The Last Star (The 5th Wave, #3)(30)

I drop the knife and draw my sidearm. “Hands on top of your head. Kneel.”

He obeys instantly. I glance toward the road. What happened to Constance?

“I didn’t mean to startle you,” the little guy says. “It’s just that I haven’t seen another person in months. You’re with the military, yes?”

“Shut up,” I tell him. “Don’t talk.”

“Of course! I—sorry.” His mouth clamps shut. His cheeks are flushed with fear or maybe embarrassment. I step behind him. He remains very still while I run my free hand over his torso.

“Where did you come from?” I ask.

“Pennsylvania—”

“No. Where did you come from just now?”

“I’ve been living in the caves.”

“With who?”

“No one! I told you, I haven’t seen anyone in months. Since November . . .”

A hard metal object in his right-hand pocket. I fish it out. A crucifix. It’s seen better days. The cheap gold finish is chipped; the face of Christ has been worn down to a bald nub. I think of Sullivan’s Crucifix Soldier cowering behind the beer coolers.

“Please,” he whimpers. “Don’t take that.”

I toss the crucifix into the tall, dead grass between the silos and the barn. Where the hell is Constance? How did this dweeby little guy slip past her? More important, how did I let this dweeby little guy sneak up on me?

“Where’s your coat?” I ask him.

“Coat?”

I step in front of him and level the gun at his forehead. “It’s freezing. Aren’t you cold?”

“Oh. Oh!” He hiccups a nervous laugh. His teeth match the rest of him: small and scruffy with grime. “I completely forgot to grab it. I was so excited when I heard that plane—I thought rescue had finally arrived!” The smile dies. “You are here to rescue me, aren’t you?”

My finger twitches on the trigger. Sometimes you’re in the wrong place at the wrong time and what happens is nobody’s fault, I told Sullivan after hearing the story of the soldier.

“How old are you, may I ask?” he asks. “You seem much too young to be soldier.”

“I’m not a soldier,” I tell him. And I’m not.

I am the next step in human evolution.

I answer truthfully, “I am a Silencer.”





25


HE SPRINGS TOWARD ME, an explosion of pale pink and black. A flash of tiny teeth, and the gun flies from my hand. The blow breaks my wrist. The next punch, flying faster than even my enhanced eyes can follow, hurls me six feet straight back into the silo. The metal screeches, folds around my body like a taco. Now Constance’s words come home: You’ve reached a conclusion without knowing all the facts.

She wasn’t going into those caves to neutralize survivors. She was going in to silence a Silencer.

Thanks, Connie. You might have told me.

The fact that I don’t die on impact saves my life. The phony priest pauses, cocking his head at me in a weird, birdlike way. I should be dead or at least unconscious. How is it that I’m still standing?

“My! This is . . . curious.”

Neither of us moves for several seconds. I’ve thrown off his game. Stall, Ringer. Wait for Constance to come back.

If Constance comes back.

Constance may be dead.

“I’m not one of you,” I say, pulling free of the metal nook. “Vosch gave me the 12th System.”

His bemused expression doesn’t change, but his shoulders tense. It is the only explanation that makes sense, yet it makes no sense.

“Curiouser and curiouser!” he murmurs. “Why would the commander enhance a human?”

Time to lie. The enemy taught me that great things can be accomplished by the smallest of lies.

“He’s turned on you. He’s given the 12th System to all of us.”

He shakes his head and smiles. He knows I’m full of shit.

“And we’re coming for all of you now,” I go on. “Before the pods can bring you to the ship.”

My rifle lies on the ground a yard from his foot. I don’t know where my sidearm ended up. The knife is very close, lying about halfway between us. He’ll expect me to go for the knife.

Okay, so the lie doesn’t seem to be working. I’ll try the truth, but my hopes aren’t high. “I’m probably wasting my breath here, but you should know that you’re as human as I am. You’re being used, just like they’re using everyone else. Everything you think you know about who you are, everything you remember, is a lie. Everything.”

He nods, smiling at me the way you smile at a crazy person. That’s your cue, Constance. Jump out of the shadows and plunge your knife into his back. But Constance misses her entrance.

“I’m really at a loss,” he says. “What should I do with you?”

“I don’t know,” I answer honestly. “What I do know is I’m going to take that knife and bleed you out like a pig.”

I don’t look at the knife. I know if I look, I won’t stand a chance—he’ll see through the ruse instantly. By not looking, I force him to look. He glances down only for a second, but a second is longer than I need.