Lana Arwen Lazar was screaming in the middle of the infirmary as Roger watched from his seat.
It had started without warning: one second she was healing Edilio's wounds, the next she was making the feral cries of an animal in pain. In panic, he had placed his hands over a cluster of bloody holes, but he could feel the red liquid oozing through his fingers and knew it wouldn't be enough.
Dahra Baidoo had abandoned an eight-year-old with a nasty gash along the side of her face once Lana had hit the floor. That was where she currently lay, babbling and convulsing and oh my God.
Roger looked away. He couldn't cope with the sight of saliva foaming at the edges of Lana's mouth. Even he knew a seizure when he saw one. If the Healer was incapacitated then…
The thought terrified him. So many would die.
"Dahra," he called out weakly, forcing himself to apply more pressure to Edilio's wounds despite the Honduran boy's cries of protest. "Is she…?"
"I don't know," Dahra replied as she moved Lana into the recovery position. Her face was pale. "Oh my God, I don't know what to do. I mean, there was a passage on seizures but it said that if things were this bad to call 911 and we don't have that option." Dahra was trembling as well. Roger could tell; the shakes were slightly quicker than Lana's.
For one brief second Roger looked at the wall-mounted phone and berated himself internally.
Edilio let out a cough and there was blood running down his lips. "Edilio's getting bad," Roger said futilely. Lana hadn't finished extracting the bullets; there was no telling how many of Edilio's internal organs were still screwed-up.
"I smell fire," one girl with a bruised face said. Right now all Roger was aware of was his own heartbeat, Lana's convulsions, and the smell of Edilio's blood. But he still forced himself to breath in. It was faint, but the acrid stench was filtering in.
"Someone… Someone should…" Roger trailed off as Edilio began to shake. No no no no!
Edilio's brown skin was quickly losing all colour and Roger's hands were stained a deep red. "Oh God!" he shouted. Tears rolled down his cheeks.
Above, the entire world shook.
It took Brianna just over a split-second to make a decision.
Knowing she had no other choice, she flexed her palms and looked over at the suburbs on the other side of town.
The wall of fire was only a few feet away as she reached out and grabbed Dekka.
Mary screamed, "JOHN!" as Brianna carried the first person to safety.
Her muscles burned as she rushed back and forth, carrying each person over as the flames crashed down on the town hall. Her heart was pounding and everything felt like it was in slow motion.
Finally, she returned to the cul-de-sac with Mary as the town hall was enveloped.
She looked over the group and only saw Dekka, Hunter, Elwood and Mary.
"Oh no," Brianna said. Then she passed out.
"Shit! Breeze!"
Elwood watched as Dekka hurried over to where Brianna had collapsed on the asphalt. "Oh God, she's burning up." Even from where he stood, half-disoriented, Elwood could see the sweat rolling down Brianna's face. "She needs water. Now."
"There are houses. I'll just—" Hunter said and stopped at the same time that Elwood saw that Mary Terrafino was the only other person here. No sign of Astrid, Little Pete, or John. Mary stood there, staring off into the direction of the fiery eruption. "No."
"What?" Dekka said, not taking her eyes off of Brianna.
"We have bigger problems than Brianna dehydrating," Elwood said, feeling the panic rising. "Much bigger problems."
John Terrafino didn't have enough time to feel panic.
It was over in seconds.
One moment he was standing beside Mary, watching as the flames snaked along the oil towards the daycare.
Then came the sudden explosion and the rush of flames and all John knew was a brilliant, all-consuming heat.
The last thing he heard before everything burned away to darkness was a single strangled cry.
"JOHN!"
"Then the damn moof just straight-up poofed herself and her boyfriend out of there."
Zil sperry kicked at the couch in the apartment as Lance looked on, nonplussed. Hank and Antoine stood by the window, looking at the latest development. Sure, the world was ending or whatever, but he didn't give a damn. I could've shot that freak!
He'd always been told in school that he had anger problems and was susceptible to sudden rages, but the unbridled fury burning inside him was like nothing he had ever felt before. "I want to kill them all," he said.
"Huh?" Lance said, looking away from the window. Every now and again Zil was struck by how out of place Lance looked compared to the rest of them. Whereas Hank and Antoine were snivelling, pudgy, ugly creatures, Lance was tall and handsome and looked like he would be more at home on the Council than in some apartment that reeked of drugs. A spliff was in Lance's hand. Zil had been too frightened to partake.
"The moofs. Freaks. Chuds," Zil said, spittle flying from his mouth. "They wrecked my property, arrested me, and I'm the evil one?" He raised his gun and fired a shot into the wall that caused everyone in the room to flinch.
Lance took another hit. "'S not fair," he said. "Power must be going to their heads or something."
Zil wasn't aware that Lance was too baked out of his mind to actually be listening to him. "We need to do something," he said. "Fight back. Let them know that we humans were here first…" He trailed off, looking around for some source of inspiration.
It struck him when he laid his eyes on the Confederate flag hanging from the wall. "We've gotta start a movement," he said. "Put those freaks in their place. Perdido Beach was built by humans for humans. We can't let them take over."
"Cool," Lance said. His eyes were red and a lazy smile was on his face even as the cloud of flame and smoke expanded outwards.
Maybe Zil was aware that fundamentally, there was something wrong with a fourteen-year-old getting stoned as hell, but whatever. These kinds of things were put in place to make the common person oppressed and put down. Like his uncle had said; sure his parents had always said he was offensive, but they were wrong. The man was speaking the truth.
"We've pandered to the anomalies for too long," Zil said, feeling a jittery rush. "It's time for us to strike back. Human supremacy!"
"Man, I don't know if we'll live that long," Hank said. "The town's burning."
Zil's confident smile faltered as the first wisps of smoke caressed the window pane.
Petey, no. Go see Mommy; she'll help you. Window seat. Window seat.
Astrid blinked open her eyes and breathed in smoke.
She let out a spluttering cough and sat up. In front of her were the glass doors that led out to the town plaza. All Astrid could see was blackness. The fire.
Sweat rolled down her face and she saw a small puddle of bile on the carpet.
Pete stood against the wall, ignoring her. Miraculously, his game had survived the chaos and a faint chiptune could be heard. But there wasn't a scratch on him.
"Petey," Astrid said in a raspy voice. On shaky legs, she rushed over to him and embraced him. You're alive. You're okay.
"Different game," Pete said indifferently.
There was a sudden sharp sound. Astrid turned to face the doors and saw a large crack splintering along the glass. Her heart caught in her throat. The pressure is going to blow the doors in. We'll be roasted.
Astrid grabbed Pete and looked him directly in the eyes. "Petey, we have to move," she said. "Come on." There was a word that her parents used in a lifetime past that prompted him to move, but now Astrid could only think of the rush of burning, toxic air that would claim them and the fact that she was so alone.
Another crack.
"Come on, Petey." She hated the note of desperation in her voice.
Pete pressed a button on his game. "Angry. In the dark," he said.
Astrid took a step forward. Pete complied.
Relief flooded through her being until a chip of glass rocketed off the door and buried itself in the wall. A thin stream of black smoke began to filter in.
Astrid clenched Pete's hand and sprinted for the stairs as more and more pieces of glass were obliterated.
They ran along the upstairs hallway, stopping only for Astrid to shut the fire doors, bisecting the room. It created a weak barrier against the inevitable rush of fire, but it would buy them precious seconds.
The temperature was rising at a rate that frightened Astrid, but she couldn't think. She had to get them to safety.
She dared to look behind her. The fibreglass windows of the fire doors were black.
A scream wormed its way out of Astrid's throat.
"Different game," Pete said.
The plaza was nothing more than an expanding black cloud tainted with embers.
Fear lodged itself in Ellen's throat as she sped down the road. The fire truck's sirens were wailing at a volume that almost rivalled the sounds of burning. She could see the anxious faces of kids looking out at her from windows. Her hands were slick with sweat.
The only reason she hadn't turned around and made a break for it was the awareness that both the infirmary and the daycare were in the plaza. Over half the FAYZ's population could die if I don't do something.
Three people had already died tonight. Ellen didn't want to be responsible for that number increasing.
Another fireball erupted from the cloud and flung itself across the sky. Ellen looked up and watched as it slammed against the horizon. There was a circular flash of pearly grey for a moment before the fire burned out.
She started to cry again as she drew closer to the plaza. Wiping away the tears, she checked the water gauge. Two-thirds full.
A strangled cry of despair almost broke free, but Ellen swallowed hard. She had to remain calm. She had to save the kids. This shouldn't be happening.
Then, without warning, a wall of black met the windscreen. Without thinking Ellen rolled up the windows and didn't dare breathe as she drove into the burning plaza. It took only a few seconds for the temperature to increase and suddenly her mind was in two places at once.
As Ellen stared into the vast blackness of the plaza, she was seeing the burning forms of her fire crew and smelling the rancid stench of burning flesh and—
Ellen reached into the nearest compartment and pulled out a bottle of water. She gulped until the urge to vomit died. Calm. Stay calm. You have to stay calm.
Shaking, Ellen took her foot off the accelerator. The truck bumped into something unseen. She prayed it wasn't anything serious. She moved her hand towards the water controls and hit the switch. From the roof of the truck came a jet of water that sliced through the burning air. Droplets ran down the windows and allowed Ellen to see a blurry shape amid the acrid, scorching blackness.
She flipped on the windscreen wipers. Char, soot, embers, and water were pushed away momentarily. Enough for Ellen to see fire through the windows and a familiar logo.
It was the pharmacy. Underneath it was the infirmary. The building was lined with medical supplies that made the difference between life and death.
It was the FAYZ's lifeline. And it was burning.
There was a fire-fighter's jacket and a mask on the seat next to her. No oxygen tank.
It was suicide, but Ellen saw no other way. I need to keep the fire away from the infirmary at any cost. Even… even if it's…
She'd never thought of sacrifice before in her life. It just wasn't something you thought about when you were fourteen. Sure, she'd read books and watched movies where characters had sacrificed themselves, but trying to equate it to real life…
She knew she would die if she stepped out of this truck. Her life could be over with in a matter of minutes if she decided so. I have to, though.
If she didn't save the infirmary, then it wouldn't matter. Everyone would die anyway.
A crack appeared in the windscreen.
Ellen didn't want to be the hero, but she was left with no other choice. This must be how Sam Temple felt. No wonder he chose to step out.
Trembling, she shrugged on the jacket and zipped it up. There were no pants, and Ellen hoped to God that denim jeans would be defence enough against the heat. They only need to last until the pharmacy and infirmary are safe.
It was beginning to feel horribly airless in here. Beads of salty water rolled down her face; there was no telling if they were tears or sweat droplets. She felt like she was going to throw up. Just a little longer, Ellen. Come on.
She took a greedy breath in and placed the mask over her face. There was no oxygen tank to attach the nozzle to, so she just shoved the tube down the jacket.
Ellen reached over and shut off the water and wipers. "Come on. No backing out now. Everyone's counting on you. Save the day no matter what it takes." She said the words through hiccuping sobs. "Just do it!"
Before she could hesitate again, Ellen pushed open the door and threw herself out into the plaza.
Immediately smoke stung her eyes and her throat burned. But she steadied her stance and began to stagger over to the side of the truck.
There was a crackling explosion from somewhere. Ellen hoped it wasn't the pharmacy.
Her hands were blistering as she opened the side of the fire truck and grabbed the hose. She gave a tentative squeeze of the nozzle. A short blast of water launched itself into the smoke.
There was no way of knowing how much water was left, but she prayed it would be enough to defend the pharmacy. I cannot let anyone die.
Each breath quickly became stifling and muggy, and the only thing that was saving Ellen from choking was the thin layer of fire-proof fabric between the breathing tube and the deathly air. Beads of sweat evaporated off her face as soon as they formed and the best way she could describe herself was as dry.
Ellen kept one hand pressed against the side of the truck to guide her back to the pharmacy. Her head felt light and her hair was dry and brittle. But she didn't stop; she passed by the open door and gasped for air.
Something sharp and burning lodged itself in her throat. Ellen began to choke up charred phlegm from the back of her throat that stuck to the inside of the mask. Panicking, she clenched onto the hosepipe for dear life, knowing that if she dropped it, it would all be over.
Her throat stopped burning but the choking didn't cease; every intake of breath sent another wave of smoke into her lungs. Ellen staggered forward; the nozzle slipped out of her jacket and toxic air flowed freely to the mask without the barrier of the jacket. It trailed behind her, scraping against the arid asphalt.
Ellen threw up. The acidic bile filled the mask and stung against her lips and nose and oh God she couldn't breathe at all. Her heart rattled away under the fire-fighter's jacket and all she could think was, I'm going to drown in my own vomit.
She had a choice at that moment. She could either ditch the mask and expose her lungs to the deadly air, or she could preserve her lungs with a puke-filled mask.
If need be, I must sacrifice myself.
The plastic mask dropped to the floor. Exposure to the hot air made the vomit crust along the cracked surface. Everything smelled like puke and her head felt light and dizzy but Ellen forced herself to walk towards the pharmacy as if in a trance.
Blood rushed around her head and the throbbing sound of her heartbeat in her ears deafened her to the rumble of the engine. Keep going.
She looked up at the front window of the pharmacy. Aspirin – Half price was written on a blackening and curling cardboard sign. Cracks laced the glass and for one moment Ellen wondered if it was too late.
Too much was at stake for that to be true. She couldn't die in vain. Even if it was too late, she had to believe she could still do something.
Ellen placed a hand on the door and pushed.
A thick cloud of smoke rushed through the gap, but as Ellen gasped for air she realised it was ever-so-slightly easier to breathe in here. Not for long. Maybe a minute at most.
The door at the back that led to the basement was still shut. Maybe there was the sound of screaming but Ellen wasn't sure any more. All she could focus on was stopping the fire. Nothing else.
She spied a flame dancing across a bunch of dieting pills and pulled the trigger. The water blasted through the dry air and doused it in a few seconds. Clouds of steam rolled off the ground where stray droplets hit.
In her delirium Ellen wondered what it would be like if she wasn't wearing boots right now.
There was nothing to do for the drugs on the roasting shelves, but she could fight against the blaze that raged above the metal cabinet where the morphine was contained. The skin on her hands began to peel and a dehydration headache was quickly setting in. You can't stop, Ellen. Save the town. Be the hero.
She washed away the orange flickers from the shelves. Her boots crunched down on a charred pregnancy test. Smoke alarms were screaming and for a brief moment she wondered if 911 had been called. I'm 911 now.
The world went fuzzy.
Ellen let out a soundless cry as she fell down. The side of her face brushed against the floor and she opened her mouth in what should have been a scream.
She still aimed the hose at the shelf of painkillers even as blackness swallowed her up.
The hose ran out of water three minutes later.
This is not the game meant to be played.
Nemesis must be punished.
END HIM, FILTHY VESSEL.
Perdido Beach was a distant idea as Lana floated in a space that wasn't quite real. The words of the Darkness grated against every nerve of her brain and with every passing second, the temptation just to give into madness grew stronger.
There was nothing but darkness all around her, interrupted only by pulsating stabs of horrific green that crackled in her thoughts like terrible, terrible lightning.
Behind her, Lana could sense some kind of light, but if she tried to look, the green lightning would ravage her thoughts and leave her reeling in agony and turmoil. I am trapped here. Wherever here is.
She was absently aware what this space represented. Amid the shadows, there was a section of blackness that was even darker, as if light itself had never reached it. Or more accurately, she realised, as if any light that drew close enough was utterly obliterated.
This is the Darkness, or a pretty damn good representation of it.
A word danced across her mind, but she blocked it off the instant she felt its unforgiving touch.
Fool. You dare deny my name?
The void of darkness seemed to shift. Lana could sense a raw, unbridled fury like no other. Her mind drew the comparison to a child's tantrum, oddly enough.
She knew she had no body in this space, knew that there was nothing physical, but the sensation of a smile danced across the ghost of her lips. Defiance brimmed inside her as the Darkness writhed in rage.
This game is forfeit. Nemesis utterly failed. Everything is mine now. Do you not realise it? Do you not understand how fragile you are?
Lana sent the projection of two middle fingers in the direction of the Darkness. And then, carefully, carefully, she tilted her head, and—
—the light began to grow in her peripherals, telling her that everything was right and—
GAIAPHAGE.
—a lightning storm erupted in Lana's thoughts and she lost her grip on this reality as her mind screamed and snapped.
It felt like sinking to the bottom of the ocean as both light and Darkness faded away. She was drowning but it didn't matter.
Lana convulsed hard enough that she shot straight up. Her eyes snapped open and the brightness of the infirmary worsened a headache she had only just become aware of.
Her brain felt like it was crackling. Something hovered at the back of her mind, but she wouldn't allow herself to think it. Couldn't allow herself.
She breathed in and the stench of blood was overwhelming. Someone, somewhere, let out a spluttering sob as the infirmary came into focus.
It was a grim tableau of injured, frightened kids. Dahra sat next to Lana, her face contorted in bewildered terror and relief. She saw in slow motion Roger pressing his hands weakly to Edilio's chest, and the slow, gradual pulsation of blood as his skin lost even more colour.
A thin trail of smoke snaked through the scene and that was what told Lana that something was horribly wrong.
"Lana. Oh my God," Dahra said as she swept her up into a crushing hug. "You're okay. You're alive. Oh my God." Lana weakly nodded as Dahra began to weep. "What happened to you?"
She tried to think, but her memory felt like shattered fragments. One minute she was talking with Roger as she helped Edilio, and the next—
—YOU THINK YOURSELF STRONG BUT YOU ARE NOTHING BUT WEAK AND INSOLENT—
—"I don't know," Lana said as her brain burned with the crackle of electricity. A sense of terror washed over her like no other and it took everything in her power not to scream.
"Let me stand," Lana said weakly. "I have to help Edilio."
Dahra obliged and let go as Lana rose to her feet, feeling utterly devoid of strength. The last time she had felt this weak was when she had been taken to the mineshaft and—
—SEE HOW UTTERLY WEAK YOU ARE, HOW YOUR THOUGHTS AND MEMORIES CAN BE PLUCKED FROM YOUR HEAD. SEE MY DOMINION—
—she was so glad she couldn't remember how Drake Merwin had come out of there with a whip for an arm.
Lana wasn't aware she was crying until Patrick had rushed up to her side and let out a whine as he nuzzled against her leg. "Good boy," she whispered. "Good boy."
Every eye in the infirmary was on her, with the exception of Edilio and Roger. She saw another pulse of blood drip to the ground and felt cold dread. There was only so much blood Edilio could use before the Healer became useless. I don't have time to be a mess. Not now.
"Are you sure you're all right?" Dahra asked with wide eyes. Lana breathed in the smell of smoke. It was growing stronger with every second. Something bad's happening.
"I'm fine, honestly," Lana said with a dismissive wave of her hand. "Besides, if we wait any longer we might lose Edilio."
Dahra said nothing but looked at her with a mixture of concern and acceptance. Whatever's wrong, it's not killing me, so it's not the priority. Hell, in the FAYZ, it might never be the priority.
Roger actually began to cry tears of relief when Lana eased herself back into her chair and rested her hands on Edilio's body. Almost immediately the blood stopped to a trickle and Edilio let out a breath that wasn't quite as shallow. This I can do.
Roger was covered in blood up to his elbows and looked as shell-shocked as those few kids that had been forced to shoot their guns on the night that Sam and Caine stepped out. Lana knew she was staring at the consequences of one moment of weakness.
"He'll be fine," she said with an uneasy shrug. But it seemed to be the right thing to say; Roger's face relaxed all at once.
From across the room, Dahra let out a single cough.
That was all the warning they got before a wall of smoke burst through the doors. For Lana, the panic didn't set in until she saw the embers tangled up in the blackness. Fire. And a lot of it.
Kids began to scream as the room filled. Dahra backed up against the wall. Patrick scurried over to Lana's side and began to whine.
Lana was paralysed with indecision as she watched the burning, toxic air swill around the infirmary. It was all too fast, too soon. Things were not meant to fall apart this quickly.
"Oh God," Roger said as something vile and acrid settled on Lana's tongue. It felt like something distant was wailing in her mind, but she didn't have the time to focus on it.
Patrick tugged on her jacket sleeve, urging her to get away. But she wasn't going anywhere with one hand keeping Edilio alive. "I can't, boy," she said shakily.
There was a gust of wind that pushed the smoke further forward. Now panic began to pour through Lana's insides. For this much fire, there has to be…
She couldn't cope with the image of Perdido Beach burning. That was too much. How? How did we not realise?
Stupidly she blamed her episode. That was evacuation time gone down the drain because the Healer decided to throw a seizure. It wasn't her fault, but guilt scratched against the inside of her throat, a trapped canary struggling in its cage.
Lana didn't realise she was touching thin air until the figure tackled her and Roger to the ground.
"Move!"
She stared, mouth agape, as Edilio Escobar leaped out of his bed, caked in blood and paper pale, and threw the two of them to the floor. Seconds later the smoke engulfed the space they had been occupied.
"Edilio," Roger breathed. "You're okay."
Edilio forced a smirk through thin lips. "Not dead yet," he said. The wound glistened with blood but did not bleed.
Lana let out a crazed laugh at the exact moment triumph, terror, and relief collided. "No," she said. "No, you wouldn't. You're not getting out of here that easily."
Then the smoke began to lower and the mood died. Patrick lay as flat as possible, human terror painted in his canine eyes.
With a panicked start, Lana realised she had lost sight and sound of Dahra and the kids amid the chaos.
She suddenly found that she couldn't breathe. She looked to Edilio, then to Roger, then to the expanding cloud of smoke.
Something black and burning touched her bare leg.
Then the universe twisted.
