The 5th Wave (The Fifth Wave #1)(20)

“That’s right,” I said, nervously running my hand over his hair.

“I’m not going to run,” he said. “I’m going to kill them for killing Mommy.”

The drone vanished—straight up, Dad told me later. If you blinked, you missed it.

We reacted to the drone the way anyone would react.

We freaked.

Some people ran. Grabbed whatever they could carry and raced into the woods. Some just took off with the clothes on their backs and the fear in their guts. Nothing Hutchfield said could stop them.

The rest of us huddled in the barracks until night came on, then we took the freakout party to the next level. Had they spotted us? Were the Stormtroopers or clone army or robot walkers next? Were we about to be fried by laser cannons? It was pitch-black. We couldn’t see a foot in front of our noses, because we didn’t dare light the kerosene lamps. Frantic whispers. Muffled crying. Huddled on our cots, jumping at every little sound. Hutchfield assigned the best marksmen to the night watch. If it moved, shoot it. No one was allowed outside without permission. And Hutchfield never gave permission.

That night lasted a thousand years.

Dad came up to me in the dark and pressed something into my hands.

A loaded semiautomatic Luger.

“You don’t believe in guns,” I whispered.

“I used to not believe in a lot of things.”

A lady started to recite the Lord’s Prayer. We called her Mother Teresa. Big legs. Skinny arms. A faded blue dress. Wispy gray hair. Somewhere along the way she had lost her dentures. She was always working her beads and talking to Jesus. A few others joined her. Then some more. “‘Forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us.’” At which point her arch nemesis, the sole atheist in Camp Ashpit’s foxhole, a college professor named Dawkins, shouted out, “Particularly those of extraterrestrial origin!”

“You’re going to hell!” a voice yelled at him in the dark.

“How will I know the difference?” Dawkins hollered back.

“Quiet!” Hutchfield called softly from his spot in the doorway. “Stow that praying, people!”

“His judgment has come upon us,” Mother Teresa wailed.

Sammy scooted closer to me on the cot. I shoved the gun between my legs. I was afraid he might grab it and accidently blow my head off.

“Shut up, all of you!” I said. “You’re scaring my brother.”

“I’m not scared,” Sammy said. His little fist twisting in my shirt. “Are you scared, Cassie?”

“Yes,” I said. I kissed the top of his head. His hair smelled a little sour. I decided to wash it in the morning.

If we were still there in the morning.

“No, you’re not,” he said. “You’re never scared.”

“I’m so scared right now, I could pee my pants.”

He giggled. His face felt warm in the crook of my arm. Did he have a fever? That’s how it starts. I told myself I was being paranoid. He’d been exposed a hundred times. And the Red Tsunami roars in fast once you’re exposed, unless you have immunity. And Sammy had to have it. If he didn’t, he’d already be dead.

“You better put on a diaper,” he teased me.

“Maybe I will.”

“‘Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death…’” She wasn’t going to stop. I could hear her beads clicking in the dark. Dawkins was humming loudly to drown her out. “Three Blind Mice.” I couldn’t decide who was more annoying, the fanatic or the cynic.

“Mommy said they might be angels,” Sammy said suddenly.

“Who?” I asked.

“The aliens. When they first came, I asked if they came to kill us, and she said maybe they weren’t aliens at all. Maybe they were angels from heaven, like in the Bible when the angels talk to Abraham and to Mary and to Jesus and everybody.”

“They sure talked a lot more to us back then,” I said.

“But then they did kill us. They killed Mommy.”

He started to cry.

“‘Thou prepared a table for me in the presence of my enemies.’”

I kissed the top of his head and rubbed his arms.

“‘Thou anointed my head with oil.’”

“Cassie, does God hate us?”

“No. I don’t know.”

“Does he hate Mommy?”

“Of course not. Mommy was a good person.”

“Then why did he let her die?”

I shook my head. I felt heavy all over, like I weighed twenty thousand tons.

“‘My cup runneth over.’”

“Why did he let the aliens come and kill us? Why doesn’t God stop them?”

“Maybe,” I whispered slowly. Even my tongue felt heavy. “Maybe he will.”

“‘Surely goodness and mercy will follow me all the days of my life.’”

“Don’t let them get me, Cassie. Don’t let me die.”

“You’re not going to die, Sams.”

“Promise?”

I promised.

15

THE NEXT DAY, the drone came back.

Or a different drone, identical to the first. The Others probably hadn’t traveled all the way from another planet with just one in the hold.