The Secret: A Thriller by David Haywood Young Page B

try to get out I have to go through the U.S. military. I might try to leave later, if things get worse—”
    “Worse than this. That’s what you’re waiting for? Just how bad does it need to get?”
    “Dude. Here I have food and water. Kind of. But if I go with you I’ll probably get dead, or worse. So if you don’t mind—”
    “Enough. I need your help. I don’t think you’ll be taking much of a risk, and if it works you’ll know what I did later if you decide you need to follow me.” I grinned at him. “Plus, I may scream if you don’t quit arguing about it.”
    He sighed. “I heard what the Reverend called you. You’re Jacob Ashton, right?”
    “Yeah. So?”
    “So what the hell? That’s the name of the guy who founded this damn town. There’s a statue of your great-great-whatever guy standing in the town square. Reverend Bob’s crowd are all about keeping strangers out and pulling together. If you go tell them you’re awake and push a little, man, they might just let you take over.”
    I thought about that. “If they bought it. If the Reverend didn’t shoot me instead. And I don’t want to take over, I need to get back to my family.” Then I grinned. “And—by the way? I think that statue got blown to hell a little while back.”
    John gave a short laugh, then looked like he regretted making the noise. “Dude. What the hell do you want from me, anyway?”
    “Come find out.”
     
    * * *
     
    I led John down the hallway, checking each classroom until I found one that was empty, then shut the door behind us. “Damnit,” I said, “I was hoping we could do this right across from the cafeteria. It’s a long way to—”
    John put a hand on my arm “Shh!” Then he went on in a whisper: “Dude, turn around. Look out the window. Slowly. No sudden movements.”
    A crowd of teenagers had gathered in front of the school. One of them was about twenty feet from the window directly in front of us, standing, staring out toward the highway. The others—about thirty of them— stood in a rough semicircle, facing him.
    “Dude,” John murmured, “Can we just shuffle out of here? They’re all staring right at us.”
    “Uh. Maybe if we do it slowly?”
    We started moving…then froze.
    “Holy crap,” John said, not so quietly. “I dunno what you have in mind, man. But there’s no way I’m going out there.”
    The boy facing away from us—dark-haired, about Robbie’s age—had raised his hands, and insects suddenly swarmed the air around him. Wasps, bees, flies…probably gnats, too, but if so I couldn’t see them except as part of the shifting, buzzing mass.
    The room darkened, and I was pretty sure it wasn’t because a cloud had covered the sun. Not a normal cloud anyway. Just how big was that swarm out there?
    The other teenagers shifted on their feet, a little. They seemed…perplexed. Bugs crawled over them, but if the kids were being bitten they gave no obvious sign of it.
    “Let’s keep moving,” I suggested.
    But the teenager who’d been facing the crowd seemed to hear me. His head tilted to the side, and he turned.
    I gasped, and John grabbed my arm. The boy’s face was…subtly misshapen. His jaw jutted out a little too far. His nose seemed to be gone. But mostly I noticed his eyes. At first my mind had tried to tell me he was wearing sunglasses.
    But he wasn’t.
    I started to move toward the door again. John whimpered a little, then moved behind me, keeping me between him and the window. I didn’t blame him.
    The boy turned his head slightly to the left. One of the teenagers outside had fallen to the ground. Shaking, twitching, jerking spasmodically. Had she been bitten? An allergic reaction? But that didn’t seem to fit. Some sort of analogue of a religious frenzy? Her mouth was moving rhythmically…speaking in tongues, maybe? If , a darker piece of my mind pointed out, she still has a tongue…
    We moved out of the room. Slowly. Steadily.
    Was the boy watching us still?