Hunger

Clifftop. It was an automatic door, and it still worked. It was weird, still weird after all this time, that the door’s sensor should be patiently awaiting the signal to open wide the doors to the outside world.
    From Clifftop she would walk down toward Town Beach. Then she would cut through town, but away from the plaza, join the highway, and complete the circle back to Clifftop. Unless she was too weak from hunger. Then she would cut that short.
    She knew she should probably not burn unnecessary calories. But she couldn’t bring herself to stop. To stop, to spend a day lying on the bed, was to surrender. Lana didn’t like the idea of surrender. She hadn’t surrendered to pain, or to PackLeader, or to the Darkness.
    I don’t surrender, she told herself.
    Come to me. I have need of you.
    As she got beyond the Clifftop approach road and headed down the slope, Lana punched the iPod’s touchscreen and her ears were filled with a Death Cab for Cutie song.
    But it was the other lyrics she heard, like a whisper, like a second track beneath this song.
    She’d gone no more than a hundred yards along when two little kids intercepted her, waving their hands to get her attention.
    They looked healthy enough to her. She gave them a short wave and hoped that would be enough.
    But the two littles moved to block her way. She stopped, panting a little, even though she shouldn’t be, and ripped off her headphones.
    “What?” she snapped.
    There was some hemming and hawing before the kids could blurt it out.
    “Joey’s got a loose tooth.”
    “So what? He’s supposed to be getting new teeth.”
    “But it hurts. You’re supposed to fix things that hurt.”
    “Supposed to?” Lana echoed. “Look, kids, if you’re bleeding from some big gaping wound you can bug me. I’m not here for every little headache or skinned knee or loose tooth.”
    “You’re mean,” the kid said.
    “Yeah. I’m mean.” Lana settled her headphones back in place and started off, feeling angry at the kids and angrierat herself for yelling at them. But kids came after her wherever she was. They interrupted her while she was eating. They harassed her when she was sitting on her balcony reading a book. They banged on her door while she was pooping.
    It was almost never something that needed a miracle. And increasingly that’s what Lana was starting to think about her powers, that they were something miraculous. No one had any better explanation.
    And miracles shouldn’t be wasted.
    Anyway, she had a right to have a life of her own. She wasn’t everyone’s servant. She belonged to herself.
    Come to me.
    Lana bit her lip. She was ignoring it, the voice, the hallucination, whatever it was.
    Just going to ignore it.
    She cranked up the volume on the music.
    She veered away from the beach as she approached town. Maybe if she went along the back streets more. Maybe she could vary her route more and make it harder for people to track her down.
    So long as she ended the same way: back up the hill to Clifftop. Up to the FAYZ wall. Not to touch it, but to get very close to it as she panted and sweated and nursed the inevitable stitch in her side.
    She felt she needed to see that barrier up close every day. It was a devotion, somehow. A touchstone. A reminder that she was here, and this was now. Whatever she had been before, she wasn’t that person anymore. She was trapped in this placeand in this life. Not her choice: the wall’s choice.
    Come to me. I have need of you.
    “It’s not real,” Lana shouted.
    But it was real. She knew it was real. She knew the voice. Where it came from.
    She knew she could not shut the voice out of her mind. The only way to silence the voice was to silence it forever. She could be its victim, or she could make it her victim.
    Madness. Suicidal madness. She skipped a slow song and went to something manic. Something loud enough to banish crazy thoughts.
    She walked harder, faster, almost running, pumping her arms and forcing Patrick into a long lope to keep up. But she wasn’t fast enough to outrun a truck that zoomed crazily up to her honking its horn.
    Again she tore off her headphones and yelled, “What?”
    But this was no loose tooth or skinned knee.
    Albert and Howard piled out. Howard helped pull Orc from the back. The boy…the creature…staggered as if drunk. He probably was, Lana thought. Then again, maybe he had a pretty good excuse.
    There was a hole in one of the last human parts of him, his cheek.