The Host (The Host #1)(73)

These were not the tears of a child, and that made them more profound—made it more sacred and painful that he would cry them in front of me. This was the grief of a man at the funeral for his entire family.

My arms wound around him, not fitting as easily as they used to, and I cried, too.

“I’m sorry,” I said again and again. I apologized for everything in those two words. That we’d ever found this place. That we’d chosen it. That I’d been the one to take his sister. That I’d brought her back here and hurt him again. That I’d made him cry today with my insensitive stories.

I didn’t drop my arms when his anguish quieted; I was in no hurry to let him go. It seemed as though my body had been starving for this from the beginning, but I’d never understood before now what would feed the hunger. The mysterious bond of mother and child—so strong on this planet—was not a mystery to me any longer. There was no bond greater than one that required your life for another’s. I’d understood this truth before; what I had not understood was why. Now I knew why a mother would give her life for her child, and this knowledge would forever shape the way I saw the universe.

“I know I’ve taught you better than that, kid.”

We jumped apart. Jamie lurched to his feet, but I curled closer to the ground, cringing into the wall.

Jeb leaned down and picked up the gun we’d both forgotten from the floor. “You’ve got to mind a gun better than this, Jamie.” His tone was very gentle—it softened the criticism. He reached out to tousle Jamie’s shaggy hair.

Jamie ducked under Jeb’s hand, his face scarlet with mortification.

“Sorry,” he muttered, and turned as if to flee. He stopped after just a step, though, and swiveled back to look at me. “I don’t know your name,” he said.

“They called me Wanderer,” I whispered.

“Wanderer?”

I nodded.

He nodded, too, then hurried away. The back of his neck was still red.

When he was gone, Jeb leaned against the rock and slid down till he was seated where Jamie had been. Like Jamie, he kept the gun cradled in his lap.

“That’s a real interesting name you’ve got there,” he told me. He seemed to be back to his chatty mood. “Maybe sometime you’ll tell me how you got it. Bet that’s a good story. But it’s kind of a mouthful, don’t you think? Wanderer?”

I stared at him.

“Mind if I call you Wanda, for short? It flows easier.”

He waited this time for a response. Finally, I shrugged. It didn’t matter to me whether he called me “kid” or some strange human nickname. I believed it was meant kindly.

“Okay, then, Wanda.” He smiled, pleased at his invention. “It’s nice to have a handle on you. Makes me feel like we’re old friends.”

He grinned that huge, cheek-stretching grin, and I couldn’t help grinning back, though my smile was more rueful than delighted. He was supposed to be my enemy. He was probably insane. And he was my friend. Not that he wouldn’t kill me if things turned out that way, but he wouldn’t like doing it. With humans, what more could you ask of a friend?

CHAPTER 22

Cracked

Jeb put his hands behind his head and looked up at the dark ceiling, his face thoughtful. His chatty mood had not passed.

“I’ve wondered a lot what it’s like—getting caught, you know. Saw it happen more than once, come close a few times myself. What would it be like, I wondered. Would it hurt, having something put in your head? I’ve seen it done, you know.”

My eyes widened in surprise, but he wasn’t looking at me.

“Seems like you all use some kind of anesthetic, but that’s just a guess. Nobody was screaming in agony or anything, though, so it couldn’t be too torturous.”

I wrinkled my nose. Torture. No, that was the humans’ specialty.

“Those stories you were telling the kid were real interesting.”

I stiffened and he laughed lightly. “Yeah, I was listening. Eavesdropping, I’ll admit it. I’m not sorry—it was great stuff, and you won’t talk to me the way you do with Jamie. I really got a kick out of those bats and the plants and spiders. Gives a man lots to think about. Always liked to read crazy, out-there stuff, science fiction and whatnot. Ate that stuff up. And the kid’s like me—he’s read all the books I’ve got, two, three times apiece. Must be a treat for him to get some new stories. Sure is for me. You’re a good storyteller.”

I kept my eyes down, but I felt myself softening, losing my guard a bit. Like anyone inside these emotional bodies, I was a sucker for flattery.

“Everyone here thinks you hunted us out to turn us over to the Seekers.”

The word sent a shock jolting through me. My jaw stiffened and my teeth cut my tongue. I tasted blood.

“What other reason could there be?” he went on, oblivious to my reaction or ignoring it. “But they’re just trapped in fixed notions, I think. I’m the only one with questions.… I mean, what kind of a plan was that, to wander off into the desert without any way to get back?” He chuckled. “Wandering—guess that’s your specialty, eh, Wanda?”

He leaned toward me and nudged me with one elbow. Wide with uncertainty, my eyes flickered to the floor, to his face, and back to the floor. He laughed again.