Ash and Darkness (Translucent #3) Page 5

  “Megan!” I shouted from the foyer.

  No reply.

  I tried the lights. Nothing.

  Power was out here too.

  I crept up the hall, floorboards creaking underfoot, and peeked into her bedroom. “Megan?”

  Empty.

  I leaned inside—

  A spiderweb brushed my cheek. I flinched back, swatting at my face and hair.

  Okay . . . weird.

  Swinging my arms to clear the web, I advanced all the way into the room. It looked like, well . . . Megan’s room—sheets wadded at the foot of the bed, heels spilling out of her closet, a calendar pinned above Salamander’s terrarium with the days neatly crossed off in alternating shades of pink and purple ink.

  My gaze moved on to her nightstand, where a smartphone in a camouflage case sat next to a tube of lip gloss.

  Megan’s cell phone.

  I fetched it and clicked the power button. The screen stayed black.

  Why am I not surprised?

  I wandered over to the terrarium, noting a black smudge on my finger from pressing the button.

  So now what should I do? Stay here and wait for her to come back? If she and her parents had gone to lunch and a movie, it could be a few hours.

  Oh, please. They hadn’t gone to lunch and a movie.

  I should probably check Emory’s house next, see if he was there . . . and if he was, just get it over with. Confess. This time, nothing could stop me. At the thought, a nervous pressure lodged in my throat.

  Just as soon as I figured out what the hell was going on here.

  Damnit, Megan, where are you? I felt like she’d abandoned me.

  Salamander the snake lay stretched out in the bark chips, asleep by the looks of it.

  I tapped the glass, also coated with dust.

  He didn’t budge, and I was about to move on when something else in the cage did move. Something tiny near its head. I leaned closer, expecting a cricket.

  But it wasn’t a cricket. It was a worm.

  A tiny white worm.

  My nose wrinkled instinctively. Slowly, the worm’s front end wiggled around in widening circles until it touched the snake’s skin. Then it latched on and crawled onto the snake’s head. As I watched, it found a hole in the head and began to slither inside, wriggling until just its white tail stuck out. Then it was gone.

  And it wasn’t just one worm. There were hundreds of tiny worms, all along the length of Salamander’s body, wriggling over each other and crawling in and out of holes, flesh like Swiss cheese. I pulled back, fighting the nausea rising in my throat. My heart made heavy thumps in my chest.

  Salamander was dead.

  Long dead.

  Chapter 4

  The calendar.

  My gaze rose to the calendar pinned above the terrarium. Right in front of me this whole time.

  How long had I been gone?

  The snake had been alive yesterday. I’d seen it just yesterday . . . looking at me. She thinks you’re a cricket, Megan had said. That was yesterday.

  At least, I remembered that being yesterday.

  My eyes narrowed at the calendar, trying to make sense of it. How long had I been gone?

  Row after row of pink and purple X’s. Numbers. My heart thudded in my ears, distracting me. What was I looking for? Numbers . . . the date . . . what was the date?

  What month was it?

  At last my gaze found the big bold word at the top.

  September. Most of the days crossed off.

  Huh? September?

  It was October.

  I reached over the terrarium, making sure not to touch it with my thighs, and flipped the calendar to October. A blank month. Clearly Megan didn’t stay on top of this. She’d let it go a whole month without crossing off a day. It didn’t prove anything.

  I let the page fall back down.

  The last day crossed off was Friday, September 25.

  Forget it, Leona. I turned away, swallowing a lump in my throat. On to Emory’s house. Megan had just forgotten to cross off the days.

  It wasn’t like I had been transported back to September 26.

  I needed to find someone . . . anyone.

  In the middle of the deserted intersection of State Street and Las Positas, I coasted my bike to a stop, swung my leg over the bar, and kicked out the kickstand. I stood and turned in a slow circle, shading my eyes against the glare and peering up the length of each street in awe.

  Not one car in sight.

  From here to the horizon, not a single moving car—no roaring buses spewing soot, no loud motorcycles rupturing my eardrums, no minivans taking kids to weekend soccer games . . . and no pedestrians.

  Just silence.

  A dozen city blocks of silence.

  I’d made it halfway to Emory’s house. I couldn’t ignore it anymore. As far as I could see, heat waves rippled off hot asphalt and fused into a silvery haze on the horizon. The stoplights—all of them dark—stood over deserted intersections, baking in the midday sun.

  And all so eerily still. My long hair hung limp and motionless, scalding my neck. Towering over the abandoned sidewalks, the ficus trees stood still as statues. Not one leaf fluttered.

  My gaze panned to Loreto Plaza Shopping Center—with Gelson’s Market and Chase Bank and Chaucer’s Books—and my confusion deepened. The parking lot was deserted. Rows and rows of empty spaces, only one parked car—a beat-up Station Wagon lurking sketchily on the fringes.

  On a Sunday?

  Normally I had to wait five minutes just for a break in traffic to make a left turn out of that lot.

  I’d stopped in the middle of a busy intersection at lunchtime on Sunday. So . . . where was everyone? Where were my parents? Where was Megan?

  Plus I’d been biking past residential homes all morning, and I’d seen no one. Where were all the lawnmowers? The kids on skateboards, the people walking their dogs, the dads working in their garages?

  Evacuated.

  The word just popped into my mind.

  But even that seemed farfetched. To virtually empty a city? It would take days. There would be stragglers, air raid sirens, the National Guard.

  No, there was a simple, obvious explanation. There had to be. Something I was missing. But what?

  At least I wasn’t completely alone.

  Behind Gelson’s, a group of crows squabbled over some trash, picking at it and tearing it apart. Watching them uneasily, I climbed back on my bike and pedaled up Las Positas toward the Mesa, toward Emory’s house.

  Who was I kidding? He wouldn’t be home, either. But I had to check. I had to try. Besides Emory kind of being my only friend other than Megan—and besides the fact that I had killed his sister and now might be in love with him—his dad worked for the defense contractor, Rincon Systems. He’d be able to get Major Connor on the phone.

  First priority.

  For the rest of the trip, I had the roads to myself. I saw no one.

  I stared straight ahead, trying to focus . . . and trying to shut out the other theory picking at the back of my brain.

  Everyone had apparently vanished without a trace.

  There was something that could do that.

  I’d been wearing it.

  The thought made me queasy. Evidently, my stomach couldn’t make up its mind between stabbing hunger pangs and barfing up the liquid sloshing around in my belly.

  On the downhill, my hair whipped across my back.

  I needed to tell someone about dark matter, what it was capable of . . . and that I’d been secretly using it to make myself invisible.

  I rolled my bike past Emory’s black convertible and up the driveway, panting from the ride. My fist rapped on t
he door, sending a twinge through my nerves.

  No one answered.

  I knocked again, and waited.

  Silence.

  His car was here, his parents’ car was here. I backed up and craned my neck to peer at the second story.

  “What the hell?” I breathed.

  I tried the handle.

  It opened, surprisingly. The door creaked inward, revealing a sliver of the dark interior.

  Well, well, well. They’d quit locking their doors. I stepped inside, into cool, musty air, and waited for my eyes to adjust in the nearly pitch black entryway.

  Out of habit, I reached out to accept a lick from the golden retriever. The animal was nowhere in sight.

  “Hello?” I called hesitantly. “Anyone home?”

  No reply.

  In the kitchen and dining room, all the blinds had been drawn, turning the rooms into gloomy caves. Through tiny gaps, beams of sunlight slanted through floating specks of dust.

  Something about this house felt . . . different. The silence here was thicker, almost foreboding.

  “Hello?” I called again, my heart thudding.

  I climbed the stairs, each step squeaking under my feet. At the top, I faced down the dim hallway, breathing faster. The closed door at the very end tugged at my gaze—Ashley’s door.

  The hairs on the back of my neck bristled.

  Why did it still have a hold on me?

  “Is . . . is anyone home?” I whispered.

  I peeked into the dad’s office. All dark. None of the usual blinking lights on his laptop and monitor. I moved on to Emory’s room. Also empty. I threw open the blinds to let some light in, sending up clouds of dust. His room should be well lit.

  Back in the hallway, my breath rasped in my dry throat, the only sound breaking the unnerving silence.

  What was I still doing here? They weren’t home, obviously.

  Just do it. Just check her room.

  I slid up to Ashley’s bedroom and took a deep breath. Then I twisted the handle and pushed it in.

  Complete blackness.

  Not even the tiniest hint of daylight.

  A sickly sweet smell wormed up my nostrils. I peered around blindly, waiting for my night vision to catch up. The details materialized at last, and then I understood why it was so dark.

  The windows had been boarded up. They’d boarded up Ashley’s windows. Why would they do that?

  I flipped the wall switch a few times.

  Power still out.

  My gaze fell to the floor. The source of the smell.

  Littering the carpet were the crumpled wrappers of Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups, the deflated foil bags of potato chips, a half-empty jar of peanut butter. In the corner, crumbs spilled from a dented tube of Pringles, and a sticky purple pool had formed under the chewed straw of a squashed juice box.

  I let out a shuddering breath.

  When had this happened?

  A week ago, her room had been clean. As of yesterday, she’d been dead and gone. And all that time in between, she’d been invisible . . . unless she’d been sneaking back here to eat from a secret stash of junk food.

  Why did none of this make sense? I pulled the door shut and stood in the hallway, wondering what to do next.

  The streets were deserted.

  My parents weren’t home. Neither were Megan, Emory, or their parents.

  Had dark matter erased everyone?

  My one last tiny hope clung to life, refusing to be snuffed out.

  It was possible—at least conceivable—that it wasn’t in fact Sunday, but Monday, and that all the houses and streets were empty because everyone was at work or school. It was possible that somehow, in my frazzled state, I’d simply missed everyone.

  Because what other explanation was there?

  I sighed. One last place to check.

  Santa Barbara High School.

  Chapter 5

  Except my high school was a ghost town.

  A lump formed in my throat as I wheeled my bike through the deserted campus, passing one abandoned wing after another—hallways empty as far as the eye could see, posters faded and peeling, trash bins tipped over and spilling refuse into the halls. The junk looked like it had been picked through by animals.

  How was this possible?

  I tried a classroom door. Locked.

  An accordion gate made of black steel barricaded the locker corridor. Since we had an open campus, anyone could wander in, so the janitor must have shut it.

  They didn’t do that during school days.

  I threaded my fingers through the hot bars and scanned the rows of lockers, feeling like they were the bars of a cage.

  But more like I was locked out.

  I was missing something big here.

  A sticky swallow moved down my throat, reminding me I still hadn’t quenched my thirst. I stooped at the nearest drinking fountain and slapped the metal button.

  Not even a trickle.

  I stared down at the metal bowl crusted with grime and algae, forming cracks like a parched lakebed. Bone dry.

  Without warning, a dizzying wave of vertigo swept over me.

  Staring down at that cracked grime at the bottom of the drinking fountain, everything felt off all of a sudden. Way off. Like none of this was real. And for an instant, I felt such a bottomless sense of doom I wanted to die.

  I bent over the dirt-scuffed concrete, clutching my stomach as dark spots dotted my vision and trying not to puke.

  Puke what?

  I hadn’t eaten anything all day.

  Feeling miserable, I tried to make sense of the bizarre signal my body was sending me. The water I’d drunk this morning . . . somehow, I still felt full from it . . . like it was just sitting in my stomach.

  Gradually, the feeling passed and I straightened up, badly shaken.

  It had been like this all day. Ever since that white space . . . ever since dark matter had swallowed me and spit me out again, nothing had felt right. I hadn’t felt right.

  Had it screwed with me? With my body? The thought made my flesh creep.

  But some of it could be dehydration. I hadn’t really quenched my thirst, and I’d been biking all day, exerting myself. At least enough to coat the inside of my mouth with salty mucous.

  Maybe I’d feel better when I got food and water. I hoped.

  Because this sucked.

  Just one more classroom to check on campus and then I’d go home.

  I didn’t have the time, but the angle of the sun made me guess it was two o’clock. Which would make me late for Mrs. Holbrooke’s English class.

  By now the class would have been bitching about how hot it was and begging for her to open the door.

  Instead, I found the door shut. Shut and locked.

  I pounded the steel with my fist.

  No one answered.

  Chewing my lip, I rolled by bike back to the edge of campus and gave a final look up and down the street. No one.

  The city was empty. The school was empty.

  I couldn’t deny it any longer.

  Whatever this was, whatever was going on . . . it was big.

  I grabbed an apple from the fruit basket and two bottles of Gatorade from the pantry—the water bottles were suspect—and sat cross-legged on the couch to eat. Sure enough, I hadn’t encountered anyone on the ride home either.

  What. The. Hell?

  I twisted off the first Gatorade cap—a safe Lemon-Lime—and took a long swig. My face contorted into a grimace. The stuff tasted like cough syrup mixed with gasoline, and way too sour. But my thirst overcame even that. I tilted it back and didn’t stop chugging until I’d drained half the 32 oz bottle. When the li
quid pooled in my stomach, a twinge of panic shot through my abdomen, followed by feverish hot flashes.

  I set the bottle aside, head swimming.

  Seriously? Why couldn’t I quench my thirst like a normal person?

  I bit into the apple, which was mealy and brown on the inside.

  Either the city had been evacuated or everyone had spontaneously upped and moved to LA. But why would they evacuate the city?

  I was still thirsty.

  I forced down another quarter of the Gatorade bottle. Lips puckered from the tart aftertaste, I took another bite of the apple and chewed slowly, fighting the urge to gag.

  An outbreak.

  What if dark matter had broken containment while I was gone? A chill slid down my spine. Would they turn off the power grid too? Hmm, that wouldn’t explain why my car wouldn’t turn on, unless . . . Didn’t the military have a weapon that could knock out electronics? Maybe they’d used it on dark matter.

  The theories ping-ponged in my brain, ratcheting up my anxiety.

  And another question.

  How long had I really been gone?

  No way all this could have happened in a few hours, or even a few days.

  Where were my parents?

  At this point, I just wanted to see a human face.

  I was still thirsty.

  Reluctantly, I brought the Gatorade back to my lips, which stung from the artificial sweetness, and took another sip, forcing myself to swallow. It didn’t help. If anything, I was getting more thirsty, like my body was being sucked dry from the inside out. The liquid sat in my belly like dead weight.

  I nibbled on the apple again, feeling queasy. I chewed it carefully. There was something funny about the way the pulp mashed between my teeth. Not crisp and light like you’d expect, but squishy and slimy, like apple-flavored cardboard. I swallowed the bite, and it oozed down my throat like a slug.

  The last straw. My stomach fought back.

  I leapt up and ran to the bathroom, collapsing over the toilet. My abs clenched painfully, and a choking sound gurgled up my throat. Sour liquid splashed against porcelain. I heaved again and again until everything was gone, then clung gasping to the toilet seat. Through tears, I stared at the murky slop foaming in the bowl—the apple, the Gatorade, the Luna bar . . . the water I’d drunk this morning.