The Host(140)

“Your turn,” he whispered when he was at my side.

Andy was already moving forward, a shovel in his hands.

“Wait,” Jamie said in a low voice that carried in the silence. “Wanda and Ian haven’t said anything.”

There was an unhappy mutter around me. My brain felt like it was pitching and heaving inside my skull.

“Let’s have some respect,” Jeb said, louder than Jamie. It felt too loud to me.

My first instinct was to wave Andy ahead and make Ian carry me away. This was human mourning, not mine.

But I did mourn. And I did have something to say.

“Ian, help me get some sand.”

Ian crouched down so I could scoop up a handful of the loose rocks at our feet. He rested my weight on his knee to get his own share of dirt. Then he straightened and carried me to the edge of the grave.

I couldn’t see into the hole. It was dark under the overhang of rock, and the grave seemed to be very deep.

Ian began speaking before I could.

“Walter was the best and brightest of what is human,” he said, and scattered his sand into the hole. It fell for a long time before I heard it hiss against the bottom.

Ian looked down at me.

It was absolutely silent in the starlit night. Even the wind was calm. I whispered, but I knew my voice carried to everyone.

“There was no hatred in your heart,” I whispered. “That you existed is proof that we were wrong. We had no right to take your world from you, Walter. I hope your fairytales are true. I hope you find your Gladdie.”

I let the rocks trickle through my fingers and waited until I heard them fall with a soft patter onto Walter’s body, obscured in the deep, dark grave.

Andy started to work as soon as Ian took the first step back, shoveling from a mound of pale, dusty earth that was piled a few feet farther into the grotto. The shovel load hit with a thump rather than a whisper. The sound made me cringe.

Aaron stepped past us with another shovel. Ian turned slowly and carried me away to make room for them. The heavy thuds of falling dirt echoed behind us. Low voices began to murmur. I heard footsteps as people milled and huddled to discuss the funeral.

I really looked at Ian for the first time as he walked back to the dark mat where it lay on the open dirt—out of place, not belonging. Ian’s face was streaked with pale dust, his expression weary. I’d seen his face like that before. I couldn’t pinpoint the memory before Ian had laid me on the mat again, and I was distracted. What was I supposed to do out here in the open? Sleep? Doc was right behind us; he and Ian both knelt down in the dust beside me.

“How are you feeling?” Doc asked, already prodding at my side.

I wanted to sit up, but Ian pressed my shoulder down when I tried.

“I’m fine. I think maybe I could walk…”

“No need to push it. Let’s give that leg a few days, okay?” Doc pulled my left eyelid up, absentminded, and shone a tiny beam of light into it. My right eye saw the bright reflection that danced across his face. He squinted away from the light, recoiling a few inches. Ian’s hand on my shoulder didn’t flinch. That surprised me.

“Hmm. That doesn’t help a diagnosis, does it? How does your head feel?” Doc asked.

“A little dizzy. I think it’s the drugs you gave me, though, not the wound. I don’t like them—I’d rather feel the pain, I think.”

Doc grimaced. So did Ian.

“What?” I demanded.

“I’m going to have to put you under again, Wanda. I’m sorry.”

“But… why?” I whispered. “I’m really not that hurt. I don’t want —”

“We have to take you back inside,” Ian said, cutting me off, his voice low, as if he didn’t want it to carry back to the others. I could hear the voices behind us, echoing quietly off the rocks. “We promised… that you wouldn’t be conscious.”

“Blindfold me again.”

Doc pulled the little syringe from his pocket. It was already depressed, only a quarter left. I shied away from it, toward Ian. His hand on my shoulder became a restraint.

“You know the caves too well,” Doc murmured. “They don’t want you having the chance to guess…”

“But where would I go?” I whispered, my voice frantic. “If I knew the way out? Why would I leave now?”

“If it eases their minds…” Ian said.

Doc took my wrist, and I didn’t fight him. I looked away as the needle bit into my skin, looked at Ian. His eyes were midnight in the dark. They tightened at the look of betrayal in mine.

“Sorry,” he muttered. It was the last thing I heard.





CHAPTER 35

Tried

I groaned. My head felt all swirly and disconnected. My stomach rolled nauseatingly.