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Most quieted. They turned terrified faces to her, faces lit by the fires of their homes.
“We’re going to Perdido Beach.”
“It’s dark!”
“Coyotes!”
“It’s too far!”
“Listen,” she repeated. “That thing, the gaiaphage, Gaia, she’s hurt but she’s not dead, at least I don’t think so. We have to join up with the others in town. We have to have all of our people together.”
“Is Sam there?”
“I hope so,” Astrid said fervently. “But anyway, Dekka and Brianna are there, or will be soon, and Lana will heal Brianna.” It struck Astrid that just yesterday she’d snarked to Sam about Brianna being their difficult child. Without that child they would all be dead now.
“Orc is coming with us to protect us on the way. If we walk fast, and we help each other out, we’ll be there by morning.”
“We have to bury the people who got killed,” a little boy said.
“Yes, we do,” Astrid said softly. “But not tonight.”
“My sister’s dead,” the boy said. “She’s burned up.”
“Your brothers and sisters and friends want you to live,” Astrid said, her voice quivering with emotion. “We have to live. Later we can bury people, but right now, tonight, we have to live.”
In the end, three kids stayed behind. Astrid didn’t have the energy or the certainty to compel them. And she was fairly sure that she herself, and her little band of wanderers, would also be dead before they ever reached Perdido Beach.
There would be no meeting with Connie Temple. It seemed Astrid had been wrong: it was not time to plan for after. It was still time to run, to cower, to beg for life.
To fight.
A tent pole stood stark, its surrounding nylon all burned away. Astrid looked for something, anything, and found nothing. So she bit the hem of her shirt, ripped at the small tear, and with some difficulty tore off a six-inch-wide swatch of fabric.
She yanked out several strands of her hair, twisted them into a knot with the fabric, and jammed it onto the tent pole like a pathetic flag.
It would have to do.
Sam and Caine reached the lake, their lungs screaming for air, muscles twanging with exhaustion. Neither was fit for what had turned out to be an hour-long run punctuated by pratfalls and scrapes.
As they pelted down the slope they could see that it was too late. The devastation was total.
Sam fell to his knees. “Astrid! Astrid!”
There was no answer.
“Give us some light, Sam,” Caine said grimly.
“Astrid!”
“Hey, keep it together, surfer dude, you’re no good to her freaking out.”
Sam got to his feet again, but it was all he could do to stand up. The houseboat was a hull, improbably still floating, but burned down to the waterline. She was dead.
She was dead. The monster had killed her.
“Hey: I said, turn on some light!” Caine yelled, and shook Sam by both shoulders. “Light!”
Sam dragged himself back to reality. The smell of cooked grease and smoking tires was in the air. The fires burned low, consuming the last of their grisly fuels. The lake itself was black. Sam focused and formed a ball of light.
