Fear: A Gone Novel

miserable FAYZ, where you were lucky to have a mattress no one had peed on recently.
    She was in bed munching on slightly stale saltines—she had to be careful about raiding the pantry; Albert had inventoried it—and watching an old Hey Arnold! on DVD. The fuel for the generator, too, was controlled and very limited, but occasional electricity was part of her salary.
    Suddenly Taylor had the feeling someone else was in the room. It made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. “Okay, who is there?”
    No answer. Could it be Bug? She would know if Bug had been brought out to the island.
    Nothing. She was letting her imagination—
    Something moved. Right in front of her. For just a second the TV screen had blurred. Like something transparent but distorting had moved in front of it.
    “Hey!” She was poised, ready to bounce out of here in a heartbeat. She listened to the room. Nothing. Whatever had been there was gone now. Or maybe had never been there to begin with; that was most likely. She was imagining things.
    Taylor reached for the remote control and saw that her skin was gold. Her first reaction was that it was a trick of the light from the cartoon. But after a few seconds she decided, no. No, this was weird.
    Taylor climbed out of bed and went to the window. In the moonlight her skin was still gold.
    Crazy. Not real.
    She searched in the dark and found a candle. She clumsily thumbed a lighter and brought fire to the wick.
    Yes. Her skin was gold.
    Carrying the candle, she went to the bathroom to look at herself in the mirror.
    She was gold. From head to toe. Her black hair was still black, but every square inch of her skin was the color of actual yellow gold.
    Then she leaned close to look at the reflection of her own eyes. And that was when she screamed, because the irises were an even deeper gold.
    “Oh, my God,” she whispered.
    Shaking, she switched out of her bed shirt into jeans and a T-shirt. Because maybe she was just hallucinating, so she needed to have someone else look at her.
    Taylor pictured Lana’s hotel, the hallway.
    She bounced.
    The pain was instant and unbearable. Like nothing she had ever felt or imagined. Her left hand and the outer meat of her left calf felt as if they were pressed against red-hot steel.
    Taylor screamed and thrashed and the pain only grew worse. She was hanging from her hand and her leg, just hanging, not standing on anything, just hanging from… She screamed again as she realized she was not at Clifftop. She was in the forest, hanging from a tall tree. Her left hand and the outer edge of her left calf had materialized in the tree.
    In the tree.
    She dangled, screaming, right arm and left arm reaching, grabbing, wild and out of control. Her golden flesh shining dully in the moonlight.
    And the pain!
    It had to be a dream. This couldn’t be real. She hadn’t bounced here. No, it was just a horrible nightmare. She had to bounce away, even if it was a dream, bounce back to her bedroom.
    Taylor strained to visualize her room. Pushed back the pain for just a second … just…
    Taylor bounced.
    The hand was gone. Neatly cut off at the wrist. No blood, just a sudden ending. Taylor could not see her calf. Nor could she feel it.
    She was not in her bedroom. She was on a car in the driveway of Clifftop.
    On the car. Both of her legs were in the car, but she was on it, on the dusty roof of a Lexus. She had materialized with her legs sticking through the roof.
    Taylor bellowed in pain and terror.
    Her flailing caused her to topple over. The stumps of her legs didn’t do a very good job of holding her in place. She rolled once, fell the four feet to the pavement, landed on her chest.
    Shaking with fear, she fumbled for and reached the door handle and used it to pull herself up into a seated position. Her legs ended in neat stumps, just above the knees. Just like her left hand.
    No blood.
    But so much pain.
    Taylor screamed and fell back and lost consciousness.
    Astrid had found the sight of a visibly pregnant Diana disturbing.
    It was strange enough to see a fifteen-year-old girl pregnant in any context. In the FAYZ it was far more jarring. The FAYZ was a trap, a prison, a purgatory maybe. But a nursery?
    Each week that had gone by from that first day, the number of kids alive in the FAYZ had gone down. Always down, never up. The FAYZ was a place of sudden, horrifying death. Not a place of life.
    And who had changed all that? A cruel, sharp-tongued girl and a boy who