Scorpion Shards

“I feel like a beached whale,” she said.

“Well,” said Michael, “the Pacific Ocean’s only three hundred miles away. . . .”

Lourdes laughed in spite of herself.

“When I die,” she said, “I’m gonna sit on God until he yells uncle.” They both laughed again, then a silence fell between them.

“Why did he do this to us, Michael?”

Michael shrugged and thought for a moment. “He didn’t do it to us, he just didn’t stop it.”

“That’s just as bad,” said Lourdes.

Michael lifted her heavy head and began to gently stroke her hair. “Maybe he’s a clutch player,” said Mi­ chael. “And he’s just waiting for the right time to make a move.”

Winston and Tory finally made it to the top floor.

“We gotta get outta here now!” shouted Winston as he ran with Tory from the stairs. “This building’s con­ demned and it’s coming down today. They’ve already rigged the explosives.”

“I know,” said Lourdes.

That caught everyone off guard.

Lourdes gritted her teeth and closed her eyes to keep herself from crying. “Maybe the three of you have some time left, but not me. If I have to die today, then I want to go out with a bang, not a whimper.”

“We won’t let you do this,” said Tory. “Can’t you feel how close The Others are . . . If we just hold on a little longer ...”

“I don’t feel anything anymore,” said Lourdes. “All I feel is fat, and I’m tired of feeling it.”

Outside there were shouts from the demolition crew.

“That’s it!” shouted Winston, the preschooler on the verge of a tantrum. “I don’t care how lousy you feel! Get yo’ butt down those stairs!” His voice slipped deeper into his Alabama drawl, which always grew stronger when he got angry.

“I can’t,” said Lourdes. “I can’t move anymore. At all.”

They all looked at her there, straining to breathe as she lay on the ground. Winston panicked and rammed into her with what little weight he had. “C’mon, help me!” They all took to pushing against Lourdes, but she wouldn’t budge.

“Grab her arms,” suggested Tory. They grabbed her arms and legs to pull her, but nothing helped.

“Just go!” shouted Lourdes, through her thick throat. “It’s better if you just go!”

They let go of her arms and legs, and just stood there, unable to help her . . . and in that moment of silence Mi­chael made a decision.

“I’m not leaving you,” he said, and he sat down next to her.

Winston stared at him incredulously. “You’re just gonna sit here and let yourself get blown to smithereens?”

“Face it,” said Michael. “None of us has much time left. A day or two at the most...”

Tory, grimacing in pain, looked at her swollen knuck­les, then at her swollen knees. “Michael’s right. We haven’t had control over anything for the longest time . . . maybe here’s something we can control. . .”

Winston turned to her, his eyes filled with terror “No!”

“If I gotta die,” said Tory, “then I want to die with dig­nity.”

Winston threw up his hands. “I can’t believe this! You said yourself, Tory, The Others are close now—we can find them—we can stop them. . . .”

“We lost, Winston,” said Michael. “We fought hard, but we lost.”

“No!” shouted Winston defiantly. “With our luck, instead of dying proper, our souls’ll get blown up again into a thousand cockroaches or something. No! If I gotta die, I ain’t going out in flaming glory—I’m going the way I was meant to go!”

Winston grew red in the face as he looked at them. He threw himself on the ground kicking and screaming in a full-fledged tantrum, then finally gave up on his compan­ions. “Fine,” he said, tears swelling in his eyes. “We started this together, but if I have to finish it alone, then I will.” Then Winston, all three feet of him, stormed across the dusty floor and disappeared down the stairwell.

When he was gone, Michael turned to Tory. “When we die,” said Michael, “you think those . . . those awful things will die with us?”

“That’s what I’m counting on,” said Tory.

Lourdes, without the strength to move her lips any­more, could only rasp her breath in and out.

They held hands, now just a circle of three. “I’m glad,” whispered Tory. “I’m glad we all came together. No mat­ter what, I’ll never regret that.”

Outside the rain had stopped, the wind had stopped and the black clouds above waited with guarded anticipa­tion. Far away lightning struck, and every distant rumble echoed within the warehouse, shaking the walls and re­minding them of the great thunder that would soon tear out the foundation of their lives. With every rumble, con­crete flakes skittered to the ground, like the footfalls of a thousand cockroaches.

***

Winston, with the physiology of a five-year-old, found his days swinging back and forth between complete ex­haustion and uncontrollable energy. Had he been ex­hausted when they asked him to stay, he might have just curled up, thumb in mouth, and fallen asleep before the big blast came—but Winston was feeling very much alive and did not intend to go quietly. Today was a day to live.

As he leapt down the stairs two at a time, he had to keep reminding himself that he hadn’t abandoned the other three. They, in fact, had abandoned him. They had given up. Now he would be alone. He would chase the tail of the other two shards until he could no longer walk, until he could no longer crawl. When his body had withered itself out of existence, he would die knowing he fought to the end. That was dying with dignity, not being buried be­neath ten tons of shattered concrete.

Winston bounded down the stairs to the first level and was surprised to see, just twenty yards away, a worker in a hard-hat, facing away from him. Winston could see he was double-checking the wires, and the realization that there were still a few minutes till the building blew made him reconsider his options.

There was time to save the others! Even if they didn’t want to be saved, he could save them. He would run up to the man in the hard-hat, he would tell him of the others still upstairs, he would ruin their awful plan.

Winston took a few steps closer, about to shout out, when suddenly a second figure that had been eclipsed from Winston’s sight came into view. It was a boy—no older than fifteen, and he was staring straight at the worker. The boy had red hair.

Immediately Winston felt a rush of dizziness that took the wind right out of his lungs. This was wrong. This was very wrong. He ducked behind a pillar and watched.

The worker was frozen, his flashlight at his side, casting a light on the dusty floor. The boy with red hair seemed anxious and sweaty, and very, very intense.

“You’ve be placed the explosives wrong,” suggested the boy to the man in the hard-hat. “You should do something about it.”

The worker just stared at him.. “Okay,” he said dream­ily and strolled off into the shadows.

Winston gasped, and the red-haired boy snapped his eyes to Winston.

The second their eyes met, Winston knew exactly who this was.

He was the fifth shard.

Winston couldn’t break eye contact with the red­headed boy. His gaze riveted Winston to the ground. If there were indeed six shards, then this boy had inherited the largest, most powerful one, and in its shadow had grown the worst parasite. Winston knew he was no match for the force behind those eyes.

The redheaded boy stood stunned by the sight of Win­ston—but only for a moment. Then he turned and disap­peared down a hole in the concrete floor.

Once he was gone, a hundred thoughts flew through Winston’s mind fighting for purchase. Run for your life! No—follow him! No—break the worker out of his trance! But the one thought that overrode them all was the urge to race back upstairs and tell the others!

He bounded up the stairs, racing past the demolition man, who mindlessly whistled a Beatles tune as he