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“Ah. Yea
h, that would be better. Have you ever driven a bus?”
Caine shook his head. “No, I have not.”
“Strangely enough,” Sam said, remembering the long-ago moment of terror and competence that had earned him the nickname School Bus Sam, “I have.”
Lana heard the sound of the door opening and someone clearing their throat. Without looking up she said, “I can’t take any more messed-up kids!” She had been running in a sort of desperate relay race, going from person to person in the room, out in the hall, in the room next door, laying on hands, trying to keep the worst hurt from dying, parceling out a minute here, five minutes there. It was working. Except for the two who had died because she hadn’t gotten to them in time. No one else had died. Yet.
The throat clearer at the door turned out to be Astrid. Lana looked sourly at her. “You want something?”
“Do you have a minute?”
“Do I have a minute? Sure, who do you want to have die while we chat?”
Patrick came padding up to Lana and nuzzled her, as though sensing that his master was on the edge.
Lana had a hand each on a boy, maybe twelve, and a three-year-old girl. The boy was burned over half his body, the clothing melted into the bubbled and cooled flesh. The girl had lacerations on her face that would ensure she would never be a pretty girl again unless Lana healed those wounds.
Astrid squatted down in front of Lana, who was herself cross-legged on a big cushion she dragged from casualty to casualty.
Lana had great respect for Astrid’s loyalty to Sam. She had great respect for her intelligence. And she had even come to respect her toughness. She had never quite decided that she liked Astrid.
“The gaiaphage,” Astrid said.
“What about it?”
“Diana says—”
“Is that witch in town? Great. Are you trusting her?”
“She brought us useful information. She’s been with Gaia. Her daughter.”
Lana snorted derisively. “There is no Gaia; there’s only the same Darkness there’s been since day one.”
“Diana says she—okay, it—hates you.”
Lana barked out a laugh. “Yeah? The feeling’s mutual.”
Astrid was wearing her patient face as she said, “The gaiaphage can’t reach you anymore. That’s why it hates you.”
“Whatever. Not really my problem right now.”
“The question is, can you reach it if you need to?”
Lana’s face was hard as stone. “Why would I want to do that?”
“Because it’s coming. And I’m looking for any weapon we can use.”
“I’m the weapon,” a voice said. Brianna sat up on the couch. Her face was still burned, though was no longer blood red. There were patches that looked almost normal. But one eye was swollen shut.
“You’re half blind, you idiot,” Lana said, but not angrily, affectionately.
Brianna jumped up, wiggled her legs like the world’s fastest tap dancer, shook her arms fast enough to create a breeze.
“Sit!” Lana roared. To Lana’s amazement, Brianna sat. So did Patrick. “Listen to me, Brianna: that burn is bad, and if I don’t heal it now you may be stuck with a half-melted face and no hair. Do you understand that? After a while it’s a chronic condition, not an injury, and I won’t be able to heal it any more than I can make someone not be ugly.”
“Ugly may be the least of our worries,” Astrid said. “You have any idea how dangerous a creature we’re talking about? It’s Sam, Caine, Dekka, Brianna . . . all rolled into one.”
