Author's Note: I thank you for 302 reviews, but I am fairly certain at this point that there will not be a sequel.

Next update: 20 reviews or Wednesday, November 30th.

Happy Thanksgiving.

27. The Host

Hoh Rainforest, WA

October 29, 2005

4:32 P.M.

Charlie Malone was absolutely exhausted. He'd been on the road without pause for the past week. He was surprised he had yet to be stopped; all he had to do was step into a gas station store to see dozens of reproductions of his own face plastered all over every newspaper and tabloid the country's gossip industry had to offer. His story was always among the nightly news headlines, at least whenever he was fortunate enough to stop in a hotel reputable enough to have televisions in its rooms, that was. The radio in his stolen car kept him updated on police progress hourly.

He wasn't really surprised to hear that Katie was dead, though it brought a familiar chill to his blood. He was painfully aware of the fact that they were nearly all gone. He'd failed again. His only hope now was to find the Host as before, and that was not a possibility that Charlie Malone even wanted to consider facing again.

Still, he wasn't ready to die. Not just yet. He was certain now that if he simply went back to the jail they'd charge him, there was no chance of just waiting in the shadows. It would find him eventually. His decision before had been in a moment of weakness. The guilt that ate at his insides now seemed to turn his blood acidic. He could not rest until he'd made things right again. He'd brought this on all of them, now he was the only one who could stop it.

But first he had one more to find. Kenneth Anderson. Then he could prepare to meet the Host in its home territory. It would be led there. As always.

The cash had finally run out just outside of Salem. Charlie had attempted to buy another plane ticket with a credit card, but the damned computer had pulled up something on his security file. He'd barely managed to get away while the sweet old-lady agent went to fetch her manager to handle the problem. The car had been waiting in the carpool lane outside the airport. Someone had just left the thing running with the keys in the ignition while running across to the curb to help a loved one with bags. It had just been a matter of darting in and turning the key.

He was fairly certain he knew who it was this time. He'd seen the look they'd given him at the movie theatre, seen the recognition in the man's eyes. Theoretically it was impossible to identify a Host until it was killing you, but Charlie had spent the past nine years trying to figure out where he'd gone wrong before. He'd had time to develop a theory in all that brooding. It was the ones who got in the way. The ones who thought they were trying to help and just ended up sticking their noses six feet deep into the wrong person's business.

It was always the ones who snooped.

As he turned onto a little back road lined with forest brush and early snowfall, Charlie turned up the radio in time to hear reports of police tracking him. They'd picked up on sightings of a car matching his stolen vehicle several hours ago. No surprise there. He'd had the car for a week already. It was a miracle they hadn't stopped him already.

Sighing, Charlie pulled a crumpled map out of his shirt pocket and looked at it with one hand while keeping the other on the wheel. He had to keep heading north, until he was nearly in the rainforest. Why anyone would want to be a ranger was beyond him; Charlie hated the outdoors. Had since…since the first time. Why Anderson would want to be a ranger in the same place that it had happened before…that was something Charlie could neither understand nor forgive.

As he turned down yet another bend in the road, something in his rearview mirror caught his eye. A police car, lights flashing, sirens blaring. Charlie swallowed hard. He'd been expected to be pursued, but nowhere near this quickly. He'd figured on having enough time to get to the forest. Find the Host. Or at least find Anderson.

Tightening his grip on the wheel, Malone floored the gas pedal. The street was treacherously narrow, and seemed to nearly double back on itself every few feet. It didn't help that they were climbing a hill. Charlie's stomach bottomed out as he went over a bump and heard the tires screech on the pavement.

"Jesus," he muttered, and suddenly wished he had some of the chewing tobacco he'd so coveted before. It hadn't been on his mind much over the past three weeks, but now the craving seemed the only thing in his reality. That and the fear. Little black spots danced in front of his vision as he struggled on, and suddenly he realized he'd been holding his breath.

Forcing himself to draw in air, Charlie suddenly found his lips moving. An ingrained reflex toward prayer. Weak vital signs from a faith he'd try to stomp out years ago. Suddenly he was back at Ravenscar, but not as a patient this time. He was wearing a white coat and carrying a fancy pen and a pad of official-looking paper. Diagnosing a beautiful little girl who woke up screaming in the night and refused to speak.

Suddenly there was a bang, and one of the tires went out. He wasn't sure what he'd hit, but all Charlie could do was pump the breaks. The car bucked and skidded, finally spinning to a stop with its nose jammed into a rather large boulder on the side of the road. The pursuing police car came speeding around the bend and barely managed to stop in time. Its bumper neatly tapped the back of Charlie's car as it came to a halt.

Breathing hard, Charlie fought the locked seatbelt out of its clip. The door was fairly smashed up and didn't want to budge. Shouldering it painfully, Charlie managed to knock the thing nearly off its hinges. He was dimly aware of something wet on his forehead. Blood. As the officers' shouts began, he dove into the underbrush on the side of the road.

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