Lies: A Gone Novel (10 page)

“I think it's a tuna,” Katrina opined.

None of them really knew what some of the fish were. They were either edible or not, either had a lot of bones or didn't. This fish, slowly gasping his last, looked very edible.

“Maybe so,” Quinn said mildly. “Big, anyway.”

“Took all three of us to haul him aboard,” Katrina said, laughing happily at the memory of the three of them slipping, sliding, and cursing.

“Good morning's work,” Quinn said. “So, guys. You think it's about time for brunch?” It was an old joke by now. By mid-morning everyone was starving. They'd come to call it brunch.

Quinn dug out the silver coach's whistle he used to communicate across his scattered fleet. He blew three long blasts.

The other boats all dug in their oars and began heading toward Quinn's boat. Everyone found new energy when it
was time to assemble for brunch.

There were no waves, no storms, even here, a mile offshore; it was like lolling in the middle of a placid mountain lake. From this far out it was possible to believe that Perdido Beach looked normal. From this far out it was a lovely little beach town sparkling in the sun.

They broke out the hibachi and the wood they'd kept dry, and Katrina, who had amazing skill with these things, started a fire going. One of the girls in another boat cut off the tail section of the tuna, scaled it, and sliced it into purple-pink steaks.

In addition to the fish they had three cabbages and some cold, boiled artichokes. The smell of the fish cooking was like a drug. No one could really think of anything else until it had been eaten.

Then they sat back, with the boats loosely roped together, and talked, taking a break before they spent another hour fishing and then faced the long row back into town.

“I bet that was tuna,” a boy said.

“I don't know what it was, but it was good. I wouldn't mind eating another few slices of that.”

“Hey, we have plenty of octopus,” someone joked. Octopi weren't something you had to catch; they sort of caught themselves, a lot of the time. And no one liked them very much. But everyone had eaten them on more than one occasion.

“Octopus this,” someone said, accompanying it with a rude gesture.

Quinn found himself staring off to the north. Perdido
Beach was at the extreme southern end of the FAYZ, snugged right up against the barrier. Quinn had been with Sam when in the first days of the FAYZ they'd fled Perdido Beach and headed up the coast looking for a way out.

Sam's plan had originally been to follow the barrier all the way. Foot by foot, over water and land, looking for an escape hatch.

That had not quite happened. Other events had intervened.

“You know what we should have done?” Quinn said, barely realizing that he was speaking out loud. “We should have explored all that area up there. Back when we still had plenty of gas.”

Big Goof said, “Explore what? You mean, looking for fish?”

Quinn shrugged. “It's not like we've exactly run out of fish down here. We almost always seem to catch some. But don't you ever kind of wonder if there's better fishing farther north?”

Big Goof considered it carefully. He was not the sharpest pencil in the box; strong and sweet, but not very curious. “That's a long row.”

“Yeah, it would be,” Quinn acknowledged. “But I'm saying, if we still had gas.”

He pulled the visor of his floppy hat low and considered taking just a brief snooze. But no, that wouldn't do. He was in charge. For the first time in his life, Quinn had responsibility.
He wasn't going to screw that up.

“There are islands up there,” Katrina said.

“Yep.” Quinn yawned. “I wish we'd checked all that out. But Goof is right: it's a long, long row.”

BRIANNA TOOK BRITTNEY
in, as Sam asked. She gave her a room.

Sam had instructed her not to tell anyone. She was fine with that.

Brianna respected Astrid and Albert and the others on the council, but she and Sam, hey, they had been in battle together many times. He had saved her life. She had saved his.

Jack was also at Brianna's, but she didn't think that was really Sam's business, or anyone's. Jack was doing a little better. The flu seemed to have a short shelf life, just one of those twenty-four-hour things. Jack had stopped coughing quite so spectacularly. The walls and floor were safe again. Besides, one of Jack's charming quirks was that if it wasn't on a computer screen, he pretty much didn't see it. So she doubted he would notice their new roomie unless she came with a USB port in her head.

Sam had also asked Brianna not to do anything other than
feed Brittney, maybe help her wash up a little, though the closest thing to a shower now was walking into the surf.

“Don't ask her questions,” Sam had said quite clearly.

“Why not?”

“Because we may not want to hear the answers,” he had muttered. Then, he amended that. “Look, we don't want to stress her, okay? Something very weird has happened. We don't know if this is some kind of freak thing or something else. Either way, she's been through a lot.”

“You think?” Brianna had said. “What with being dead and buried and all?”

Sam sighed, but tolerantly. “If anyone's going to question her, it probably shouldn't be me. And definitely not you.”

Brianna knew what he was saying. Despite keeping Brittney under wraps, Sam probably figured it would all have to come out soon enough. And he probably figured if anyone was going to question Brittney, it should probably be Astrid.

Well…

“So, Brittney, how are you?” Brianna asked. She had been up for a few minutes, which was a long time for Brianna. In a few minutes she had been able to run down to the shore, fill a gallon jug with salt water, and run back to the house.

Brittney was still in the room where Brianna had put her. Still on the bed. Still lying there, eyes open. Brianna wondered if she'd slept at all.

Did zombies sleep?

Brittney sat up in the bed. Brianna set the water down on the nightstand.

“You want to wash up?”

The sheets were smeared with mud, which wasn't much dirtier than they usually were. It was amazingly hard to get things clean by swooshing them around in the ocean, even when you could swoosh at super speed like Brianna.

Things still came out kind of dirty. And crusty with salt. And scratchy. And they gave you rashes.

Brittney sort of smiled, showing her dirty braces. But she showed no interest in cleaning up.

“Okay, let me help out.” Brianna took a dirty old T-shirt off the floor and dipped it in the water. She rubbed at some mud on Brittney's shoulder.

The mud came off.

But Brittney's skin did not come clean.

Brianna rubbed some more. More mud came off. No clean skin showed through.

Brianna felt a chill. Brianna wasn't scared of much. She had grown accustomed to the fact that her super speed rendered her almost invulnerable, unstoppable. She had gone toe-to-toe with Caine and walked away laughing. But this was just plain disturbing.

Brianna swallowed hard. She wiped again. And again, the same thing.

“Okay,” Brianna said softly. “Brittney, I think maybe it's, like, time for you to tell me what's going on with you. Because I'd like to know whether you're sitting there thinking you'd like to eat my brain.”

“Your brain?” Brittney asked.

“Yeah. I mean, come on, Brittney. You're a zombie. Let's face it. I'm not supposed to use that word, but someone who rises from the dead and climbs up out of their grave and walks among us: that's a zombie.”

“I'm not a zombie,” Brittney said calmly. “I'm an angel.”

“Ah.”

“I called upon the Lord in my tribulation and he heard me. Tanner went to Him and asked Him to save me.”

Brianna considered that for a moment. “Well, I guess it's better than being a zombie.”

“Give me your hand,” Brittney said.

Brianna hesitated. But she told herself if Brittney tried to bite it, she could snatch it back before she sank her teeth in.

Brianna extended her hand. Brittney took it. She pulled it toward her, but not toward her mouth. Instead, she placed Brianna's hand against her chest.

“Do you feel it?”

“Feel what?” Brianna asked.

“The quiet. I have no heartbeat.”

Brianna felt cold. But not as cold as Brittney. Brianna kept her hand in place. She felt no vibration.

No heartbeat.

“I don't breathe, either,” Brittney said.

“No?” Brianna whispered.

“God saved me,” Brittney said earnestly. “He heard my prayers and He saved me to do His will.”

“Brittney, you're…you were down there in the ground for a long time.”

“Very long,” Brittney said. She frowned. The frown made creases in the mud that smeared her face. The mud that could not be cleaned off.

“So, you must be hungry, right?” Brianna asked, returning to her primary concern.

“I don't need to eat. Before, I took water. I swallowed it, but I didn't feel it go down. And I realized…”

“What?”

“That I didn't need it.”

“Okay.”

Brittney smiled her metal smile again. “So, I don't want to eat your brain, Brianna.”

“That's good,” Brianna said. “So…what
do
you want to do?”

“The end is coming, Brianna,” Brittney said. “It's why my prayers were answered. It's why Tanner and I came back.”

“You and…okay. When you say ‘the end,' what's that mean?”

“The prophet is already among us. She will lead us from this place. She will lead us to our Lord, out of bondage.”

“Good,” Brianna said dryly. “I just hope the food's better there.”

“Oh, it is,” Brittney said enthusiastically. “It's cake and cheeseburgers and everything you would ever want.”

“So you're the prophet?”

“No, no,” Brittney said with modestly downcast eyes. “I am not the prophet. I am an angel of the Lord. I am the avenger of the Lord, come to destroy the evil one.”

“Which evil one? We have a few. Are we talking pitchforks?”

Brittney smiled, but this time her braces did not show. It was a cool, wintry smile, a secret smile. “This demon does not have a pitchfork, Brianna. The evil one comes with a whip.”

Brianna considered this for several seconds.

“I have someplace I have to be,” Brianna said. She left as quickly as only she could.

 

“What do you want for your birthday?” John asked Mary.

Mary shook poop from a napkin that was doubling as a diaper. The feces dropped into a plastic trash can that would be taken out later and buried in a trench dug by Edilio's backhoe.

“I'd like to not do this, that would be a great birthday,” Mary said.

“I'm serious,” John said reproachfully.

Mary smiled and inclined her head toward his, forehead to forehead. It was their version of a hug. A private thing between the two members of the Terrafino family. “I'm serious, too.”

“You should definitely take the day off,” John said. “I mean, you have to get through the whole poof thing. People say it's kind of intense.”

“Sounds like it,” Mary said vaguely. She dropped the diaper into a second bucket, this one half filled with water. The water smelled of bleach. The bucket rested in a little red wagon so that it could be hauled to the beach. There, laundry workers
would do an indifferent job of washing it in the ocean and send it back still stained and itchy with sand and salt.

“You're ready for it, right?” John asked.

Mary glanced at the watch. Francis's watch. She'd taken it off while she was washing. How many hours left? How many minutes until the big one-five?

Mary nodded. “I read the instructions. I talked to a person who'd been through it. I did everything I was supposed to.”

“Okay,” John said unhappily. Out of nowhere, John said, “You know Orsay is lying, right?”

“I know she cost me Francis,” Mary snapped. “That's all I need to know.”

“Yeah! See? Look what happened from him listening to her.”

“I wonder how Jill is doing with them,” Mary wondered aloud. She was on to the next diaper. With Francis gone and no one entirely trained to take over for him, Mary had even more work than usual. And not the best work, either.

“She's probably okay,” John said.

“Yeah, but if Orsay is this big liar, maybe I shouldn't have let her take Jill,” Mary said.

John seemed baffled by that, not sure how to respond. He blushed and looked down.

“I'm sure she's fine,” Mary said quickly, interpreting his look as concern for Jill.

“Yeah. Just because Orsay is, like, lying, that doesn't mean she'd be bad to Jill,” John said.

“Maybe I'll go check on her,” Mary said. “In my spare
time.” She laughed. It was a running joke that had long since stopped being funny.

“You probably should just stay away from Orsay,” John said.

“Yeah?”

“I mean, I don't know. I just know Astrid says Orsay's making everything up.”

“If Astrid said it, it must be true,” Mary said.

John did not answer, just looked pained.

“Okay,” Mary said, “this load can go down to the beach.”

John seemed relieved to have a chance to get away. Mary heard him leave, wagon wheels squeaking. She glanced into the main room. Three helpers there, only one of them really motivated or trained. But they could handle things for a few minutes.

Mary washed her hands as well as she could and dried them by wiping them on her loose-fitting jeans.

Where would Orsay be at this time of day?

Mary stepped outside and took a deep breath of air that didn't smell like pee or poop. She closed her eyes, enjoying the sensation. When she opened them again she was surprised to find Nerezza walking quickly toward her as though they'd arranged to meet right now and Nerezza was a bit late. “You're—,” Mary began.

“Nerezza,” the girl reminded her.

“Yeah. That's right. It's weird, but I don't remember having really met you before the other day when you came and got Jill.”

“Oh, you've seen me around,” Nerezza said. “But I'm no one important. Everyone knows you, though, Mary. Mother Mary.”

“I was just coming to look for Orsay,” Mary said.

“Why?”

“I wanted to check on Jill.”

“That's not why,” Nerezza said, almost smiling.

Mary's expression hardened. “Okay. Francis, that's why. I don't know what Orsay told him, but you must know what he did. I can't believe that's what Orsay wanted. But you need to stop it, not let it happen again.”

“Stop what from happening?”

“Francis stepped out. He killed himself.”

Nerezza's dark eyebrows climbed. “He did? No. No, Mary. He went to his mother.”

“That's stupid,” Mary said. “No one knows what happens if you step out during the poof.”

Nerezza put her hand on Mary's arm. It was a surprising gesture. Mary wasn't sure she liked it, but she didn't shake it off. “Mary: The Prophetess does know what happens. She sees it. Every night.”

“Oh? Because I've heard she's lying. Making it all up.”

“I know what you've heard,” Nerezza said in a pitying voice. “Astrid says the Prophetess is lying. But you must know that Astrid is a very religious person, and very, very proud. She thinks she knows all the truth there is to know. She can't stand the idea that someone else might be chosen to reveal the truth.”

“I've known Astrid a long time,” Mary said. She was about to deny what Nerezza had said. But it was true, wasn't it? Astrid
was
proud. She had very definite beliefs.

“Listen to the words of the Prophetess,” Nerezza said, as though imparting a secret. “The Prophetess has seen that we will all suffer a time of terrible tribulation. This will come very soon. And then, Mary,
then
will come the demon and the angel. And in a red sunset we will be delivered.”

Mary held her breath, mesmerized. She wanted to say something snarky, something dismissive. But Nerezza spoke with absolute conviction.

“Come tonight, Mary, in the hours before dawn. Come and the Prophetess will speak to you herself, I can promise that. And then, I believe, you will see the truth and goodness inside her.” She smiled and crossed her arms over her chest. “She's like you, Mary: strong and good, and filled with love.”