Hawk didn't think it could, either.
WHEN THE GAME was finished, he took Panther, Bear, Fixit, and Candle with him to forage for purification tablets for the catchment system. They had been running low on the tablets for some time, and he had been delaying replenishing their stock because it meant traveling all the way across the city to a supply source nearly two miles away, a distance he didn't normally like to travel. But clean drinking water was a must, and he couldn't put off the trip any longer.
Owl and the others retired to the underground to work on cleaning and mending chores, busywork that would keep them all occupied until the others returned. Hawk took the biggest and the strongest with him, a necessary precaution on a journey into territory that was only marginally familiar. Candle was the exception, but he took Candle because of her ability to sense danger. It would take them all afternoon to go and return, and there was no guarantee they would find what they were looking for, but at least with Candle present they would have a better chance at staying safe.
The day was gray and overcast and the streets deserted. It rained on them as they walked, a misting that left them beaded with water droplets. Panther was still griping about the outcome of the stickball game, which his team had lost.
He walked wing on the right with Fixit on the left, Hawk on point, and Bear and Candle in the center. Hawk glanced over at him every now and then, distracted by his mumbling, half inclined to tell him to shut up and knowing it wouldn't do any good. All four boys carried prods. Panther held his like he was hoping for a chance to use it.
Panther was carrying around a lot of pent-up anger.
He had been born on the streets of San Francisco, the youngest of five brothers and sisters. He was called Anan Kawanda. He was mostly African American, but with other blood mixed in, too. His father was dead before he was born. No one ever talked about what had happened to him, and when he asked he was told that no one knew. His mother was tough and determined, part of an extended family living in Presidio Park, a group that disdained the compounds and the countryside alike. They lived in tents and deserted buildings and even on platforms constructed in trees. There were several hundred of them, all part of the same neighborhood before the move to the Presidio. Most were black and Hispanic. Most knew more than a little something about staying alive. His mother and the other adults believed that survival depended on adaptation to the altered environment, and that in turn meant building up immunity to the things that threatened you. The changes in air, water, and soil could be tolerated once you developed this immunity, and living behind walls or fleeing to the countryside was not the answer. They were city people, and the city was where they belonged.
Freaks were a threat for which there was no immunity, and some of the bigger, meaner ones-the mutations-preyed on people like them, people living out in the open. But the community was well armed with flechettes, prods, and stingers-dart guns loaded with a particularly toxic poison. They organized themselves into protective units within their enclave, and they never went anywhere alone. Sentries stood watch at all times, and the children were heavily guarded. There were rumors of rogue militias roaming the countryside and attacking the compounds. There were rumors of atrocities committed by creatures that weren't human, that were something less, creatures of a darker origin.
Neither of these dangers had surfaced in San Francisco yet, but no one was taking any chances.
There was a plan for evacuation from the city when they did appear, but no one really believed they would need it. Panther grew up playing at survival and quickly passed into practicing the real thing. In the brave new world of collapsed governments and wild-eyed fanatics, of plagues and poisons and madness, of bombs and chemical strikes, childhood in the traditional sense was over early. By the time he was seven, he already knew how to use all the community weapons. He knew about the Freaks and their habits. He could hunt and forage and read tracks. He knew which medicines counteracted which sicknesses and how to recognize when places and things were to be avoided. He could keep watch all night. He could stand and fight if it were needed.
He grew up fast, athletic, and strong, a quick study and an eager volunteer. By the time he was twelve, it was already accepted that one day he would be a leader of the community. Even his older brothers and sisters deferred to his superior judgment and skills. Panther worked hard at being accepted, at being the best. In the back of his mind, he knew he'd need to be. Talk of the armies that were sweeping the eastern half of the country continued to surface.
Everyone knew that things were getting worse, that the dangers were growing.
Once, long ago, there had been talk about things going back to the way they were-a way Panther knew nothing about and could only envision. But that sort of talk had diminished over time. It was accepted that the past was lost forever and nothing would ever be the same.
It bothered the older men and women, the ones who remembered a little of better times. It was less troubling to Panther and his peers, who only knew things as they were and felt comfortable with the familiar, no matter how dangerous. It seemed to Panther that the best any of them could do was to take things one day at a time and watch their backs.
For a while, that was enough.
Then one day, shortly after he turned fourteen, he returned with four others from a weeklong foraging expedition and found everyone he had left behind dead. They lay sprawled all across the park, their bodies rigid with agony, arms and legs flung wide, mouths agape, blood leaking from their ears and noses.
There was no sign of violence, no evidence of what had killed them. It looked as if whatever was responsible had disposed of them quickly. It had the appearance of plague.
Panther searched the camp all the rest of the day and into the next, prowling through discarded containers and debris, desperate to find the cause.
He did not think he would find any peace until he solved the mystery. But nothing revealed itself. When it finally became apparent that it wasn't going to do so, he broke down and cried, kneeling amid the bodies, rocking back and forth until he felt emptied out. Something changed inside him that day, something that he knew would never change back. Everything he had believed in was turned upside down. Preparation and skills alone weren't what would save you in this life.
What would save you was luck. Pure chance. What would save you was something over which you had no control at all.
He buried his family-his mother and brothers and sisters- ignoring the protestations of his companions that he was risking his own health by touching the dead, refusing to listen to their warnings that what had killed them was almost certainly contagious. When he was done, he said good-bye to the others, who had chosen to stay in the city and to seek admittance into one of the compounds, salvaged what he could of weapons and supplies, packed them on his back, and started walking north.
Weeks later, he arrived in Seattle and found Hawk and the Ghosts and his new home.
For the first week after he became a member of this new family, he was willing to talk about what had happened to him. After that, he never spoke of it, consigning it to the past, a part of his life that was over and done with.
But Hawk could tell that he hadn't forgotten it; he simply kept it locked away inside, white-hot and corrosive. The pain and anger were always eating at him, and he had yet to find an effective means of dealing with them, of healing himself so that he could put the past to rest.
Sometimes it seemed as if he never would.
Hawk glanced over at him now, at the dark intense features, at the restless, troubled eyes. Panther caught him looking, and he glanced quickly away.
The trek through the city went swiftly and without incident. They encountered no Freaks, no other tribes, and no obstacles that slowed their passage. The day stayed dark and the air damp. Mist rose from the pavement and clung to the buildings, cloaking everything in gauzy trailers. Before long, the skeleton of the Space Needle came into view over the tops of the buildings, its ragged spire lifting skyward like a torch gone dark. Once, people could take an elevator to its top to an eating place and view deck that looked out over the whole of the city. But that was back in the days before hand-cranked generators and stairs were the best anyone could hope for, when there was citywide electricity and the elevators still worked.
It must have been something to see, he thought suddenly. Not the city-you could still see the city if you climbed to the viewpoints on the hills that surrounded it-but the population that made the city come alive, all the people and the traffic and the movement and color before everything fell apart.
Their destination appeared ahead, a broad two-story building with its plate-glass windows broken out and its facade scorched by fire and scoured by the elements. Hawk had found it by accident on a foraging expedition two years earlier: a storage and distribution center for chemical supplies, including purification tablets. The stock was too extensive to carry out in a single load or to try to store in the limited space of their underground home. But the tablets were precious and difficult to find in a time when retail outlets had long since been pillaged and emptied of useful goods. So he had taken what he could pack on his back and hidden the rest in the basement behind a cluster of empty packing crates. So far, his secret stash had not been disturbed.
They walked to the front of the building and stood looking through the broken-out windows for a moment.
"So what's the plan, Bird-Man?" Panther asked in a singsong voice.
Hawk ignored him, casting about the shadows and the mist, listening to the silence and trusting to his instincts. He peered down the streets where they tunneled between the buildings and through the misty haze. Rain dampened the pavement, leaving it slick and oily, and the air smelled of metal and old fish.
He glanced at Candle, who met his gaze and shook her head. No danger so far, she was saying.
He turned to the others. "Fixit, you wait just inside, out of sight, and keep watch. The rest of us will go get the tablets."
They climbed through one of the window frames, avoiding the door, which was barred and chained. Inside, the building opened through layers of deep shadows and long, hazy streaks of gray light to a jumbled collection of shelves, tables, counters, boxes, and debris of all sorts. Leaving Fixit at the front wall, Hawk took the others toward a half wall that separated the front and back of the store. Inside the half wall, a trapdoor opened onto stairs leading down into the basement. Once again, Hawk hesitated. He didn't like the feel of the entry, never had. Then, brushing aside his fears, he switched on his solarpowered torch and started down.
The stairs ended in the very center of the basement, which was ink-black and musty and spread away in all directions to walls only faintly visible in the dim light of Hawk's torch. Packing crates were stacked against the back wall, concealing the supplies they had come for. The wall to their left was partially collapsed, leaving a black hole that opened into the basement of the cavernous adjoining warehouse. The hole was ragged and slick with moisture, and the room beyond so thick with shadows that it was impossible to see anything. A deep, pervasive silence hung over everything.
Right away Candle said, "Something's down here." She pointed to the hole in the wall and the impenetrable blackness beyond. "In there."
Everyone swung about to face the collapsed wall, prods coming up defensively. They stood motionless for a moment, listening. Nothing happened. No movement, no sounds. The seconds ticked away, and the basement seemed to grow stuffy and warm.
Finally, knowing he had to do something, Hawk started forward to take a closer look.
Candle grasped his arm instantly, pulling him back. "Don't go in there!"
Hawk looked at her in surprise. "What is it?"
She shook her head. Her face was pale and drawn, and her eyes wide with fear. She could barely make herself answer him. "We have to get out of here. We have to get out right away."
The way she said it made it clear that she felt there was no room for argument. Hawk looked at the others. "Go back up the stairs, right now."
"Wait a minute!" Panther was right in his face, his voice an angry hiss.
"We came all the way across town to turn tail and run? You want us to leave the tablets behind?"
"Go back up the stairs," Hawk repeated.
"Go back up the stairs yourself!" Panther snapped, and wheeled away.
As the others watched in disbelief, he started toward the back of the room and the deep shadows, ignoring the looks directed after him, oblivious to Candle's hiss of warning. Hawk started to follow, then stopped as he realized he could not turn Panther around without risking a confrontation that would likely do more harm than good. Not knowing what else to do, he swung the thin beam of his torch after the retreating figure to help light his way. Panther reached the piles of crates and moved through them, neither hesitating nor hurrying.
Then, abruptly, he disappeared from view.
Hawk held his breath and waited. He glanced left quickly. Within the black hole of the collapsed wall, everything was still. But the shadows of the room seemed to coalesce into something huge.
In the next instant Panther reemerged from between the crates, carrying a box of the precious tablets, his prod cradled loosely in the crook of his arms.
He crossed the room to where the others waited, went past them without stopping, and started up the stairs.
"Come along, children," he sneered.
No one argued. They went up from the basement with hurried glances over their shoulders, crossed to the front wall of the building where Fixit was waiting, and climbed back through the broken window. Outside, they stood uneasily in the street and stared at one another.
"What happened?" Fixit asked in bewilderment, looking from one face to the next.
"Good thing you got me along to do the tough stuff," Panther declared, giving Hawk a meaningful glance. "Got to have someone who ain't afraid of the dark. Got to have someone to face down the bogeyman when he crawls out of his hole."
Hawk didn't reply, even though he wanted to tell Panther that he'd better not disobey him like that again, ever. Instead, he motioned them into the wing formation and they set off for home, moving back toward the center of the city.
Candle walked next to him and stared straight ahead, her young face tight and hard and her thin body rigid. Hawk left her alone. She knew what he was thinking. He was thinking that they had gotten away with something back there, even if Panther didn't believe it. He was thinking that they had been lucky. He was thinking of the dead Lizard and the nest of Croaks and the possibility that there was something new and dangerous in the city.
But he was also thinking of her vision of the previous night-that something was coming for them, something that was going to kill them-thinking that maybe the world beyond their underground home was closing in on them in a way none of them had anticipated.
Thinking that maybe they had better be ready for it when it did.
Chapter THIRTEEN.
HAWK WAS STILL brooding over the incident in the warehouse basement when he arrived back at Pioneer Square. It was already growing dark, and he could not afford to be late for his meeting with Tessa, so he set out again almost at once. Owl caught the look on his face as he passed through the kitchen and grabbed a slice of the bread she had baked, but said nothing. The others were preoccupied and didn't notice. Except for Candle, who shared an understanding of what they had brushed up against in the darkness and somehow managed to avoid.
But Candle didn't say anything, either.
She would later, he thought as went out the door, Cheney padding silently after him. She would tell Owl everything. Owl was her mother, and she was her mother's little girl.
Theirs was a special relationship, made strong by the circumstances that had brought them together. Owl had been gone from the Safeco compound and living with Hawk and the first of the Ghosts, Bear and Fixit and Sparrow, for almost two years when she found Candle. Confined to her wheelchair and for the most part to the underground, there was no good reason for Owl to ever find anyone.
But against all odds, she had found Candle.
She had been outside that day, carried up by Hawk and Bear for a visit to the compound and Tessa, in the days before Tessa and Hawk had been caught together and Tessa had been forbidden by her parents to go out alone. They had arranged to meet just north of the compound at the edge of Pioneer Square in one of the buildings fronting Occidental Park. Tessa had been waiting when they arrived. The four had visited, then Bear had gone off in search of writing materials for Sparrow, who had been left behind with Cheney, and Owl had wheeled her chair out into the square to give Hawk and Tessa some time alone.
She was sitting in a pale wash of sunlight with her back to the building and her eyes lifted to watch tiny strips of blue sky come and go like phantom ribbons through breaks in the clouds when the little girl appeared. One moment she wasn't there and the next she was, standing in front of the building across the way and staring at Owl. Owl was so surprised that for a moment she just stared back.
Then she called over, "What's your name?"
The little girl didn't answer. She just kept staring. She was very tiny and so thin that it seemed she would disappear if she turned sideways. Her clothes were in tatters, her face smudged with dirt. She was such a ragged little thing that Owl decided on the spot that she would have to help her.
She took a chance then and wheeled herself over, taking her time, not rushing it, being careful not to do anything that would frighten the little girl. But the child just stood there and didn't move.
Owl got to within ten feet and stopped. "Are you all right?"
"I'm hungry," the little girl said.
Owl had no real food to offer. So she reached into one pocket, brought out a piece of rock candy, and held it out. The little girl looked at it, but stayed where she was.
"It's all right," Owl told her. "You can have it. It's candy."
The little girl's gaze shifted, her eyes a startling blue that seemed exactly the right complement for her mop of thick red hair. Her skin tone was porcelain, so pale that it suggested she had never seen the sunlight. It wasn't all that unusual to encounter such children in these times, but even so this little girl didn't look like anyone Owl had ever come across.
Owl leaned back in her wheelchair and put her hands in her lap. "I can't walk, so I can't bring it over to you. And I can't throw it, because if I do it will shatter. So you have to come and get it. Will you do that for me?"
No response. The little girl just kept staring. Then, all at once, she changed her mind. She came right up to Owl, reached down and took the candy, unwrapped it and put it in her mouth. She sucked on it for a moment, and then smiled. It was the most dazzling smile Owl had ever seen. She smiled back, so charmed that she would have done anything for the girl.
"Can you tell me your name?" she asked again.
The little girl nodded. "Sarah."
"Well, Sarah, what are you doing here all by yourself?"
The little girl shrugged.
"Where are your parents?"
The little girl shrugged again.
"Where is your home?"
"I don't have a home."
"No mommy and daddy?"
Sarah shook her head.
"No brothers and sisters?"
Another shake of her carrot-top.
"Are you all alone?"
The little girl hugged herself and bit her lip. "Mostly."
Owl wasn't sure what she meant by this, and neither was Hawk when the conversation was repeated to him later. He had reappeared with Tessa to find Owl in her wheelchair and Sarah sitting on the pavement in front of her, staring up in rapt attention as Owl finished another story of the children and their boy leader. By then, it was clear at a glance that the two had bonded in a way that couldn't be undone and that the little girl had joined the family.
But within days of Sarah coming to live with them in their underground home the Ghosts began to realize that there was something very different about her. She dreamed all the time, waking frequently from nightmares that left her shaking and mute. They would ask her what was wrong, but she would never say. Sometimes she would refuse to go into places, especially places that were dark and close. She wouldn't let them go in, either, throwing such a fit that it proved easier just to let her have her way.
Neither Owl nor Hawk could figure out what was going on, but they knew it was something important.
Then, one day, Owl was alone with Sarah in the center of Pioneer Square, sorting containers collected from a bin that Bear had dragged from several blocks away. Bear wasn't far away, but he wasn't in sight, either. Hawk and Sparrow were scouting new supply sources in midtown. Owl wasn't paying much attention to what was going on around her, concentrating on the job at hand, and then all at once Sarah hissed as if she had been scalded, grabbed the back of Owl's wheelchair, and pushed her swiftly into the interior of their building.