Fear: A Gone Novel

time he had revealed his power to her.
    The terrible things they had done. Battles.
    Murder.
    Yes, but don’t look any further; all that I confess, Gaia, my daughter, but enough. Enough.
    Please don’t.
    The smell. That was what the baby found first. The aroma of roasted human flesh.
    Diana’s eyes filled with tears.
    “What’s the matter?” Brittney asked.
    The baby tasted what Diana had tasted.
    The baby felt her stomach gratefully receive the meat that had been a boy named Panda.
    Yes, Diana said to the mind within her own, I’m a monster, and so are you, little Gaia. But your mommy loves you.
    “There’s a string of lights up there,” Penny said. “They look like Christmas lights.”
    Yes, go there , Gaia said inside Diana’s thoughts.
    “Go to the lights,” Diana said without even thinking about it. “Then follow them to the left.”
    “Shut your mouth, cow,” Penny said. “You don’t give orders.”
    Gaia kicked against Diana’s enfolding arms. She pushed herself up so that she could see over Diana’s shoulder. She looked at Penny.
    The baby pushed her clenched fist over Diana’s shoulder, opened her hand, and Penny screamed.
    Diana stopped. She watched and listened. And did it fill her with a brutal sort of joy to see Penny writhe in terror and pain? Yes. As it pleased her daughter to cause that terror.
    Gaia laughed a baby’s innocent, gurgling laugh.
    Penny’s scream seemed to last a very long time. Long enough that Drake merged from where Brittney had been.
    When at last Penny stopped, and just sat on her meager haunches, staring, staring in horror at the baby, Drake said, “So, the baby has game.” He unwrapped his whip from around his waist and said, “Don’t think that means I can’t do what I want with you, Diana.”
    Diana met his dead gaze. It occurred to her for the first time that she felt better. Much better. She had just gone through hell, but she felt … fine. She inventoried her body, checking in with her whipped back, her bruises, her murderously stretched belly, her torn parts.
    She was fine.
    Gaia had healed her.
    “Actually, Drake,” Diana said, “I think it means you’d better watch very carefully what you do or say to me.”
    Gaia, once more cradled in her mother’s arms, grinned a two-toothed grin.
    “Something coming down the highway,” Sam said.
    “It’s a light,” Astrid said.
    “A light called Darkness,” Lana said in a faraway voice.
    “It’s following the Sammy suns. Straight for us,” Caine said. He wasn’t snarking or snarling anymore. Sam saw the same look on his face and Lana’s. They both knew, deep down in their souls, what was coming.
    Lana went to Caine and put a hand on his arm. Just making contact. Caine didn’t shake her off.
    It was a weird bond they shared: memories of the gaiaphage. Memories of its painful touch deep inside their minds. Scars left on their souls.
    “‘Fear is the mind-killer,’” Lana said, reciting from memory. “‘Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. I …’ I can’t remember the rest. From a book I read a long time ago.”
    To almost no one’s surprise, Astrid said, “Dune , by Frank Herbert. ‘I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me. And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path. Where the fear has gone there will be nothing.’”
    She and Lana together spoke the last phrase of the incantation. “‘Only I will remain.’”
    There was a collective sigh that was almost a sob.
    Sam pulled Astrid to him and they kissed. Then Sam pushed her away and said, “I love you. All my heart. Forever. But get the hell out of here, because I can’t be watching out for you.”
    “I know,” Astrid said. “And I love you, too.”
    Lana took a furious, defiant look down the highway. Sam knew what was in her heart.
    “Lana. What you’ve got won’t kill him. What you’ve got may save a bunch of others. Go. Now.”
    Then it was just the three of them, Sam, Caine, and Quinn, watching the dim light advance. Seeing now that it was three indistinct shapes. It was as if the one in the middle was carrying a Sammy sun of a different hue. Sam couldn’t make out faces. But he was sure he saw a tentacle twisting, twisting.
    “Three of them,” Caine said. “That means most likely Penny is one of them.” Caine took a