Fear: A Gone Novel

Albert. It was a waste of time.
    Caine seemed not to have heard. “Meanwhile Sam’s sitting up there with that lake stocked with fish, and his own fields, and somehow he has Nutella and Pepsi and Cup-a-Noodles, and what do you think happens if kids here start thinking we have no food?” Caine was red in the face. Furious. Albert reminded himself that Caine, while an out-of-control egomaniac, was also extremely powerful and dangerous. He decided against answering the question.
    “We both know what happens,” Caine said bitterly. “Kids leave town and head for the lake.” He glared at Albert as if it was all Albert’s fault. “This is why it’s no good having two different towns. Kids can just go where they want.”
    Caine threw himself back in his chair but banged his knee on the desk. With an angry sweep of his hand he threw the desk crashing into the wall. The impact was hard enough to knock the ancient pictures down, all those ego shots of the original mayor. The desk left a long, triangular dent in the wall.
    Caine sat chewing his thumbnail and Albert stood thinking of all the more useful things he could be doing. At last Caine used his powers to scoot the desk back into place. He seemed to need something to lean on in a dramatic fashion, because that was what he did, placing his elbows on the table, forming his fingers into a steeple, an almost prayerful position, and tapping the fingertips thoughtfully against his forehead.
    “You’re my adviser, Albert,” Caine said. “What do you advise?”
    Since when had Albert become an adviser? But he said, “Okay, since you ask, I think you should send Penny away.” When Caine started to object, Albert, finally evincing his impatience, raised his hand. “First, because Penny is a sick, unstable person. She was bound to cause problems, and she’ll cause more. Second, because what happened to Cigar turns everyone against you. It’s not just Quinn: everyone thinks it’s wrong. And third, if you don’t and if Quinn stands firm, this town will empty out.”
    And if you don’t, Albert added silently, I will suddenly learn about a cache of missiles up the coast. And you, King Caine, will go to take them.
    Caine’s prayerful hands fell flat on the desk. “If I give in, everyone will think…” He took a shaky breath. “I’m the king. They’ll think I can be beaten.”
    Albert was actually surprised. “Of course you can be beaten. Your Highness. Everyone can be beaten.”
    “Except for you, right, Albert?” Caine said bitterly.
    Albert knew he shouldn’t let himself be baited. But the cheap shot rankled. “Turk and Lance shot me,” he said, with his hand on the doorknob. “I’m only alive because of luck and Lana. Believe me: I stopped thinking I was unbeatable.”
    And made plans, he thought, but did not say.

FOURTEEN
24 H OURS , 29 M INUTES
    THEY WATCHED MOHAMED leave.
    Then, when she was sure Sam had at least a couple of minutes to think clearly, Astrid told him what they had found in the desert. “Edilio’s bringing it in so we can take a look at it. I came straight back. When they get it here I’ll see what I can learn.”
    Sam seemed barely to pay attention. His eyes were drawn toward the barrier. He wasn’t alone. The stain was clearly visible to kids as they worked. The kids out in the fields probably wouldn’t notice, but the ones still here in the town around the marina couldn’t avoid seeing it.
    They came in ones or twos or threes to ask Sam what it meant. And he would say, “Get back to work. If you need to worry, I’ll let you know.”
    Each time he said it—and it must have been two dozen times—he used the same gruff but ultimately reassuring voice.
    But Astrid knew better. She could feel the tension bleeding from his every pore. She saw the way the corners of his mouth tugged downward, the way his forehead formed twin vertical worry lines between his eyes.
    He didn’t need some new thing to worry about. So the awful freak monster thing she and Edilio had found, that would have to wait. Because all Sam had time for right now was the mesmerizing advance of the stain. His imagination was torturing him. She could see it in the way his hands would form into fists, tighten and then release, but the release was forced, conscious, and accompanied each time by a deliberate exhalation.
    He was seeing a world of total darkness.
    So was Astrid. And though it made no sense she worried about her tents. The ropes needed tightening