Plague by Michael Grant Page A

dark hills above town.
    After a while Dekka took Sam’s arm and slowed him down. She let Jack and Taylor move out in front.
    “Did Edilio or Astrid tell you?”
    “I haven’t talked to Edilio. I steered clear. He’s going to be mightily annoyed with me when he realizes I skipped town and didn’t even tell him.”
    Dekka waited.
    “Okay,” Sam said with a sigh. “Tell me what?”
    “It’s Hunter. He’s got some kind of . . . Well, it’s like these bugs all inside him. Astrid says they’re parasites.”
    “Astrid says?” Sam snapped. “So I guess you did see her before you left. And she didn’t tell you?”
    “We had other things going on.”
    “Oh?”
    “No,” Sam said. “Not like that. Unfortunately. Tell me about Hunter.”
    Dekka told him.
    Sam’s face grew darker as he listened. So much for getting out of town before anything went wrong. This had “wrong” written all over it.
    It sounded as if Hunter wasn’t going to be hunting much longer. Which meant the town would be running out of meat as well as water. They could probably survive without Hunter’s kills, but it sure would increase the sense of panic.
    This mission had just gotten more important, not less.
    “He said the greenies are on the morning side? Off the lake road? That’s what he said?”
    Dekka nodded.
    Sam called up to the other two who were arguing over something stupid. “Taylor! Jack! Veer right up there. We’re stopping off to see Hunter.”
    Hunter woke suddenly. A noise.
    It was a noise unlike anything he’d ever heard before. Close! Very close.
    Like it was on him. Like it was . . .
    Just in one ear.
    He twisted his head. It was full night. Black as black in the woods far from the starlight.
    He couldn’t see anything.
    But with his hands he could feel. The thing on his shoulder.
    His ear . . . gone!
    A terrible fear wrung a cry of horror from Hunter.
    He couldn’t feel it, his ear, or his shoulder, couldn’t feel with anything but his fingers and he felt, reached beneath his shirt, felt the flesh of his belly pulse and heave.
    Like something inside him.
    No, no, no, it wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair!
    He was Hunter. The hunter. He was doing his best.
    He cried. Tears rolled down his cheeks.
    Who would bring meat for all the kids?
    It wasn’t fair.
    The sound of munching, crunching started again. Just in one ear.
    Hunter had only one weapon: the heat-causing power in his hands. He had used it many, many times to take the life of prey.
    He had fed the kids with that power. And in a moment of fear and rage he had accidentally taken the life of his friend, Harry.
    Maybe he could kill the thing that was eating his ear.
    But it was too late for that to help.
    Could he kill himself?
    He saw Old Lion’s head, eyes closed, hanging where he’d hung him for skinning. If Old Lion could die, so could Hunter.
    Maybe they would meet again, up in the sky.
    Hunter pressed both palms against his head.
    Drake was free! Before him the shattered door. Above him a collapsed ceiling. His jail cell had been torn apart by his own jailer.
    Now Drake was worried. At any minute the Brittney Pig might emerge. She could call for help, run to Sam, something, anything.
    Drake had Jamal’s gun. He ran his whip hand over it, loving the feel of it, loving the weight of it in his hand. With this gun and his whip he was unstoppable.
    Except that he wasn’t just himself, he was Brittney, too.
    His mind raced feverishly. What could he do?
    Jamal groaned. He started to get up but leaned on an arm that gave way with a sickening crunch.
    Jamal shrieked in pain. His left arm hung limp, the shoulder dislocated. There was blood running freely from his nose. Blood seeping out of his ears. Oh yeah, Drake thought, the boy had taken a hard fall.
    Drake straddled Jamal. He wrapped his whip arm around Jamal’s throat, cutting off his cries of pain. He pressed the gun barrel against Jamal’s forehead.
    “You have three seconds to make a decision,” Drake