Hunger

into the night. But Drake or Caine or the coyotes would come for him.
    Why was he here?
    Because you’re a stupid fool, Jack told himself. Smart stupid. Stupid smart.
    “Just a little farther,” Drake cried from up ahead. “Come meet him, Jack.”
    Jack stopped and looked back. He saw the fuel rod first. Floating along. Then Caine beneath it. Caine seemed almost bowed over, like he was carrying the weight on his shoulders. Like it was almost too much for him.
    Jack felt as if a weight were pressing down on him, a weight that wanted to squeeze the blood from him, crush him like a piece of ripe fruit. Tears were running down his face, although he didn’t remember when he had started crying.
    For all his supernatural strength, Jack felt as if his arms and legs were stone. Each step took all his strength as he fought against his own paralyzing fear and horror.
    Too much. All of it. Brittney, poor Brittney. And now Dekka. How many more would end up like them? And what about Jack himself?
    Jack didn’t think about what he was doing when he grabbed the nearest coyote by the scruff of its neck. The coyote yelped and tried to twist around to bite him. Jack threw the animal. It flew out of sight.
    He grabbed a second coyote and hurled it into the night. A distant thump.
    Two coyotes came straight at him, jaws open, teeth bared. Jack drew back and kicked the first. His foot connected with the animal’s snout. The coyote’s head ripped from its shoulders and went rolling down the trail a crazy bowling ball. The coyote’s body stood for a few seconds, even seemed to take a step. Then it fell over.
    The other coyotes stared. Then they stuck their tails between their legs and hurried away.
    “What’s the matter, Jack? Squeamish?”
    Drake seemed to grow stronger with each step while Jack felt watery and weak despite his display of superhuman strength. It wasn’t part of him, that strength. It wasn’t him.
    Drake stood over him at the top of the rise. He was outlined in moonlight, his whip hand twitching in the air.
    “I just didn’t like seeing it,” Jack said. His stomach was in his throat.
    Drake’s whip reached for Jack and wrapped almost gently around Jack’s throat. Drake pulled him close. Drake’s mouth tickled his ear as he said voicelessly, “Back my play, Computer Jack.”
    “What?” Jack said desperately.
    “Back my play,” Drake said. “And I’ll let you live. I’ll even let you have Brianna.”
    Jack placed his hand on Drake’s whip. He pried it off his neck. It was almost easy. It would be easy now to yank that hideous arm right off.
    Drake laughed uneasily. “Don’t start down that path, Jack. You’re not the type for rough stuff.”
    Drake turned away and bounded ahead.
    Caine labored up from below. Diana, the witch who had brought all this horror to Jack, was beside Caine. He could almost swear that she was helping Caine walk.

    Lana had dropped the gun in the cave. Useless now.
    Tried to explain…tried to form images that explained…But the gaiaphage didn’t care, really, it had moved on, not concerned any more by the girl with the power of gravity.
    Someone shot Edilio, Lana thought, marveling at the idea. Someone. Edilio.
    She had a flash of sensation, the feeling of the gun bucking in her hand.
    Someone…
    She gasped as the gaiaphage split open her mind and poured the images into her brain. Images of monstrosities.
    The largest was a shaggy thing like a grizzly bear with eighteen-inch spikes at the ends of its paws…creatures that were all sharp edges, as if they’d been assembled out of razor blades and kitchen knives…creatures of glowing inner fire. Things that flew. Things that slithered.
    But when she saw them, she didn’t just see the surface. She saw them inside and out at once. Saw their construction. Saw the way they were folded into one another, one inside another, monster within monster. Like a Russian nesting doll.
    Destroy one and liberate the next.
    Regeneration. Adaptation. Each new incarnation as dangerous and as deadly as the one before.
    The gaiaphage had conceived of the perfect biological machine.
    No, not his conception. He had reached into a mind, an imagination infinitely more visionary than his own.
    Nemesis. That was the gaiaphage’s name for him: Nemesis.
    Nemesis with infinite power held in check only by the twists and turns, the blind alleys and sudden high walls inside his own damaged brain.
    Nemesis and Healer, used and brought together here,