Michael Grant - Lies

“But we can’t play them,” the boy said.

Caine looked at him closely. He did not strike Caine as any sort of genius. Emily, on the other hand, seemed shrewd and focused. She was the one in charge.

“What’s your name?” Caine asked the boy.

“Brother. His name is Brother,” Emily supplied.

“Brother,” Caine said. “Okay. Well, Brother, those games aren’t much fun if you don’t have electricity. Are they?”

“Those others told me they’d get some of that.”

“Yeah? Well, only one person can bring electricity back,” Caine said.

“You?”

“Nope. A kid named Computer Jack.”

“We met him,” Brother interjected. “He fixed my Wii, long time back. Games still worked back then.”

“Jack works for me,” Caine said. He sat back and let that sink in. It was a lie, of course. But he doubted Emily would know that. She wouldn’t know that Jack was in Perdido Beach. And that according to Bug he was sitting in a squalid room reading comic books and refusing to do anything.

“You can get the lights on?” Emily asked with a glance at her anxious brother.

“I can,” Caine lied smoothly. “It would take about a week.”

Emily laughed. “Kid, you look like you can’t even feed yourself. Look at you. You look like a scarecrow. Dirty, hair falling out. And lying like a rug. What can you do?”

“This,” Caine said. He raised one hand and the shotgun flew out of Emily’s hand. It hit the wall so hard, the barrel stuck in the plaster like a crossbow bolt. The wood stock quivered.

Brother leaped up, but it was like he hit a brick wall. Caine threw him casually through the window. Glass shattered. There was a loud crash as the boy landed on the screened porch.

Emily was up in a heartbeat and suddenly the house disappeared around Caine. He found himself with Bug, standing in the yard.

“That’s definitely a neat trick,” Caine yelled. “Here’s an even better one.”

With hands outstretched he yanked Brother straight through the porch screen. The mesh wrapped around the boy’s body like a shroud. And he began to rise into the air, struggling feebly, calling out to his sister to save him.

Emily was instantly a foot from Caine, face-to-face.

“Try something,” Caine snarled. “It’ll be a long drop for your idiot brother.”

Emily looked up, and Caine saw the fight go out of her. Brother was still rising, higher and higher. The fall would maybe kill him. It would at the very least cripple him.

“See, I haven’t been spending my days and nights here on the farm,” Caine said. “I’ve been in a few fights. Experience. It’s kind of useful.”

“What is it you want?” Emily asked.

“When the others get here, you let them walk on in. I have to have a little conversation with them. Your shotgun has had it. And your little tricks won’t save you or him.”

“I guess you really want to talk to those boys.”

“Yeah. I guess I do.”

Lana heard the knock at the door and sighed. She’d been reading a book. Meg Cabot. A book from a million lifetimes ago. A girl who became a real-life princess.

Lana read a lot now. There were still plenty of books in the FAYZ. Almost no music, no TV or movies. Plenty of books. She read everything from fun chick lit to heavy, boring books.

The point was to keep reading. In Lana’s world there was awake time. And there was nightmare time. And the only thing keeping her sane was reading. Not that she was at all sure she was sane.

Not sure of that at all.

Patrick heard the knock, too, and barked loudly.

Lana assumed it was someone needing healing. That was the only reason anyone came to see her. But from long habit and deeply ingrained fear, she lifted the heavy handgun from the desk and carried it to the door with her.

She knew how to use the weapon. She was very accustomed to the feel of the grip in her hand.

“Who is it?”

“Sam.”

She leaned in to look through the peephole. Maybe Sam’s face, maybe not: there were no windows in the hallway outside, and so, no light. She threw the dead bolt and opened the door.

“Don’t shoot me,” Sam said. “You’d only have to heal me.”

“Come on in,” Lana said. “Pull up a chair. Grab a soda from the fridge and I’ll get the chips.”

“Well, you still have a sense of humor,” Sam said.

He chose the easy chair in the corner. Lana took the chair she had turned around to face the balcony. She had one of the better rooms in the hotel. In the old days it must have cost hundreds of dollars a day with this great view looking out over the ocean.

“So, what’s the emergency?” Lana asked. “You wouldn’t be here if there wasn’t some kind of problem.”

Sam shrugged. “Maybe I’m just here to say hi.”

It had been a while since she had seen him. She remembered the awful damage that had been done to him by Drake. She remembered all too well placing her hands on his flayed skin.

She had healed his body. Not his mind. He was no more completely healed than she was. She could see it in his eyes. It should have created some sympathy between them, but Lana hated seeing that shadow over him. If Sam couldn’t get past it, how could she?

“No one ever comes just to say hi,” Lana said. She pulled a pack of cigarettes from her bathrobe pocket and lit one expertly. She inhaled deeply.

She noticed his disapproving look. “Like any of us are going to live long enough to get cancer,” she said.

Sam said nothing, but the disapproval was gone.

Lana looked at him through a cloud of smoke. “You look tired, Sam. Are you getting enough to eat?”

“Well, you really can’t get enough boiled mystery fish and grilled raccoon,” Sam said.

Lana laughed. Then she sobered. “I had some venison last week. Hunter brought it to me. He wondered if I could cure him.”

“Did you?”

“I tried. I don’t think I helped much. Brain damage. I guess it’s more complicated than a broken arm or a bullet hole.”

“Are you doing okay?” Sam asked.

Lana fidgeted and began stroking Patrick’s neck. “Honestly? And you don’t talk to Astrid about it so she comes rushing over here trying to help?”

“Between you and me.”

“Okay. Then, no, I guess I’m not doing okay. Nightmares. Memories. It’s hard to tell which is which, really.”

“Maybe you should try going out more,” Sam said.

“But none of that is happening to you, right? Nightmares and all?”

He didn’t answer, just dropped his head and looked down at the floor.

“Yeah,” she said.

Lana stood up abruptly and went to the balcony door. She stood there, arms crossed over her chest, cigarette burning forgotten in her hand. “I can’t seem to stand being around people. I get madder and madder. It’s not like they’re doing anything to me, but the more they talk or look at me or just stand there, the angrier I get.”

“Been there,” he said. “Still am there, I guess.”

“See, you’re different, Sam.”

“I don’t make you angry?”

She laughed, a short, bitter sound. “Yeah, actually you do. I’m standing here right now and a part of me wants to grab anything I can put my hands on and smash it against your head.”

Sam got up and went to her. He stood just behind her. “You can punch me, if it helps.”

“Quinn used to come see me,” Lana said, as though she hadn’t heard him. “Then he dropped a glass and I…I almost killed him. Did he tell you? I grabbed the gun and I had it pointed right at his face, Sam. And I really, really wanted to pull the trigger.”

“You didn’t, though.”

“I shot Edilio,” Lana said, still looking down toward the water.