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“Right down the hall,” Brianna said.
Caine ran, lurching into a wall as the bugs outside hit the house with concerted force. Found the washing machine and lifted it away from the wall, ripping power cord and hoses in the process, and levitated it down the hall to the bedroom.
He threw it through the window. It landed harmlessly on a bug’s back. The one he had turned over had righted itself, so Caine flipped a different bug.
Then, while the creature was kicking madly trying to turn itself upright, Caine raised the washing machine high in the air and slammed it down on the creature’s exposed abdomen. It hit like a cartoon anvil.
Whumpf!
Goo spurted from the bug’s sides. The kicking legs slowed.
“Oh yeah: that works,” Caine said.
He flipped a second bug over, lifted the battered Maytag and smashed it down. This time the bug did not spray its guts immediately so he hit it again.
A huge crash and a sound of rending, twisting, ripping wood. The entire house jerked. Shuddered. And to Caine’s horror the wall before him started to fall away.
The entire house was collapsing.
Brianna blurred and was gone. Caine tried to run but the floor was tilted crazily as it fell beneath his feet. The ceiling came crashing down and Caine landed on his back as the house collapsed atop him in a wild tornado of destruction.
Something crushed his stomach. Plasterboard pressed down on his face. His hands were pinned. He gasped for air and breathed dust. He could see nothing in his immediate field of vision but wallboard and part of a framed Weezer poster.
But he could feel his legs and arms. Nothing broken. Nothing punctured.
He had the power to lift the debris off himself. But if he did, then the creatures would be on him in a heartbeat.
Whereas if he stayed under the wreckage, he might be safe.
The creatures would finally give up on him and go in search of easier victims. Then, when they were gone, he could emerge and take them by surprise.
Caine took a shaky, dusty breath.
Playing dead meant letting some kids die so that he could live. Caine decided he was probably fine with that.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
38 MINUTES
EDILIO LAY ON the steps of town hall feeling as weak as a kitten. He had barely heard Caine’s big speech. He couldn’t have cared less. There was nothing he could do, not with delirium spinning his head.
He coughed hard, too hard. It wracked his body each time he did it so that he dreaded the next cough. His stomach was clenched in knots. Every muscle in his body ached.
He was vaguely aware that he was saying something in between coughs.
“Mamá. Mamá. Sálvame.”
Save me, mother.
“Santa María, sálvame,” he begged, and coughed so hard he smashed his head against the steps.
Death was near, he felt it. Death reached through his swimming, disordered mind and he felt its cold hand clutching his heart.
Santa María, Madre de Dios, ruega por nosotros pecadores, ahora y en la hora de nuestra muerte.
And then in the swirling darkness he saw her. A figure dressed in a flowing white and blue dress. She had sad, dark eyes, and a golden glow came from her head.
She held up one hand as if blessing him.
