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“Yeah!” Turk said.
“The six of us, here? We’re just the start,” Zil said.
“Absolutely,” Hank agreed.
“Zil’s crew,” Turk said.
Zil waved that off modestly. “I think maybe we should call ourselves the Human Crew.”
THIRTY
13 HOURS, 38 MINUTES
CAINE HAD FALLEN asleep, exhausted, on the plant manager’s couch. He woke slowly. Disoriented. Not sure where he was. He opened his eyes and everything around him, the dusty furnishings of the office, seemed to vibrate.
He rubbed his eyes and sat up.
Someone was sitting in the plant manager’s chair. A green man. Green from some inner light, like chemicals were burning inside him putting off a sickly glow.
The man had no face. His shape was rough, like a clay model only half completed. When Caine looked closer he could see millions of tiny crystals, some no larger than a period, some almost as big as a sugar cube. The mass of crystals was constantly in motion, like frenzied ants crawling over each other.
Caine closed his eyes. When he opened them again the apparition was gone.
A hallucination. Caine had gotten used to hallucinations.
He got to his feet, but he was shaky. He felt sick, like he had the flu or something. His face was beaded with sweat. His shirt was sticky on his skin.
He needed to throw up, but there was nothing in his stomach.
Through the glass he could see the control room. Diana, asleep or dozing in her chair, her feet up on the table. She looked strange without her hair. Caine loved Diana’s hair.
Jack had his head down on the same
table, his face puffy, lips babylike as he snored.
The two hostages leaned into each other, asleep.
The dead girl, Brittney, lay on the floor in a heap. Someone had moved her. It looked like someone had tried to push her under the counter, out of the way. The pool of her blood was now a smear.
The only one awake was Drake. He leaned against a wall, unblinking, whip arm coiled around his waist, a machine gun in his other hand.
Caine staggered. He righted himself, squared his shoulders, wiped the drool from his mouth. He had to look strong. Drake looked strong, like he was the one in charge.
Caine wondered how long it would take for Drake to finally decide to come after him. He hadn’t done so during Caine’s long months incapacitated. But now that Caine was giving the orders again, he knew Drake was chafing.
Caine steadied himself and started toward the control room. He got as far as the office door when the memory storm swept over him, almost knocked him to his knees. He grabbed the door and held on to it, shaking.
It came to him as hunger. Hunger deeper than anything he had ever felt himself. As if he had nothing inside his skin but a roaring, starving tiger.
Hungry in the dark.
Caine whimpered. He caught himself before he did it again, but the desperate sound was out of his mouth. Had Drake heard?
Leave me alone, Caine pleaded silently with the voice in his head. I’m doing what you want, but leave me alone.
Caine, looking down at the floor, saw Drake’s feet. Drake had arrived soundlessly. Or maybe Caine had been beyond hearing anything.
“You okay?” Drake asked.
