He cocked a pistol finger at her. “You know: I thought about that. I get a few seconds of warning before the changeover, so what I’ll do is kill you as soon as I feel it coming on. But until then . . .”
He slashed at her again. Again. Again, and she tried not to scream, but she did, she screamed: she screamed and he laughed.
“Sam will burn you to ashes!” she gasped out.
“That would be the only thing lacking now,” Drake said, sounding genuinely disappointed. “I wanted him here. It would be way better if he could see. If he could watch. It’s a hard thing to watch someone you care for being hurt.”
She heard something there. Something.
“Who did you watch being hurt?” she asked, desperate to engage him, stall, distract . . .
“Really? You want to get into my head? Figure out what makes me me? You’re not here to play shrink. You’re here to suffer.”
He slashed at her again. Astrid cried out. The pain was too awful to endure. She wished for unconsciousness. She wished for death. She sobbed quietly.
Petey.
Jesus.
Anyone . . .
But she felt no presence. Just the psychopath in the shadows cast by firelight.
“Gaia wanted me to bring you to her. So she could use you as a hostage. But I don’t take orders from her anymore. I wasted too much time following. I followed Caine. I followed the gaiaphage. But she’s not the gaiaphage, not really, not in that body, not with that face . . .”
“She’s pretty,” Astrid managed to say, gasping out each word. “Is that what you hate? Is that the sickness in you?”
Drake barked out a laugh. “Do you have any idea how many shrinks have tried their words on me? You think you can do better? It has to be some sickness, some syndrome, right? Put a label on it and everything will be all better.” He laughed at the idea. “Are you as clueless as the rest of them, Astrid? It’s simple. Here it is, here’s the answer, Astrid the Genius: it’s fun to hurt people. It’s such . . . it’s such joy, Astrid. Such joy realizing that all the power is yours, and all the fear and pain is right there, in your victim. Come on, smart girl, you know what it’s called. You know the word for it. Come on, say it.” He cupped his hand to his ear, waiting for the word.
“Evil,” Astrid said.
Drake laughed, threw up his hand wide, and nodded his head. “Evil! There you go. Good for you. Evil. It’s in all of us. You know that, too. It was in you. I saw it in your eyes as you looked down at me in that cooler. Evil, hah. We all want to have someone powerless beneath us while we stand over them.” His voice had grown husky. “We all want that. We all want that.”
He slid his whip arm over the painful wounds on her belly.
“I wish Sam was here to see. But he’s probably dead by now.” He sighed. “And if he’s not, well, we’ll tell him, won’t we? We’ll tell him every little detail.
“Be sure to scream,” he said.
“You too,” she said.
He looked at her, puzzled, his face inches from hers.
Astrid jerked her face forward, clamped her teeth down on Drake’s nose, and bit down as hard as she could.
At Sheridan Avenue a group of kids broke and ran from a house. Gaia cut them down.
Sam turned his palms inward, toward himself. He couldn’t turn them far enough to aim for his own head or internal organs. His only chance was to use the light to cut through a leg artery and bleed to death.
Better than watching his power be used to murder.
“If there really is a God, forgive me,” he said, and clamped his palms to his thighs and . . .
The pain was searing. The beams of light burned into his thighs.
Gaia was on him in a flash. She twisted his hands away as Sam roared in pain.
Had he done it? Had he cut an artery? Could it be over now, please, please could it be over now?
“No, no, no, I don’t think we can have that,” Gaia said.
Sam struggled against the chains, struggled against her grip on him, but his strength was nothing compared to hers.
Gaia slapped him hard, a backhand blow that sent him reeling into a state that was neither conscious nor unconscious. He was vaguely aware of Gaia rewinding the chain, this time tightly binding his hands together so that they were palm to palm. This left his shoulders free, but he had missed his only chance.
He began to cry. He had failed. Finally, permanently, he had failed. And hadn’t he always known he would? Wasn’t that why he had resisted for so long becoming the leader? Wasn’t that why he’d been relieved, finally, to turn much of it over to Edilio?
He wasn’t a hero. He never had been. School Bus Sam, the great myth that had caused kids to turn to him at first, that hadn’t been heroism: it had just been quick thinking and self-preservation.
Everything he had done, it wasn’t courage: it was all just a desperate effort to stay alive, wasn’t it? In the end wasn’t that all it was?
And now, failure.
Failure, and he would watch them all die, one by one, die because he had chosen life over heroic sacrifice.
Gaia had tired of levitating him before her as some kind of prize. She was angry now. She threw him twenty feet down the highway. He landed on his back and smacked his head against the concrete.
She ran up to him, laughing, and kicked him, crushing ribs and sending him rolling down the highway, chains clanking, crying like a baby, beaten.
“Aaaaahhhh!”
People running. Sam could barely see them through the smoke. Three girls who had never been anything important in the life of the FAYZ, three regular kids, Rachel, Cass, and Colby, three sisters who had never fought, never been in on any of the battles, had just kept their heads down and done what work they were given, now rushed madly, hopelessly, at Gaia with tire irons and clubs.