“Oh, boy-o, it’s not that tough,” Finn said, as if he really didn’t care, like they were two buddies hanging out in the old man’s tent, having a couple of cold brews after a hard day. Wielding his parang, Finn carefully shaved skin from a raw rump roast, squared on a cutting board, that might have been beef with excellent marbling. In a saner world, that is. Because that smudge of blue ink? Odds were high it didn’t say USDA SELECT. “Just tell me: who’s the girl?”
“I … I d-don’t … uhhh.” Pete’s neck rocked as another sudden spasm bolted through his head. His jaws locked to corral a hiss. “Don’t … know.”
“Now why don’t I believe that?” Finn sliced a thick, two-inch steak, probably against the grain. “I may not be a mind reader, but I saw your face. Why won’t you give me a name?”
“Because I …” Another shuddering brain bomb. They’d been at this brutal game for the last five hours, ever since leaving the smoldering ruin of the lake house. Peter had read stories about people with brain aneurysms. The very few who survived said it was having nails pounded through their skulls. This was like that: intense pain, a pulse in the center of Peter’s head and right behind his eyes, like the winged thing was scooping out more real estate with its claws. Not as awful as the brain storm that seized him that day on the snow with Davey, though. So why not? Think, Peter; this is important.
And yet … he didn’t want Finn’s fingers completely out of his head. As much as the brain bomb hurt, Peter craved that electric red swoon more. When Finn sent Davey and his altered Changed after Simon and Penny, the rush had been so intense, so good, the moan of pleasure escaped before Peter could trap it. Every muscle ached to join in the hunt. The blood. Finn knew it, too: Like that, don’t you, boy-o? I can give and take, you know. Give … and take.
Finn was working himself and the Changed up to something, like predators ascending the food chain. First, Changed out for “training.” Now, larger teams, like today. Peter sensed there was one more prize Finn wanted, one more test to run, and then they would head for Rule.
“How many times do I have to say it?” Peter managed through clenched teeth. “I don’t know who she is. Why is it so important?”
“Oh, boy-o. You disappoint me.” Sighing, Finn used the parang to push stew-sized chunks onto an aluminum camp plate. The tent was warm, the air rich with copper musk. “All right, let’s take a break. Phew-wee.” Finn flicked mock sweat from his broad brow. “I’ve worked myself into a lather. How about we try something easier, all right?”
“Whatever.” Peter backhanded real sweat from his forehead. The cuffs around his wrists clinked. A guard had cinched them so tight there was blood where the steel had rubbed his skin raw. He swallowed, but with difficulty. The control collar not only chafed, but the chain looped through the metal D-ring was secured so high on the bars that Peter had no choice but to sit upright. Lucky for him, he hadn’t needed sleep in weeks, or he’d strangle on his own weight.
Through the wire mesh dividing this stainless-steel transport cage, he saw Penny cringing against Simon. At least they weren’t in restraints, and Finn had gotten his camp doc to wrap Simon’s sprain, so that was something.
“Tell you what,” Finn said, taking the filled plate and sidling close to Penny and Simon’s half of the cage. “Let’s talk about little Penny … well, not so little Penny.”
“What do you want to know?” Peter said, his tone flat. Simon’s eyes narrowed at Finn’s approach. Suddenly rapt, however, Penny straightened, nostrils flaring.
“I’m curious.” Finn moved the plate from side to side, smiling as Penny tracked it like a spectator at a tennis match. “Yes, smells good, doesn’t it, Penny? Want some?” Finn brought the plate to within arm’s reach. “Go ahead, dear. You know you want it. Take it.”
Don’t do it, Penny. A stupid thought. Illogical. Watching his sister’s face rearrange itself—raw animal hunger replacing fear and suspicion—hurt so much Peter would’ve taken a brain bomb instead.
“Whoa, easy now,” Finn chuckled as Penny’s hand darted to grab a meaty fistful. “Wouldn’t want you to choke, sweetheart. How many months is she, Peter?”
“Seven, more or less.” More, probably.
“Oh.” Finn’s bushy white eyebrows arched as he ticked off the months on his fingers and then mugged fake astonishment. “Well, we did wait until the last second, didn’t we?”
Penny had. He still remembered his shock when she told him: I thought I was late. He’d had to bite back the scream: You thought you were late for three months? But she was only sixteen. Too late, he discovered she’d already confided in a girlfriend and things had mushroomed from there, the rumor spreading through town. Which is probably how Finn found out in the first place. Weller, maybe, or Lang. Or given the depth of Finn’s hatred for Rule, the old man might’ve had a spy there all along.
“How did you get her to the lake house?” Finn asked, proffering the plate again. Penny’s cheeks were round as a chipmunk’s, but she still grabbed a double handful. “Must’ve been difficult.”
He tried to shake his head, but the collar brought him up short. “I took her on Friday, the day before … you know.”
“Ah, the day before the world went away. You were going to come back?”
“Sunday night.” The lake house was never meant as anything other than a place for Penny to hang for a single weekend while he scraped together the money and set up the appointment in Illinois. Messing up Penny’s life more by forcing her to go through with the pregnancy would do no one any good. Beg forgiveness later. “Didn’t quite make that.”
“When did you go back?”
“Thursday night.” It had taken that long to track down Simon and ride like hell.
“And she was still there? Poor girl must’ve been starving.”
“Not really.” When Finn leveled a look, he continued in a dead monotone, “She was with a … friend. Of mine.” He paused. “From college.”
“The father? That’s interesting. Does put a new spin on the female praying mantis.” Finn gestured at Simon, who hadn’t made a move for the food. “I’d have thought he—”
“Never in a million years. Not Simon. We’re family.”
“Why do you think she stayed at the house?”
“Beats me.” In part, he suspected that his having procured … well, just call them supplies … helped. There were a lot of very fresh corpses lying around in those early days. Really, he tried to think of it as taking clothes from owners who were past caring. Yes, it was crazy. But she was his sister. Whoever said that once you cross a line, it gets easier to do it again and again … they had something there. It was lucky he’d thought to bring food, too, because his college buddy was, literally, a gnawed pile of bones by then. But he also had the notion that the idea had been lodged in her brain from the very beginning. Safe because it was remote, the lake house was also familiar territory, too.
“What about Simon?”
He explained about the tranquilizer dart. Carting Simon to Penny was the only way Peter could think of to keep his friend alive and also get the message across: Take care of her. Not so complicated. Even dogs understood simple commands. From the looks of the lake house and that stuff sack with its stockpile of goodies, that message had obviously stuck, although he knew Simon had wandered far. In all the time since the world died, Peter had caught only a few glimpses of Simon and his pack near Rule—always at a distance, and well upwind—but never Penny.
That feeding ground was ghastly but fascinating with its array of wolf carcasses and that skull pyramid. Peter couldn’t begin to guess why Simon chose to wear a wolf skin either. Peter was interested in wolves. They’d been going to Isle Royale when the accident happened. So, for Simon, did the wolves represent a link to him? Possible, but Peter always sensed he was missing something.
“Well, you are the resourceful one, aren’t you, boy-o?” Finn leveled a look at Simon. “What about you? Aren’t you hungry, son?”
The only change in Simon was his eyes, which hardened to diamonds. This was something Peter never had seen in any Changed, not even Davey. Hunger was one thing. But hate was personal. So this was also interesting.
“Well,” Finn said again, although his tone carried a measure of bemusement and … irritation? “You really are different. What I wouldn’t give to get inside your head.”
“That wasn’t the deal. You promised not to hurt them,” Peter said, thinking how empty that sounded. Look at him. Finn had carved Lang into kebabs.
“I haven’t forgotten,” Finn said, his voice stony, the avuncular grandpa gone. When Penny tried another snatch, Finn pulled the plate out of reach. “That’s enough for now. You thirsty, Penny?” He tugged a water bottle from his hip. “Want something to wash that down?”
The drug. Peter’s heart lurched. “Finn!” He tried a lunge, but the collar noosed down. Choking, he strained, throwing his head from side to side. “P-Penny … d-don’t drink …”
“Relax, boy-o.” Finn tossed the bottle through the bars. “You think I want to risk this baby? Not on your life. I am very interested in that little monster.”
“Why?” Peter’s throat felt as if he’d swallowed a blowtorch.
“For one thing, I’m curious to see if she eats her young. I’m completely serious about that. For another, that fetus was exposed. Interesting to see what pops out and what it becomes.” Folding his arms, Finn nodded at the girl, who was guzzling water. “Look at that. Do you realize that she hasn’t once offered anything to Simon? It’s almost as if he’s not there.”
Peter had noticed. It was so strange, too, given how close they’d all been before. It’s like Penny’s been erased. His eyes shifted to Simon, and he was startled to find Simon’s eyes on him. No hatred there, but Peter read plenty of hurt and confusion. Betrayal.
He saw Simon suddenly tense, then wedge himself between Penny and the bars. A moment later, a tent flap rustled as Davey, in his camo-whites, appeared with a guard who seemed to be mostly an ornament.
“Davey.” Finn tossed a chunk. Snagging the meat with an expert, one-handed grab, Davey crammed the food into his mouth. His alert eyes never left Finn. “Good boy.” Finn patted his leg the way an owner called an attentive puppy. “Let’s talk to Peter, all right?”
“What more do you want to talk about?” But he knew. The red winged thing was shifting, needle claws pricking, digging in. Getting ready for … well, whatever round this was. “I told you about Penny and Simon—”
“Ah.” Finn lifted a finger like a medical receptionist on an important call. “But not the girl.”
“I don’t know her,” Peter said, wondering why he was working so hard at this. Perhaps this was something to hold on to, a little like dignity. But he also had a deeper reason. Finn was pissed he hadn’t captured her. Peter liked that someone had actually beaten the asshole at his own game. Or, perhaps, never played to begin with. “Why do you care who she was?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” Finn snapped Davey another hunk of meat in a backhanded Frisbee throw. “Whoever she is, she is not a Chucky. I saw that girl speak. She called to Penny, she was talking to Simon, and then she tore out of there, killed one of my best shooters … no, no, Davey.” Finn held the plate out of reach as the boy made a grab. “Wait now, that’s a good boy.”
“Even if I knew who she was, which I don’t, why is a name so important?”
“And you call yourself a good Christian? In the beginning was the Name, Peter.” Finn’s eyes were as colorless as a dead snake’s. “What did Adam do soon as he opened those baby blues? He named everything. Put the world under his thumb. Then he got lonely, God made woman; Adam got to name her, assert his dominion, and everything was downhill from there. To name is to recognize. It is to gain access and control. Things are much scarier in the dark, where they are formless, than in broad daylight. I just want to bring her into the light, that’s all.”
Access? It was like Finn was talking about hacking a computer’s hard drive. Not such a stretch, maybe. Say carrot, and the image, the taste, maybe the smell, popped into your head. So did memories. So a name would be like … a password? Into the brain?
This was begging for a brain bomb, but he couldn’t resist. “You scared of her, Finn?”
“I’m interested.”
Yeah, I’ll bet you are. The way dogs reacted to her always bothered him. Now Peter wondered if she had been Changing into something very odd all along. Perhaps Chris made the same choice Peter and the Council had for all the other kids: chased her out before she could be killed. Or she might’ve only run. But what finally helped him understand just how unique she was came when he saw what Finn had: she talked … and Simon had listened. At some level, Simon understood; Peter saw it in his posture. Then, Simon touched her face—and she let it happen. She gave Simon that moment. So there was something there, all right. They were working together, helping each other. There was a bond, and what the hell was that about? Because, God, did this mean that Simon might come back? Or was Simon what Finn said he was: very different, a one-in-a-million fluke, a Changed with a foot in both worlds?
And she hid, somehow. There was no way she could’ve killed the hunter and still run fast enough to get away. She was nearby and Finn still couldn’t get his fingernails under her. Davey couldn’t track her. So how did she do it?
“Sorry,” he said, although his throat was balky. “Can’t help you. Don’t know her.”
“Mmm-hmm. Thought you might say that.” Placing the dish of meat on the camp table, Finn reached into a breast pocket. “I keep forgetting that you are a much more effective weapon against yourself than I or anyone could ever be,” Finn said, carefully cleaning blood from each finger with a linen kerchief. “Remember: I can give and take, Peter.” Folding the kerchief into thirds, Finn tucked the cloth back into his pocket. “Give”—Finn’s eyes slid from Peter—“and …”
“No!” Peter flailed, struggling against the collar. “No, Finn, leave him alone, don’t—”
But Simon was already screaming.