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“What kept me? Sam. I took him down,” Drake said. “Me. I whipped him and tore him up and he will never recover, never, not after what—”
“Whoa,” Jack said, so shocked, he dared to interrupt Drake in mid-rant. “Your…your thing.”
Diana saw then the way Drake’s tentacle ended in a flat surface, a stump.
And then, to Diana’s astonishment, Drake sobbed. Just once. Just one stifled sob. He is human, after all, Diana thought. Barely. But capable of fear, capable of feeling pain.
“You didn’t kill him?” Caine asked Drake.
“I told you,” Drake yelled. “He’s done for!”
Caine shook his head. “If you didn’t kill him, he’s not done for. In fact, it looks kind of like the last time you fought Sam: you with part of you missing.”
“It wasn’t Sam,” Drake said through clenched teeth. “I’m telling you, I took Sammy Boy down. Me! I took him down!”
“Then why are you looking suddenly…stumpy?” Diana asked, unable to resist the urge to take a shot at her nemesis.
“Brianna,” Drake said.
Out of the corner of her eye, Diana noticed the way Jack’s head lifted and his chest puffed out.
“She showed up. Too late to save Sam. You won’t see Sam again.”
“When I see his body, I’ll believe that,” Caine said dryly.
Diana agreed. Drake was too insistent. Too shrill. Too determined to convince them all.
“Let’s move out,” Caine said.
One of the soldiers turned the key on the mutilated Escalade. The battery was weak. It seemed at first it wouldn’t start. But then the engine caught and roared to life. Lights came on inside the car. Headlights were painfully bright.
“Everyone in,” Caine ordered. “If Drake’s right and Sam is down—even temporarily—we’re done sneaking. It’s ten miles to the mine. Twenty minutes and we’re there.”
“Where’s my peppermint?” Jack asked.
Caine raised the fuel rod and held it poised in the air above their heads. Close enough that the heat was like a bright, noon sun.
Little Pete lay unconscious.
Astrid was hauled, kicked, and shoved as Antoine tied her wrists and breathed alcohol into her face.
Her brain was spinning. What to do? What to say to stop the insanity?
Nothing. There was nothing she could say now, not with hunger ruling the mob. She could do nothing but witness.
Astrid looked into each face, searching for the humanity that should speak to them, stop them, even now. What she saw was madness. Desperation.
They were too hungry. They were too scared.
They were going to kill Hunter, and then Zil would come for Little Pete and for Astrid herself. He would have no choice. The instant Hunter died, Zil and his mob would have drawn a line in blood down the middle of the FAYZ.
“Dear Jesus, I know you’re watching,” Astrid prayed. “Don’t let them do this.”
“Are you ready?” Zil shrieked.
The mob roared.
“Dear Lord…,” Astrid prayed.
