AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I almost laugh. She’s old, but sharp. And tough. And fearless. And full of faith. She’d have to be to survive this long. Whoever’s left now will have her kind of spirit—what did Cassie call them? The bent but unbroken ones. For a desperate instant I consider taking her up on the offer, leaving Dumbo with her while I race to the caverns to find Cup and Ringer. It might be his best chance—no, his only chance.
I clear my throat. “You ran out of cans? So what’s in the soup?”
She raises the spoon to her lips, closes her eyes, sips the brownish broth. The cat at my feet lifts its mangy head and stares up at me with huge yellow eyes.
I know what she’s going to say a microsecond before she says it.
“Cat.”
In one fluid motion, she hurls the scalding liquid toward my face. I stumble backward, knock against a stack of magazines, and lose my balance. She’s on me before I hit the floor, her fingers locking around a fistful of my jacket, which she uses to hurl me across the room as easily as a kid throws a stuffed animal. The rifle falls from my shoulder when I hit the far wall. Lying on my side, I point my sidearm at the shimmering blob hurtling toward me.
She’s too fast or I’m too slow—she knocks the gun out of my hand. Her fingers lock around my throat. She yanks me upright, shoves my head against the wall and brings her face close to mine, her deep green eyes sparking with infinite malice.
“You shouldn’t be here,” she hisses. “It’s too soon.”
Her face swims into and out of focus. Too soon? Then I understand: She saw the eyepiece. She thinks I’m part of the 5th Wave, which won’t be launched for another week, after she returns to the mothership, after Urbana and every other city on Earth is gone.
I’ve found the Urbana Silencer.
18
“CHANGE OF PLANS,” I gasp. She’s allowing me just enough air. The grip of her icy fingers is so hard, the strength behind it so obvious, I’m sure she could snap my neck with a flick of her bony wrist. That would be bad. Bad for Dumbo, bad for Ringer and Teacup, and especially bad for me. The only thing that’s kept me alive is her surprise that I’m here, miles from the nearest base and in a place that won’t exist at week’s end.
Your fault, Zombie. You had the chance to neutralize her and you blew it.
Well. She reminded me of my grandmother.
Grandma Silencer cocks her head at my response, like a curious bird spying a tasty morsel. “Change of plans? That isn’t possible.”
“Air support’s already been called in,” I gasp, desperate to buy time. “Didn’t you hear the plane?” Each second I keep her off balance is another second of life. On the other hand, telling her that bombers are on their way may be the shortest path to the quickest death.
“I don’t believe that,” she tells me. “I think you’re a filthy little liar.”
My rifle lies a couple of feet away. Very close. Too far. Again she reminds me of a bird, the way she cocks her head when she looks at me, her head tilted to one side like a damned green-eyed crow, and then I feel it—the violent thrust of an invading consciousness, her consciousness, ripping into me like a drill into soft wood. I feel crushed and flayed open at the same time. There’s no part of me hidden from her, nothing safe or sacred. It’s like the Wonderland program, only it’s not my memories she’s mining, it’s me.
“So much pain,” she murmurs. “So much loss.” Her fingers tighten on my throat. “Who are you looking for?”
When I refuse to answer, she cuts off my air. Black stars begin to bloom within my sight. Out of the darkness, my sister calls my name. And I think, Christ, Sullivan, you were right. This she-witch wouldn’t have me in a chokehold if I hadn’t answered that call. My sister brought me here—not Teacup, not Ringer.
My fingertips brush the stock of the rifle. The old cat-eating Silencer is laughing in my face, sour-breathed and tooth-deprived, buzz-sawing into my soul, chewing up my life as she chokes it out of me.
I can still hear my sister, but now I see Dumbo curled up behind the counter in the coffee shop, crying out for me with his eyes because he has no strength left to speak.
I go where you go, Sarge.
I left him, left him like I left my sister, alone and defenseless. Jesus, I even took his gun.
Holy crap. The gun.
19
FIRST SHOT IS at point-blank range, right into her saggy, cat-filled gut.
The bullet doesn’t break her hold. Unbelievably, she hangs on to my throat, squeezing. I answer with a squeeze of my own: A second shot that lands in the vicinity of her heart. Her rheumy eyes widen slightly, and I’m able to worm my arm between our bodies and push her away. Her crabby fingers around my neck loosen, and I suck in a lungful of the sweetest sour-smelling dander-infested air I’ve ever breathed. Grandma Silencer isn’t down, though. She’s just catching her second wind.
She lunges at me. I roll hard to my right. Her head smacks the wall. I fire again. The round smashes through her rib cage, but still she pushes herself from the wall and crawls toward me, hacking up wads of bright red, oxygen-rich blood. What drives that ancient body is ten thousand years old and contains more hate than the oceans hold water. Plus she’s been augmented by technology that strengthens and sustains her—psh! What’s a bullet or two? Come here, sonny! Still, I don’t think it’s the technology that drives her.
It’s the hate.
