Chapter Six
They were like ghosts.
The thought made Morgan shudder. There were far too many ghosts in the world already, ghosts of innocents who should have never died. But these living shadows were far worse.
The hopelessness around her was crushing Morgan's chest in, as if it were a physical pressure against her ribs. She had become accustomed to the almost buoyant feel of her new companions, and to have that shattered so quickly and decisively left her feeling broken.
"Peter?"
Peter turned, eyebrows raised in question. There was nothing in his expression save open curiosity and a vague hope that he could answer. Morgan felt like she was about to kick a puppy, which made no sense.
"Was all that story crap for real?"
Peter looked a bit taken aback. He shifted the sleeping boy in his arms as he pondered his reply. "As real as legend gets, Morgan. Even history becomes clouded when retold over and over."
"So you meant it?"
"Yes, we meant it. Why?"
Morgan shook her head, uncertain why she had even brought it up. "No reason. I just…"
"Need something to think about?" Peter asked, tilting his head to one side.
"Yeah," Morgan replied, relieved that he had said it and she hadn't had to. "Something like that. Everyone's so depressed and…"
"We've never encountered anything like that before," Peter said by way of explanation. "We're no strangers to messy death, but execution is a completely different story. Dying in battle is one thing… being mown down isn't a good way to go."
"Better than starving to death," Morgan said, with the irrefutable street-logic that made no sense to Peter put perfect sense to just about everyone else with half a brain cell.
"I'd prefer life, no matter how miserable," Peter said firmly. "I have it on good authority that being dead isn't all that great."
Morgan cast him a questioning look, glancing at the teenaged girl a few yards ahead. "Where you and Levi the kids in that story?"
"You're quick," Peter said noncommittally.
"So I guess she would know, huh."
Peter didn't answer. Apparently it wasn't his favorite topic in the world. Morgan didn't blame him. Although the fact that he was (insofar as his people's laws went) married was a bit depressing.
"Yes, Levi and I were in the story. We didn't tell you even a quarter of it, however, that would have taken until the end of forever."
"Why?"
Peter smiled slightly. "Stories never end, Morgan. You just don't find out about the rest of it."
That certainly gave Morgan something to think about for the rest of the day.
* * *
Knuckles stared at the heaving waves, wondering if she could create a makeshift trident out of driftwood and spear a fish.
"What're you thinking about?"
"Fish," Knuckles replied instantly, not even looking to see whom it was. She knew without thinking that it was DJ. "Think I could catch some?"
"Even if you could, there's no way to cook it. You'd get food poisoning if you ate raw fish from around here. Trust me, I've been there."
"Nice."
"You have no idea," DJ said wryly, stepping closer and standing beside her. "I think it was the fourth worst time of my life."
"What were the other three?"
There was a long silence. Knuckles bit her lip. "I shouldn't have asked," she said contritely. "It's none of my business."
"No, it's okay," DJ replied. He took a deep breath. "The worst day of my life… was when Janice and Kendell died."
"Who?"
"My brother and sister. The Plague got them, within hours of each other."
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be," said DJ dismissively, waving his hand. "It was a long time ago."
"How long?"
"Three and a half years."
"That's not long," Knuckles said softly. "My friend Randy died ten years ago and I still expect to see him when I wake up, telling me what a lie-abed I am."
"You've had that luxury," DJ said harshly without really meaning to. "I haven't."
"Let's talk about something else," Knuckles said softly. "It's too depressing."
There was a long silence, filled only with the sound of the surf. Finally DJ let out a low sigh.
"You're a strange girl."
"How so?"
"One minute you're Lady Amazon, next you're this… vulnerable little girl, almost. It's strange," DJ said, almost apologetically. "Usually girls are totally butch or really, really emotional, or just, you know, neutral. That I've met, anyway. You're a piece of work."
"Glad you approve," Knuckles said dryly. "I used to be really tough. Then I got all soft in Never-Land. Really soft."
"Nothing wrong with that," DJ said softly, turning so he could look at her. "Just shows you have heart."
"Mmm."
"What's your home like?" DJ asked, more from a desire to keep Knuckles talking than actual curiosity. "Where you're from."
Knuckles sighed heavily. "Very lush. It's always summer. There are trees and mountains, birds everywhere. It's just really wholesome, the kind of place where just breathing the air makes you feel better. More free, somehow."
Knuckles closed her eyes, thinking back on the day Peter brought her to what she now thought of as her home. "When you first get there, the first thing that hits you is the size. It's huge. Then you hear all the noise, all the animals and the wind in the trees and the people and the streams. After that, all you feel is this amazing sense of freedom. You can go anywhere, do anything, be anything. Of course, after a while you get used to it, but every now and then you just stop for a minute and soak it all in."
"Sounds wonderful," DJ said softly. She had very pretty lips…
Knuckles took a deep breath of the sea air, eyes still closed. "If I try hard, I almost feel like I'm back there again…"
DJ simply couldn't resist anymore. He had no clue what he was doing, but it seemed like it would be all right.
Knuckles' eyes popped open when she felt the merest whisper of a touch brush across her lips. She gawked at DJ, who was slightly flushed, and definitely not from the cool temperatures.
"I'm sorry," DJ said quickly. "I didn't mean…" he trailed off into sheepish silence.
"Shut up, DJ."
"Huh?"
Not really knowing what she was doing (and wondering why she was doing it) Knuckles grabbed DJ by the collar and kissed him as thoroughly as she could manage.
* * *
"This is awful," Graham said firmly. "Seriously."
"Yeah," Pockets said. "But what can you do?"
"Not a lot," Graham said, shaking his head. "Except hope."
"That's not a lot of help."
"It's still something to do," Graham retorted. "Is there anything edible on this rock?"
"Probably not," Pockets replied, shaking his head. "Seaweed, maybe."
"Gross."
"Yeah."
The two boys fell into silence. Graham looked up when he heard movement and saw Levi approaching.
"You two all right?" she asked.
"I guess," said Pockets, shrugging and putting on a brave face. Graham knew for a fact that Pockets had what was probably the worst chest cold in human history, but didn't say anything. It wasn't something the leaders had to be bothered with.
Not that Graham felt spectacular himself.
Levi gave them the fisheye for a moment, then nodded and walked towards the next cluster of refugees.
"Think we should've said something?" Pockets asked anxiously. "I mean, after not being sick for however long our immune systems are probably shot."
"We'll live," Graham said firmly. "They have enough to worry about already."
"If you say so."
Pockets spent most of the night dry heaving.
* * *
It was a strange feeling, Jasmine mused.
The days and nights were blurring together. She had no idea how long she had been in this strange twilight realm, hovering on the edge of oblivion. It was like those times when she'd gone on all-out benders and hadn't come up for air for a week. But she knew for a fact she hadn't been taking anything.
"You all right, Jasmine?" asked Trevor, a kid who looked nine but had the mind of a twenty-year old. "You look strange."
"I am strange," said Jasmine, giggling slightly. Her bright red hair looked strange against her pale, sweaty skin. Like blood. Trevor shuddered.
"You're getting worse."
"Worse? What's worse?" Jasmine asked, trying not to laugh. "I don't feel like my sinuses are going to explode, so that's better!"
"Jazz…"
"Oh, shut up. I'm fine. Just… sleepy…"
* * *
"Levi?"
"Hmm?"
"We're in a bad way," Peter said. "I think a lot of the others are getting sick."
Levi didn't look up, just nodded. "I know. They all say they're fine, but they're not. Some of them look ready to die where they stand."
"We're really in it this time," Peter said wearily, flopping down on the sand, being careful not to spray sand onto Levi or Griffin, who was asleep in Levi's lap. "Up past our eyeballs."
"I know," Levi murmured. "Nothing to be done now. Unless Morgan changes her mind. I'll tell you if I see the sky fall down."
"Don't tell anyone, but I can't help but agree," Peter said softly.
Levi didn't answer. She kept staring at Griffin's face, gently stroking his tousled hair with one hand. He hadn't awoken in far too long. Anyone might have thought he was dead if not for the sound of raspy, unhealthy breathing.
"I'm running out of hope," she murmured at long last. "I can't see past this."
"Me neither," Peter said.
They didn't sleep that night. And when the sun arose the next morning, they still held silent sentinel.
* * *
Morgan felt like she was walking through the outdoor hospitals of the Civil War. But this was far, far worse- there were no soldiers here. No prisoners of war, no blood, not even any adults. Just children, caught in the extended death throes that the Plague caused.
From what she could see most had been ill since they arrived, but so mildly they hadn't said a word. Only Griffin had had an outlet—his mother—for his fear and pain. They had been without sickness so long that now the virus penetrated to their very core, flattening any defenses their bodies might have summoned up.
It all boiled down to a mass of pain, moaning together on the Miami sand.
Morgan sank onto the sand, watching. Just watching.
A thirteen-year-old girl was spread out on her back, giggling hysterically, her eyes blank and staring. Her violently red hair mingled with the blood from her cracked skin and her bloody nose. Beside her was a nine-year-old boy, rocking back and forth on his haunches and emitting a low, keening sound like a wounded animal.
One boy was spread-eagled on his stomach, dry heaving and bringing up only blood and spit.
Morgan could see her brother and sister in her mind's eye, the seven-year-old twins who were so alike they even died the same. Curled up in a ball, sobbing from the pain, hurting so much that it was a relief for everyone—even Morgan—when they passed on, beyond pain.
A dry sob rose in Morgan's throat.
Never before had she wanted to escape so badly. She wanted to hide away from the world, to just cry until she found oblivion in sleep.
"Morgan?"
Morgan jumped. DJ gently laid a hand on her shoulder, gazing at her sympathetically. "It's time to go," he said quietly. "We can only hurt them now."
Morgan let DJ pull her to her feet. She looked around in a daze, seeing the dying and the already-mourning figures of the only hope she'd seen in almost four years.
"I wish…"
"What?"
Morgan shook her head. "Nothing."
But as they left, ignored and unnoticed, all Morgan could think was that she hoped they found some absolution, and that the survivors found some sort of home.
* * *
"That's it, then," Levi said bitterly, watching as DJ and Morgan disappeared. "We're on our own."
Peter didn't answer. Levi glanced at him, wondering why he didn't speak.
She swallowed a scream.
He was transparent, like a colored ghost. He was staring at his own hand, a mystified expression on his face.
"Peter!" Levi's heart was thundering in her chest. She slid Griffin onto the sand and lunged forward, seizing Peter's wrist.
Peter's startled eyes flew to her own. "Levi?" He looked vaguely frightened, like someone whose mind is so fried they've passed beyond sensation.
And then he vanished.
Levi screamed aloud then, screamed in pain and rage and threw herself onto the still-warm sand where he had been, her resolve utterly broken. She sobbed with the desperation of someone who cannot accept what they have seen.
Everyone turned to see.
Morgan turned to see.
And it all fell into place in a way it never had before, and suddenly she knew. She knew what had happened without asking, knew that every word Peter and Levi and Knuckles had ever spoken was true.
A soft wind started blowing, ignored by the sick and the mourning. It seemed almost blue, as if icy cold, but it was warm. Wonderfully warm, and perfumed with the scents of a half-forgotten paradise.
Levi lifted her head, tears forgotten. She saw Morgan's distant form, and felt an electric shock that went right down to her fingertips. She stopped thinking then.
"The power and the blood are here, only the place is needed."
The world exploded.