Plague

her own hand on Little Pete’s chest.
    “So, that’s your mother,” Lana said more calmly.
    “No,” Astrid said.
    “Weird seeing an adult, isn’t it?”
    “It’s an illusion,” Astrid said weakly. “Little Pete has the power to . . . to make his visions seem real.”
    “Yeah,” Lana said dryly. “That’s all it is. The blink, when everyone saw the outside, that was just an illusion. And your mom, here, that’s an illusion.”
    The woman disappeared suddenly. Little Pete’s head fell back against his pillow.
    “You’re helping him,” Sam said. “He’s getting better.”
    “You know what’s interesting?” Lana said in a mockery of casual chitchat. “The sun and the moon and the stars here are all illusions, too. So many illusions. So many coincidences. So many secrets.”
    Sam didn’t look at Astrid. He wished he hadn’t come. More, he wished Astrid hadn’t brought Lana here, although he understood it.
    After a while Lana stepped back from Little Pete. “I don’t know if that fixed him or not.”
    “Thanks,” Astrid said.
    “I can feel it, you know,” Lana said softly.
    “The healing?”
    Lana shook her head. “No. It. I can feel it. It touches him. It watches him. I can feel it. It reaches him.” Her brow creased and she seemed almost to be wincing in pain. “Just like it reaches me.”
    Without looking at either of them, Lana rushed from the room.
    They stood silent, neither knowing what to say.
    “I’m going to be away for a couple of days,” Sam said finally. “The water situation . . . I’m going to search out another lake.”
    A tear spilled down Astrid’s cheek.
    “That must have been hard,” Sam said. “Even knowing it wasn’t real.”
    Astrid used one finger to brush away the tear. “Lana’s smart. She’ll put it all together.” She sighed. “If things get bad they’ll come after him. The kids will come after Petey.”
    “Before I go I’ll ask Breeze to keep an eye on you,” Sam said.
    Astrid stared gloomily at her brother. He coughed twice and then lay quiet. “The thing is, I don’t know what would happen.”
    “If he got sick?”
    “If he died. I don’t know. I do not know.”

Pete

    THE DARKNESS WAS watching him, touching him with its wispy tendril, listening for him to speak.
    He would not speak. The Darkness could not help him. The Darkness only wanted to play, and it was so jealous when Pete played with anyone else.
    Come to me, it said over and over again.
    Pete’s legs were weak. He stood poised atop the glass but his legs hurt and his feet, too, like the glass sheet was slicing into him.
    He had felt better when his mother was there. She was quiet, the way he liked. She had not tried to touch him except to let him lie there against her breast and feel the soft rise and fall of her breathing.
    But then the breathing had begun to wear on him, making him distracted. If it didn’t stop . . .
    But then it did stop when he made her go away. He could remember the good part, before the sound of breathing got to be too much, and not have to hear it anymore.
    Loud sister was talking and then another. The other touched him with her hand. He looked at her and was puzzled. A faint green tendril spiraled up to touch her. She seemed to be on both sides of the glass at once.
    He felt her touch and it made him tense. He endured it, but inside he was feeling worse and worse.
    Hot. Like fire was inside him.
    He didn’t want to hear any more from his body.
    The other left. She took her hand away and left. But he could feel an echo of her inside him. She had touched the Darkness, but she refused its pleas to come and play.
    He wondered . . . but now his body was drawing his attention again. Hot and cold, hungry and thirsty.
    It bothered him.

Chapter Eight
54 HOURS, 21 MINUTES

    “KILL IT! KILL me!”
    It was muffled, but you could still hear it. They’d closed the air-conditioning vents—wasn’t like there was air-conditioning anymore—but still the desperate wail came up from the basement.
    Howard was out at some kind of stupid meeting. Some big deal. Howard always had big deals.
    Charles Merriman, who everyone called Orc, rummaged in the mess beside his couch. There had to be something left in one of these bottles. He didn’t want to have to go into the back room closet and get another bottle.
    “It’s the only way. Sam! Sam! Tell Sam to do it!”
    Orc wasn’t drunk. Not drunk enough to ignore the sound of that stupid girl’s voice. That