Plague

had to die, to end it, to kill them and herself and never see what they were doing to her.
    The container had slipped from her. In blind panic, in sheer terror, she had lost control.
    She tried to regain it now, but she was falling, wind-whipped, twirling like a top. She couldn’t even tell which way was up or down.
    She spread her hands and focused but focus on what? Where was the ground? Stars and pale mountains and black sea all spun wildly. The container flashed by again and again, as if it was an hour marker on a fast-running clock. And two twisting shapes, arms windmilling.
    She had to save Sam. That much, at least.
    Her breathing came in gulps. Her eyes were streaming tears, blurred to uselessness. How could she stop the spinning?
    Dekka pulled her arms in tight and entwined her legs. Less wind resistance. She made some sense of it now: she was falling headfirst. She was still spinning, but slower, and she was definitely falling headfirst like an arrow falling to earth. Suddenly, far too clear, she could see a line of surf directly below.
    She had to get lower than Sam. Sam and Toto were below her, still spinning crazily. But Dekka, with less wind resistance, fell just a little faster.
    Suddenly, though, the ground was coming clear. Rushing up to smash her to jelly.
    She was below Sam. Now!
    She spread her fingers, focused, and canceled gravity below.
    And continued to fall. She had canceled gravity. She had not canceled momentum.
    In seconds they would hit the water or the ground. Either would smash them to jelly.
    • • •
    Caine raised the debris off himself.
    The bugs were all gone. He saw the tail of one as it raced away.
    If he went after them, he’d probably get killed.
    But stay here and do what? Be safe? He’d have been safe on the island. He hadn’t come back to be safe.
    Two possible outcomes: the bugs killed everyone and then who would Caine rule over? Or the bugs were defeated by someone else. And then how would he ever get control? Power would go to whoever won this fight.
    Still Caine hesitated. A big, warm bed. A beautiful girl to share it with. Food. Water. Everything he needed, just a few miles away on the island. The logical, rational answer was obvious.
    “Which is why the world stays messed up,” Caine said under his breath. “People aren’t rational.”
    He took a few deep, steadying breaths, and prepared to die for power.
    Orc had not managed to kill himself. Again.
    He wept a bit when he realized that he was going to live. He was doing his best, but throwing up and passing out were getting in the way of death-by-drink.
    He stood up, needing to pee, but he was already peeing as he stood. So no need.
    Something moved. He swung his head ponderously to look. A monster. In a cracked fragment of mirror just barely clinging to the wall.
    Orc stared at his reflection. Six feet, maybe more, of gray, wet gravel. He threw back his head, arms wide, and howled.
    “Why? Why?”
    He burst into tears and pounded his fists against his face. Then with stone fingers he ripped the last of the living flesh from his face. Blood ran red.
    And now he howled at his own reflection. “Why?”
    He lurched away. He ran in bounding, wild leaps toward the stairs.
    Astrid.
    He had no clear thought for what he would do when he found her. She was just the only one who had ever helped him. She was the only one who had ever seen him as Charles Merriman and not just Orc.
    She should feel his pain. She should feel it.
    Someone had to feel the pain.
    He reached the top of the stairs. He knocked the door of Little Pete’s room open. He stared blankly, confused. A wind whipped through the room. Little Pete hovered in the air several feet above the cot. He glowed.
    Astrid was not there.
    “Astrid!” Orc bellowed.
    From outside, clear and distinct through the open window, an answer.
    “Is that you, Orc?”
    Orc bounded to the window. It had been opened and in any case the panes of glass were shattered.
    Orc’s vision took a moment to stabilize enough for him to make out what he was seeing. And then he couldn’t believe it.
    Down below, in the first faint glow of morning, stood Drake.
    Behind him and all around the school were things that looked like gigantic cockroaches.
    It all had to be a hallucination.
    “Drake?” Orc said, blinking hard to test the reality of this apparition.
    “I thought that sounded like you, Orc.” Drake smirked. “And you have Astrid up there with you? Excellent. Couldn’t be