn’t have a right to be sympathetic because you didn’t understand anything. You didn’t understand anything.

Anything.

Lana just nodded and put her palm against his heart and
said, “I can’t heal that.”

He nodded, fighting back the tears that had come…how many times since that horrible night? Let’s see, three months, thirty days in a month, that would make it about a thousand times. Maybe more. Not less, not if you counted the times he had wanted to cry but had plastered on his happy-go-lucky Quinn smile because the alternative was falling down on the ground and sobbing.

“That’s my sad stuff,” he said after a while. “What’s yours?”

She cocked her head sideways as if sizing him up, asking herself if she wanted to share with him. Him of all people. Unsteady Quinn. Unreliable Quinn. Quinn, who had sold Sam out to end up being tortured by Caine and Drake. Quinn, who had almost gotten Astrid killed. Quinn, who was only tolerated now because when it had all hit the fan in the big battle he had finally stepped up and pulled that trigger and…

“You ever meet someone you can’t quite forget?” Lana asked him. “Someone who you meet them and forever after it’s like they own a piece of you?”

“No,” Quinn said. He felt a little disappointed. “I guess he’s a lucky dude.”

Lana was so startled, she laughed. “No. Not that kind of guy. Maybe not a guy at all. Maybe not…well, not a dude the way you mean. More like someone took a fishing hook, right? Like they took that hook and stuck it in me like I was a worm. You know how on the end of a fishhook there’s this barb? So
you can’t pull it out without ripping a big hole in yourself?”

Quinn nodded without really understanding.

“And then, maybe, here’s what’s weird, right: You almost want the fisherman to reel you in. It’s like, okay, you have that hook in me, and it hurts, but I can’t get it out, I’m stuck. So just reel me in. Just get it over with and stay out of my dreams because they’re all nightmares.”

Quinn still didn’t understand what she meant, but the image of a fish, reeled in, helpless, stuck with him. Quinn knew hopelessness when he heard it. He’d just never expected to hear it from the most beloved person in the FAYZ.

The musical tempo changed again. Enough with the slow music, kids wanted to rock out, so Hunter dialed up some techno that Quinn didn’t recognize. He started to move to the rhythm, but Lana wasn’t into it.

She put her hand on his shoulder and said, “I see Albert’s free, and I have to talk to him.”

She turned away without a further word. Quinn was left with the feeling that however bad his nightmares were, the Healer’s were worse.

61
HOURS
, 3
MINUTES

THE ARGUMENT WITH
Astrid about Albert’s club had not been pretty.

Most nights Sam slept at the house Astrid shared with Mary. Not this night.

It wasn’t their first argument. It probably wouldn’t be their last.

Sam hated arguing. When he added up the total number of people he could really talk to, the number came to two: Edilio and Astrid. His conversations with Edilio were mostly about official business. His conversations with Astrid used to be about deeper stuff, and lighter stuff, too. Now they seemed to be always talking about work. And arguing about it.

He was in love with Astrid. He wanted to talk to her about all the stuff she knew, the history, the math even, the big cosmic issues that she would explain and he would kind of almost understand.

And he wanted to make out with her, to tell the truth.
Kissing Astrid, stroking her hair, having her nuzzle close to him, that was all that kept him from going crazy sometimes.

But instead of making out and talking about the stars or whatever, they argued. It reminded him of his mother and stepfather. Not happy memories.

He spent the night on the lumpy cot in his office and woke early, before the sun was even up. He dressed and crept out before kids could start arriving to bug him with more problems.

The streets were quiet. They usually were nowadays. Some kids had been given permission to drive, but only on official business. So there was no traffic. On the rare occasions there was a car or a truck, you’d hear it long before you saw it.

Now Sam heard a motor. Far off. But it didn’t sound like a car.

He reached the low concrete wall that defined the edge of the beach. He jumped atop it and immediately spotted the source of the sound. A low-slung motorboat, a bass boat they were often called, was putt-putting along at no more than walking speed. With dawn just graying the night sky Sam could make out a silhouette. He was pretty sure he recognized the person.

Sam walked down to the water’s edge, cupped his hands around his mouth to form a megaphone, and yelled, “Quinn.”

Quinn seemed to be fiddling with something Sam couldn’t see. He yelled back, “Is that you, brah?”

“Yeah, man. What are you doing out there?”

“Wait a second.” Quinn stooped down, dealing with something. Then he turned the boat toward shore. He beached the shallow craft and killed the engine. He hopped out onto the sand.

“What are you doing, man?” Sam asked again.

“Fishing, brother. Fishing.”

“Fishing?”

“People are looking for food, right?” Quinn said.

“Dude, you can’t just decide to take a boat and go off fishing,” Sam said.

Quinn seemed surprised. “Why not?”

“Why not?”

“Why not? No one’s using the boat. I found the fishing gear. And I’m still putting in my guard-duty hours with Edilio.”

Sam was at a loss for words. “Did you catch anything?”

Quinn’s teeth showed white in the darkness. “I found a book on fishing. Just did what they said in there.” He reached down into the boat and lifted something heavy. “Here. You can’t see it in the dark. But I’ll bet it weighs twenty pounds. It’s huge.”

“No way.” Despite his foul mood, Sam grinned. “What is it?”

“I think it’s a halibut. I’m not sure. It doesn’t look exactly like the fish in the book I got.”

“What do you plan to do with it?”

“Well,” Quinn said thoughtfully. “I guess I’m going to try and catch some more, and then I’m going to eat a bunch of it, and then maybe see if Albert will trade me something for
whatever I don’t eat. You know Albert: he’ll figure out some way to fry them up at Mickey D’s and do fish sticks or whatever. I wonder if he still has any ketchup.”

“I’m not sure that’s the best idea,” Sam said.

“Why?”

“Because Albert doesn’t just give stuff away. Not any more.”

Quinn laughed nervously. “Look, brah, don’t tell me I can’t do this, okay? I’m not hurting anyone.”

“I never said you were hurting anyone,” Sam said. “But look, Albert’s going to sell this fish to whoever will give him whatever he wants: batteries and toilet paper, whatever else he figures out he can control.”

“Sam. I got, like, twenty pounds of good protein here.”

“Yeah. And it ought to go to the people who aren’t getting enough, right? Mother Mary could serve some to the prees. They’re not eating much better than the rest of us, and they need it more.”

Quinn dug his toe in the wet sand. “Look, if you don’t want me to sell or trade the fish to Albert, okay. But look, I have this fish, right? What am I supposed to do with it? Someone needs to put it on ice before long. I can’t just walk around town handing out pieces of fish, right?”

Once again Sam felt the wave of unanswerable questions rising around him like a tide. Now he had to decide what Quinn did with a fish?

Quinn continued. “Look, I’m just saying I can haul this fish and any others I get up to Albert and he has a refrigerator
big enough to keep it in good shape. Plus, you know how he is: he’ll figure out how to clean it and cook it and—”

“All right,” Sam interrupted. “Fine. Whatever. Give it to Albert this time. Till I figure out some kind of, I don’t know, some kind of rule.”

“Thanks, man,” Quinn said.

Sam turned and headed back toward town.

“You should have come in and danced last night, brah,” Quinn yelled after him.

“You know I don’t dance.”

“Sam, if anyone ever needed to cut loose, it’s you.”

Sam tried to ignore his words, but their pitying, concerned tone bothered him. It meant that he wasn’t keeping his mind secret. It meant he was broadcasting his foul, self-pitying mood, and that wasn’t good. Bad example.

“Hey, brah?” Quinn called.

“Yeah, man.”

“You know that crazy story Duck Zhang’s talking about? Not the cave thing, but the part about, like, flying fish-bats or whatever?”

“What about them?”

“I think I saw some. Came shooting up out of the water. Of course, it was dark.”

“Okay,” Sam said. “Later, dude.”

As he walked across the beach he muttered, “My life is fish stories and Junior Mints.”

Something was nagging at him. And not just Astrid. Something. Something about Junior Mints.

But weariness swept over him and dissolved the half-formed thought. He was due at town hall before long. More stupidity to deal with.

He heard Quinn singing Bob Marley’s “Three Little Birds” to himself. Or maybe to Sam.

Then the sound of the putt-putt outboard motor starting again.

Sam felt an intense stab of jealousy.

“You don’t worry,” Quinn said, echoing the song.

“I do.”

“Caine?”

No answer. Diana tapped at the door again.

“Hungry in the dark,” Caine cried in an eerie, warbling voice. “Hungry in the dark, hungry in the dark, hungry, hungry.”

“Oh, God, are we back to this?” Diana asked herself.

During his three-month-long funk Caine had screamed or cried or raged in various different ways. But this phrase had been the one most often repeated.
Hungry in the dark
.

She pushed open the door. Caine was thrashing in his bed, sheet twisted around his body, arms batting at something invisible.

Caine had moved out of Mose’s cabin into the bungalow once occupied by the headmistress of Coates Academy and her husband. It was one of the few still-undamaged, untrashed spaces at Coates. The room had a big, comfortable bed with satin-soft sheets. There were prints of the kind baby
boomers bought at Z Gallerie on the walls.

Diana moved quickly to the window as Caine cut loose again, wailing like a lost soul about hunger in the darkness. She raised the room-darkening blinds, and pale early sunlight lit the room.

Caine sat up suddenly. “What?” he said. He blinked hard several times and shivered. “Why are you here?”

“You were doing it again,” Diana said.

“Doing what?”

“‘Hungry in the dark.’ It’s one of your greatest hits. Sometimes you change it to ‘hungry in the darkness.’ You muttered it, moaned it, shouted it for weeks on end, Caine. Darkness, hunger, and that word: ‘gaiaphage.’” She sat down on the edge of his bed. “What’s it all mean?”

Caine shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“The Darkness. Drake talks about it, too. The thing out in the desert. The thing that gave him his arm. The thing that messed up your head.”

Caine didn’t say anything.

“It’s a monster of some kind, isn’t it?” Diana asked.

“Of some kind,” Caine muttered.

“Is it some mutant kid or whatever? Or like the coyotes, some kind of mutant animal?”

“It is what it is,” Caine said shortly.

“What does it want?”

Caine looked suspiciously at her. “What do you care?”

“I live here, remember? I have to live in the FAYZ along with everyone else. So I kind of have an interest in whether
some evil creature is using all of us for some—”

“No one uses me,” Caine snapped.

Diana fell silent, letting his anger ebb. Then, “It messed you up, Caine. You’re not you anymore.”

“Did you send Jack to warn Sam? Did you send him to tell Sam how to survive the poof?”

The question caught Diana unprepared. It took all her self-control to keep fear from her face. “That’s what you think?” Diana managed a wry smile. “So that’s why I’m being followed everywhere I go.”

Caine didn’t deny it. “I’m in love with you, Diana. You took care of me these last three months. I don’t want you to be hurt.”

“Why are you threatening me?”

“Because I have plans. I have things I have to do. I need to know whose side you’re on.”

“I’m on my side,” Diana said. It was the honest answer. She didn’t trust herself to convince him of a lie. If he thought she was lying…

Caine nodded. “Yeah. Fine. Be on your own side, I respect that. But if I find out you’re helping Sam…”

Diana decided it was time for a show of anger. “Listen, you sad excuse for a human being, I had a choice. Sam offered me that choice after he kicked your butt. I could have gone with him. It would have been the smart move. I would have been safe from Drake. And I wouldn’t have had to put up with you trying to paw me every time you felt lonely. And I would definitely be eating better. I chose to go with you.”

Caine sat up straighter. He leaned toward her. His eyes made his intentions clear.

“Oh, here we go.” Diana rolled her eyes.

But when he kissed her, she let him. And after a few seconds of stony indifference she kissed him back.

Then she put her palm on his bare chest and shoved him back onto his pillow. “That’s enough.”

“Not nearly enough, but I guess it will have to do,” Caine said.

“I’m out of here,” Diana said. She started for the door.

“Diana?”

“What?”

“I need Computer Jack.”

She froze with her hand on the doorknob. “I don’t have him hidden in my room.”

“Listen to me, Diana, and don’t say anything. Okay? I’m telling you: don’t say anything. This is a one-time offer. Amnesty. Whatever happened with you and Jack and Sam, it’s forgotten, if…if you get me Jack. Bygones will be bygones. But I need Jack. I need him soon.”

“Caine—”

“Shut up,” he hissed. “Do yourself a favor, Diana. Don’t. Say. Anything.”

She bit back the angry retort. There was no mistaking the menace in his voice. He meant it. This time, he meant it.

“Get me Jack. Use any resource you want. Use Bug. Use Drake, even. Use Pack Leader, if that’ll help. I don’t care how it gets done, but I want Jack in two days. Starting now.”

Diana struggled for her next breath.

“Two days, Diana. You know the ‘or else.’”

Albert was supervising the sweeping of his club by one of his crew, and reading about the melting points of various metals—lead and gold, especially gold—when Quinn pushed a wheelbarrow into the McDonald’s.

In the wheelbarrow were three fish. One was very big for a fish. The other two looked more average.

Albert’s
second
thought was that this was an opportunity.

His
first
thought was that he was hungry and would definitely enjoy a nice piece of fried fish. Even raw fish. The strength of the hunger pangs caught him off-guard. He tried to ignore the hunger, eating very little himself and making sure that his crew were as well fed as possible, but when a guy walked in with actual, honest-to-God fish…

“Whoa,” Albert said.

“Yeah. Cool, huh?” Quinn said, smiling down at his fish like a proud parent.

“Are they for sale?” Albert asked.

“Yeah. Except for whatever I can eat. Plus, we got to send some to Mary for the prees.”

“Of course,” Albert agreed. He considered. “I don’t have anything I can use to make a batter. But I could probably dip them in a little flour to give them a little crunchiness.”

“Man, I’ll eat ’em raw,” Quinn said. “I barely got them here without chomping on them.”

“What do you want for all three?” Albert asked.

Quinn was obviously baffled. “Dude, I don’t know.”

“Okay,” Albert said. “How about this: You get a free pass to the club. Plus, you get all the fish you can eat. And, I owe you a major favor in the future.”

“A major favor?”

“Major,” Albert confirmed. “Look, I’m doing some things. I have some plans. As a matter of fact, they’re plans I would like you to help me with.”

“Uh-huh,” Quinn said skeptically.

“I’m asking you to trust me, Quinn. You trust me, and I’ll trust you.”

Albert knew that would hit home with Quinn. Trust was the last thing anyone offered Quinn.

Albert changed the subject, just a little. “How did you catch these fish, Quinn?”

“Um, well, it’s not that hard to figure out. I used a net to scoop up some little fish, you know, not like fish you could eat. Then I used them as bait. You get the little fish in tide pools and shallow water. There’s plenty of gear and boats. Then you just need to be really, really patient.”

“This could be major,” Albert said thoughtfully. Then, “Okay, I have a proposition for you.”

Quinn grinned. “I’m listening.”

“I have twenty-four guys on my crew. Mostly they guard Ralph’s and move food around. But the truth is, there isn’t much left to guard or to move around. So.”