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And in smaller letters:
This space is maintained by the Albert Hillsborough Foundation.
That brought a rueful smile to Dekka’s lips. Albert the capitalist, the businessman, the hustler. Lord, how she had hated him at times. But with later reflection she had come to realize that while Sam Temple might be the warrior hero, and Edilio the capable, brave, and moral day in, day out manager, it was Albert who had fed and watered the kids and kept them alive.
She raised a hand in a small salute. “Good for you, Albert. Good for you.”
And then, with every fiber of her being suffused with a leaden resistance, she moved among the tombstones. Names she knew—Mary Terrafino, who had been a saint until mental illness had taken her over the edge; Duck Zhang, just a nice kid who’d been given a power he never wanted; poor Hunter.
And Charles Merriman, who had carried the nickname Orc. Orc the bully. Orc the drunk. Orc the murderer.
Orc the redeemed Christian who at the end had sacrificed his life to save others. There hadn’t been much of a body left, and Dekka wondered just what Albert found to bury. But that was not really important, and Dekka laid a hand on Orc’s tombstone. “Better late than never, Orc. You died well.”
Caine had died just minutes before the end of the FAYZ, and there had been nothing but dust to bury. But Albert had nevertheless given him a stone that read:
Caine Soren
“King” of the FAYZ
Blaze of Glory
“Dammit.” Dekka brushed tears away. “Really, Dekka, really? Shedding tears for Caine?” Half the bodies in the graveyard were there because of Caine Soren. Caine the bad boy. Caine the unloved son. Caine the abandoned brother of Sam. Caine the power-mad, the grandiose, the ruthless.
Caine, who so loved Diana Ladris that he gave his life for her, and for all of them.
And finally, there it was, what she was looking for, and what she dreaded finding.
Brianna Berenson
“The Breeze”
None More Bold
Dekka’s entire body shook with emotion, her mouth an ugly grimace of pain and regret. And now the tears could not be brushed away, they came too fast, and she did not wish to brush them away. She wanted her tears to fall here, on this ground, a small offering.
Dekka fell to her knees, leaned against the cool stone, and sobbed.
“I’m so sorry, Breeze. I’m so sorry I haven’t come earlier. I . . . I was too weak. I didn’t want to . . . I keep your picture with me all the time, I haven’t stopped . . . I still love you. I will always love you. It’s okay that it was one-way, Breeze. All I ever needed was to love you.”
After a long while, she stood up and dried her face on her sleeve.
“This goddamned place,” Dekka said quietly. “This bloody, goddamned place.”
She saw that the church had been partly rebuilt, but only partly, and the scaffolding looked old and unused, as though the project had been abandoned.
The town hall was in better shape, but there was only a single car parked in front, and it did not look like a place that had much going on.
The McDonald’s that Albert had kept open for a while after the start of the FAYZ had been rebuilt to shiny new perfection. But even there she saw signs of neglect, litter on the sidewalks, a cracked window.
“Hello, Dekka.”
Dekka knew the voice even before she turned. Diana Ladris was still beautiful, though she looked years older than her actual age. Her dark eyes were haunted, her voice quiet and respectful. But there, at the corners of those ever-alluring lips, was still a hint of the old Diana, wry and amused.
“Diana. I did not expect to find you here.”
Diana jerked her chin toward a small hatchback parked a few spaces from the red Kawasaki where Armo lounged, shoving a Big Mac into his face. Flowers were visible inside the little car, and flowers were in Diana’s hand. “I come once a week, whenever I can, to put flowers on the graves. I had just cleared away the faded ones when I saw you.”
Diana laid the bouquet at the base of Brianna’s tombstone, and now Dekka would have cried again had she any tears left.
