Нил Шустерман - Scorpion Shards

“Something happened to me while you were all still in the observatory,” said Michael. “I didn’t want to talk about it . . . but I think I’d better. ...”

Everyone leaned closer as Michael began his story.

“I did get lost for a while, just like I said,” began Mi­chael. “But then I ended up outside of a lecture hall. There was this girl unchaining her bike. I went up to her, just to talk, you know . . . but before I knew it we were kissing.

“After a while she pulls me into this doorway. The door opens, and we go in—and I know we shouldn’t, but by now I don’t care, cause I’m feeling like nothing else in the world matters.

“But then I think about what happened with that girl, back when I lived in Baltimore—the only time things ever went too far. Thinking about it makes me scared, so I push myself away from this girl. I run clear across the room, and I think it’s over . . . but then I look back at her from across the room . . . and that’s when I see the most horrible thing I’ve ever seen in my life. She’s surrounded by fire—an unnatural blue-green fire— and it’s all over her, but she’s not burning . . . and the fire—it has a dozen arms and legs—but worst of all it has eyes. It’s alive! But all I can do is sit there and watch, too horrified to even scream, as this thing wraps itself around her like a cocoon . . . and she doesn’t even know. It’s like she’s hypnotized.

“Finally the girl goes limp, and the monster turns to me. I try to run, but my feet slip and when I look back it ’s moving toward me through the air—and then in a second it’s on me and I swear I can feel this monster oozing back inside me, right through the pores of my skin . . . and for the first time I realize that the feeling inside that always drives me crazy . . . isn’t me—it’s this thing that’s been living here inside me, like a leech, stealing away all my strength.

“When I look up, I see the girl walking toward me. It looks like there’s nothing wrong with her—but the room is on fire all around her, real fire, orange and hot, just like what happened with that girl in Baltimore—only that time I never saw the creature, because I didn’t rip myself away from it . . . and that time I didn’t get the girl out of the fire in time.

“So now, with the fire all around, I pick her up, carry her out before the fire gets us, and as soon as we’re out­side, she turns to me and smiles, not even noticing any­thing strange is going on.

“And that’s when I realize that she’s dead.

“Yeah, she’s alive, but she’s also dead! That thing . . . it ate her soul and left her body alive!

“She smiles at me and says Hi, like everything’s blue skies and sunshine, and I think She doesn’t even know! Some­thing has just devoured her soul, and she doesn’t even know!

“I couldn’t stand it, so I ran from her as fast as I could . . . but only got to the next street before I started puking my guts out. That’s when you found me.”

Only an angry chorus of sleet responded to Michael’s terrible tale. No one had anything they could say. No words of consolation. No advice. Everyone’s eyes began to sting with cold tears.

Michael bit his tongue to stop his teeth from chattering and wiped the tears from his eyes. “So now I know why we’re dying. Those horrible beasts in the observatory didn’t just come out of nowhere. They were there all along. They’re here now. All four of them.”

Someone let out a wail of agony—it must have been Lourdes, and then tears of anger, terror, but most of all helplessness, burst out around the van. It was simply too much to take alone, and in an instant all eight of their hands were reaching for the others, longing to make con­nection once more—even Winston. They clasped hands, the circle of four was closed, and their breath and their heartbeats began to match—panicked and fast. The truth was indeed terrible, but easier to grasp and accept when the circle was closed.

“We’re possessed ...” said Winston.

“Not possessed, infected,” said Tory.

“Infested,” offered Michael. “The way people get lice . . . the way dogs get worms. Each of us is infested by some . . . thing. They must have found their way inside us a few years ago, when all the bad stuff started . . . and ever since then, they’ve been growing.”

They looked at each other’s faces, for the first time see­ing the ravages of the infestation for what they really were. The creature that hid within Lourdes crushed life out of others and turned it into fat. The one clinging to Tory could turn flesh rancid from disease. The one in Winston paralyzed anything it touched and was stealing Winston’s life away years at a time. And everyone knew what Michael’s did.

“Why us?” said Winston, shaking his head, still not wanting to believe.

“Because we’re star-shards,” answered Tory. “It’s like that elephant and the giant tapeworm; these monsters can only live and grow inside of us.” Tory tried to feel the creature within her, but all she could feel was the pain in her face and her joints. “We might have the world’s big­gest souls . . . but they’ve become infested by the blackest parasites that ever existed.”

“Gould be that everyone’s got them,” suggested Lourdes. ". . . it’s just that ours have grown a few million times bigger than normal.”

Winston shivered. “Cosmic Killer Leeches,” he said. “I wish my father were alive—he could have pulled a cure, right out of his pharmacy.”

“Yeah,” said Michael. “Shampoo twice a day, and drink lots of sulfuric acid.” They all laughed at that, and found it strange that they could laugh at all. Perhaps they weren’t as hopeless and helpless as they thought.

“We gotta figure out a way to destroy them,” said Tory, “before they destroy us.”

“Or worse,” said Lourdes.

Tory looked at Lourdes, wondering what could possi­bly be worse than having an invisible parasite rout your soul . . . and then she looked at the central card that Bay­less had dealt to them, and shivered. The torn world. . .

How powerful were these creatures? How many people in this world could they destroy if they had the chance—and what if the kids lost complete control and gave them­selves over to the will of these dark beasts, choosing to feed them by visiting their horrors upon others? To para­lyze them. To disease them. To crush them. To devour their souls.

If any one of them chose that path rather than bear the suffering, the devastation left behind would be unimagin­able. It would be like tearing the world in half.

They looked at each other, four souls, thinking a single thought.

“My God!” said Tory. “We have to find the other two!”

Dillon dreamed he was riding on the back of a panther—a great, dark beast bounding into a wild un­known. The power he felt in the dream made the rest of humanity seem small and unimportant, and as he rode he saw the weak, guilt-ridden boy he was before trampled beneath the beast’s pounding feet. Dillon awoke from the dream exhilarated, out of breath, and knowing that it was not entirely a dream. He wondered why he had resisted for so long.

His wrecking-hunger had evolved. Now it felt like a creature, burning with primal fury, yet acutely intelligent . . . and Dillon had learned that riding this beast was far better than letting it ride him.

He imagined Deanna there beside him, riding her own creature—a powerful pale horse—a terror-mare. To­gether he and Deanna would charge their beasts into the wind, and no one would stop them as they sped down paths of greater and greater destruction.