Plague

a modest urge to cover himself. “Don’t decide right now,” she said. “You’re in no condition to think clearly.”
    And she turned and walked back toward the house. Caine threw many more large boulders into the sea. It didn’t help.

    Sam stood on the street corner watching Lana and Astrid enter the house he had shared with Astrid. Lana was carrying a water jug. Patrick stopped and stared in Sam’s direction, but the girls didn’t notice him and Patrick quickly lost interest.
    He had come to tell Astrid he was going out of town. Astrid would keep the secret. And he wanted at least one person other than Albert to know where he was and what he was doing.
    Anyway, that was what he told himself. Because admitting that he still, even now, even after everything that had happened, and everything that hadn’t happened, couldn’t just walk away from Astrid . . . that would be too big an admission of weakness.
    He couldn’t not tell her he was leaving. She had to know that he was still . . . whatever he was. He kicked at a crumpled soda can and sent it skittering down the trash-strewn street.
    Why was Lana going over to see Astrid? Little Pete must not be feeling well. But how could anyone tell what Little Pete was feeling?
    Sam frowned. He didn’t want to have some scene with Astrid in front of Lana.
    The sky was getting dark. He would be leaving soon. Dekka, Taylor, and Jack would be meeting him across the highway. Each was supposed to keep the whole thing secret.
    In reality, of course, Jack would tell Brianna. Taylor would keep it quiet only because she didn’t know what was going on, and by the time she did they’d be out of town. Dekka would tell no one. And Sam? He would tell Astrid.
    Sam knocked at Astrid’s door.
    No answer.
    Feeling strange and wrong he opened the door to what had until very recently been his own home and went inside.
    Astrid and Lana were upstairs; he could hear the murmur of voices.
    He took the stairs two at a time and called out, “Astrid, it’s me.”
    They were in Little Pete’s room. Astrid and Lana stood a few feet apart with their backs to Sam.
    A woman—a grown, adult woman—was sitting on the bed with Little Pete’s head in her lap.
    “Mom?” Astrid said.
    The woman was in her late thirties. She had streaked blond hair and Astrid’s translucent pale skin, somewhat aged by sun. Her eyes were brown. She smiled sadly and cradled Little Pete’s head. She stroked his hair.
    “Mom?” Astrid said again, and this time her voice broke.
    The woman did not speak. She did not look up at Astrid. She kept all her attention focused on Little Pete.
    “She’s not real,” Astrid said, and took a step back.
    Lana glared at Astrid. Then she noticed Sam, standing there.
    Lana’s eyes narrowed. “You knew about this, didn’t you?” she accused.
    “She’s not real,” Astrid said again. “That’s not my mother. That’s . . . it’s an illusion. He’s sick. I was out so . . . so he made her appear. To comfort him.”
    “He made her appear.” Lana practically spit the words. “He made her appear. Because that’s something just anyone can do, any of us can just make a three-dimensional real-life mommy appear to cuddle us when we feel bad.”
    “Stop it, Petey,” Astrid said.
    The woman—the illusion of a woman—did not react but kept stroking Little Pete’s head.
    “Cure him, Lana. Cure him and it will stop.” Astrid was pleading. “He has a fever. He’s coughing.”
    As if demonstrating, Little Pete coughed several times.
    It was weird. He didn’t cover his mouth or change his expression. He just coughed.
    “Give it a try, Lana,” Sam urged. “Please.”
    Lana rounded on him. “Interesting power for an autistic to have, isn’t it?” she demanded. “Especially when you think about all the stories going around about how the dome went clear for a few seconds when Little Pete blacked out.”
    “There are a lot of mutants,” Sam said as blandly as he could.
    “Wasn’t he at the power plant when the FAYZ came?” Lana asked.
    Astrid and Sam exchanged a glance. Neither spoke.
    “He was at the plant,” Lana said. “The plant is the center of the FAYZ. The very center.”
    “Please try to heal him,” Astrid urged.
    “He’s got a fever and a cough, big deal,” Lana said. “Why is it so urgent that he be healed?”
    Again, Sam had no answer.
    Lana moved closer. The woman’s hand was still on Pete’s forehead. But she didn’t react when Lana laid