Fear (Gone #5)(73)

Problem or opportunity?

That was the question.

The hatch came down suddenly, slammed back into place by running feet.

“Hey, you guys, be careful!”

Diana’s voice! He’d recognize it anywhere.

“Justin, you’re going to break your neck!”

Drake closed his eyes and let the pleasure of it wash over him. She was right there. And from the sound of it there were little kids on board.

Perfect.

Absolutely. Perfect.

Beyond the highway, out in the emptiness at the edge of the desert, Penny stepped on a broken bottle.

It was the bottom of a bottle, the base of what must have been a wine bottle. Green glass. Jagged. A sliver punched up through her calloused sole into the meat of her heel.

“Ahhhh!”

It hurt!

Tears came into Penny’s eyes. Blood gushed from her foot, puddling in the sand. She sat down hard and pulled her foot to her and saw the cut. Lana would have to—

Bandages. Band-Aids.

“Owww! Owww!”

Penny started crying aloud. She was hurt and no one would help her. And what would happen to her when it was dark?

It was all so unfair. So unfair. So wrong.

She’d been on top for not even a few minutes. She’d had Caine right where she wanted him, but no one liked her, and all they did was hate on her, and now her foot was hurt and bleeding.

But not as bad as when her legs were broken. Not as bad as that. And she had survived that, hadn’t she? She had survived and she had come out on top. She wondered how Caine liked having his hands in a block of cement. If they tried to take it off, they would break his hands like her legs had been broken.

Only Lana would help him, wouldn’t she?

She should have taken care of Lana when she had the chance. The Healer might be almost immune to Penny’s power, but would she be immune to a gun? Penny should have had Turk kill the Healer. Yeah, that was what she should have done.

The shadows weren’t lengthening; the light wasn’t really coming from one place. It was like she was down in a well with sun shining up high somewhere directly above, so the light had to bounce down to reach her.

Soon it would be dark.

Then what?

Diana got heavily to her feet just as Justin went tearing past again, full of giddy high spirits and energy.

Atria had wound down. She was in the bow now, reading.

Justin tripped and fell headlong, a projectile aimed right at Diana’s giant belly.

But he didn’t hit.

The little boy flew forward, mouth open, arms stretching out defensively; then he stopped, yanked back, and hit the deck hard.

Diana was moving toward him, worried, when she saw the tentacle wrapped around his ankle. She froze. It made no sense. The tentacle was coming up from the floor!

No. A hatch.

And in a flash the hatch was thrown back and Drake pushed himself awkwardly up.

Diana shot wild looks in every direction, searching for a weapon. Nothing.

Drake was out of the engine space. Standing on the deck. Grinning at her.

She knew she should scream, but her breath was gone. Her heart was hammering with no rhythm, just thudding wildly in her chest.

Drake lifted the boy off the deck with effortless strength, carried him over the side, and plunged him under the water.

Diana stared at him with horror. How could he be here? How was this possible?

“What. No snarky remark, Diana?”

Diana saw legs kicking below the surface of the water. Drake twisted his tentacle just a bit so that the little boy’s face was visible. So that she could see his wide, white eyes. So that she could see that he was screaming away the last of his air, an explosion of suicidal bubbles.

“Let him go,” Diana said, but with no force, because she knew Drake wouldn’t listen.

“There’s a dinghy tied up. Climb your fine butt down into it, Diana. Once you’re in, I let the kid up. Not before. So I’d hurry if I were you.”

Diana sobbed just once, a sudden sharp exhalation.

She could see the fear in the boy’s eyes. The pleading.

If she hesitated, he would drown. And Drake would still be here.

Diana rushed to the bow. She climbed over the rail and dropped awkwardly into the boat. “I’m in!” she cried. “Let him go.”

Drake sauntered down the length of the sailboat. He kept his whip arm in the water. He was dragging the boy through the water, keeping him submerged.

Atria saw now and screamed.

There was a rush of feet coming from below. Roger emerged on deck, panting. Drake smiled at him.

“I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure,” he said. Then he lifted Justin up out of the water. The little boy was silent, eyes closed, pale as death.

Roger’s expression turned murderous. With a roar he ran at Drake. Drake swung Justin like a wet wrecking ball and smashed Roger so hard he went over the side.

When he reached the bow he met Diana’s tearful gaze. He dumped Justin, like a sack of garbage, in the dinghy.

“I think he’s taking a nap,” Drake said, and hopped down into the boat.

Diana knelt over Justin. His eyes were closed. His lips were blue. When she touched his face he felt as cold as death.

Long-lost memories came now. Was it a video they’d shown in some class? In some different world?

It was hard for Diana with her belly to bend over low enough to put her mouth over the little boy’s lips. She had to lift his head to her and she was barely strong enough to do it.