Plague

A woman—a grown, adult woman—was sitting on the bed with Little Pete’s head in her lap.

“Mom?” Astrid said.

The woman was in her late thirties. She had streaked blond hair and Astrid’s translucent pale skin, somewhat aged by sun. Her eyes were brown. She smiled sadly and cradled Little Pete’s head. She stroked his hair.

“Mom?” Astrid said again, and this time her voice broke.

The woman did not speak. She did not look up at Astrid. She kept all her attention focused on Little Pete.

“She’s not real,” Astrid said, and took a step back.

Lana glared at Astrid. Then she noticed Sam, standing there.

Lana’s eyes narrowed. “You knew about this, didn’t you?” she accused.

“She’s not real,” Astrid said again. “That’s not my mother. That’s . . . it’s an illusion. He’s sick. I was out so . . . so he made her appear. To comfort him.”

“He made her appear.” Lana practically spit the words. “He made her appear. Because that’s something just anyone can do, any of us can just make a three-dimensional real-life mommy appear to cuddle us when we feel bad.”

“Stop it, Petey,” Astrid said.

The woman—the illusion of a woman—did not react but kept stroking Little Pete’s head.

“Cure him, Lana. Cure him and it will stop.” Astrid was pleading. “He has a fever. He’s coughing.”

As if demonstrating, Little Pete coughed several times.

It was weird. He didn’t cover his mouth or change his expression. He just coughed.

“Give it a try, Lana,” Sam urged. “Please.”

Lana rounded on him. “Interesting power for an autistic to have, isn’t it?” she demanded. “Especially when you think about all the stories going around about how the dome went clear for a few seconds when Little Pete blacked out.”

“There are a lot of mutants,” Sam said as blandly as he could.

“Wasn’t he at the power plant when the FAYZ came?” Lana asked.

Astrid and Sam exchanged a glance. Neither spoke.

“He was at the plant,” Lana said. “The plant is the center of the FAYZ. The very center.”

“Please try to heal him,” Astrid urged.

“He’s got a fever and a cough, big deal,” Lana said. “Why is it so urgent that he be healed?”

Again, Sam had no answer.

Lana moved closer. The woman’s hand was still on Pete’s forehead. But she didn’t react when Lana laid her own hand on Little Pete’s chest.

“So, that’s your mother,” Lana said more calmly.

“No,” Astrid said.

“Weird seeing an adult, isn’t it?”

“It’s an illusion,” Astrid said weakly. “Little Pete has the power to . . . to make his visions seem real.”

“Yeah,” Lana said dryly. “That’s all it is. The blink, when everyone saw the outside, that was just an illusion. And your mom, here, that’s an illusion.”

The woman disappeared suddenly. Little Pete’s head fell back against his pillow.

“You’re helping him,” Sam said. “He’s getting better.”

“You know what’s interesting?” Lana said in a mockery of casual chitchat. “The sun and the moon and the stars here are all illusions, too. So many illusions. So many coincidences. So many secrets.”

Sam didn’t look at Astrid. He wished he hadn’t come. More, he wished Astrid hadn’t brought Lana here, although he understood it.

After a while Lana stepped back from Little Pete. “I don’t know if that fixed him or not.”

“Thanks,” Astrid said.

“I can feel it, you know,” Lana said softly.

“The healing?”

Lana shook her head. “No. It. I can feel it. It touches him. It watches him. I can feel it. It reaches him.” Her brow creased and she seemed almost to be wincing in pain. “Just like it reaches me.”

Without looking at either of them, Lana rushed from the room.

They stood silent, neither knowing what to say.

“I’m going to be away for a couple of days,” Sam said finally. “The water situation . . . I’m going to search out another lake.”

A tear spilled down Astrid’s cheek.

“That must have been hard,” Sam said. “Even knowing it wasn’t real.”

Astrid used one finger to brush away the tear. “Lana’s smart. She’ll put it all together.” She sighed. “If things get bad they’ll come after him. The kids will come after Petey.”

“Before I go I’ll ask Breeze to keep an eye on you,” Sam said.

Astrid stared gloomily at her brother. He coughed twice and then lay quiet. “The thing is, I don’t know what would happen.”

“If he got sick?”

“If he died. I don’t know. I do not know.”

Pete

THE DARKNESS WAS watching him, touching him with its wispy tendril, listening for him to speak.

He would not speak. The Darkness could not help him. The Darkness only wanted to play, and it was so jealous when Pete played with anyone else.

Come to me, it said over and over again.

Pete’s legs were weak. He stood poised atop the glass but his legs hurt and his feet, too, like the glass sheet was slicing into him.

He had felt better when his mother was there. She was quiet, the way he liked. She had not tried to touch him except to let him lie there against her breast and feel the soft rise and fall of her breathing.