Monsters (Page 106)

“Whoa, easy now,” Finn chuckled as Penny’s hand darted to grab a meaty fistful. “Wouldn’t want you to choke, sweetheart. How many months is she, Peter?”

“Seven, more or less.” More, probably.

“Oh.” Finn’s bushy white eyebrows arched as he ticked off the months on his fingers and then mugged fake astonishment. “Well, we did wait until the last second, didn’t we?”

Penny had. He still remembered his shock when she told him: I thought I was late. He’d had to bite back the scream: You thought you were late for three months? But she was only sixteen. Too late, he discovered she’d already confided in a girlfriend and things had mushroomed from there, the rumor spreading through town. Which is probably how Finn found out in the first place. Weller, maybe, or Lang. Or given the depth of Finn’s hatred for Rule, the old man might’ve had a spy there all along.

“How did you get her to the lake house?” Finn asked, proffering the plate again. Penny’s cheeks were round as a chipmunk’s, but she still grabbed a double handful. “Must’ve been difficult.”

He tried to shake his head, but the collar brought him up short. “I took her on Friday, the day before . . . you know.”

“Ah, the day before the world went away. You were going to come back?”

“Sunday night.” The lake house was never meant as anything other than a place for Penny to hang for a single weekend while he scraped together the money and set up the appointment in Illinois. Messing up Penny’s life more by forcing her to go through with the pregnancy would do no one any good. Beg forgiveness later. “Didn’t quite make that.”

“When did you go back?”

“Thursday night.” It had taken that long to track down Simon and ride like hell.

“And she was still there? Poor girl must’ve been starving.”

“Not really.” When Finn leveled a look, he continued in a dead monotone, “She was with a . . . friend. Of mine.” He paused. “From college.”

“The father? That’s interesting. Does put a new spin on the female praying mantis.” Finn gestured at Simon, who hadn’t made a move for the food. “I’d have thought he—”

“Never in a million years. Not Simon. We’re family.”

“Why do you think she stayed at the house?”

“Beats me.” In part, he suspected that his having procured . . . well, just call them supplies . . . helped. There were a lot of very fresh corpses lying around in those early days. Really, he tried to think of it as taking clothes from owners who were past caring. Yes, it was crazy. But she was his sister. Whoever said that once you cross a line, it gets easier to do it again and again . . . they had something there. It was lucky he’d thought to bring food, too, because his college buddy was, literally, a gnawed pile of bones by then. But he also had the notion that the idea had been lodged in her brain from the very beginning. Safe because it was remote, the lake house was also familiar territory, too.

“What about Simon?”

He explained about the tranquilizer dart. Carting Simon to Penny was the only way Peter could think of to keep his friend alive and also get the message across: Take care of her. Not so complicated. Even dogs understood simple commands. From the looks of the lake house and that stuff sack with its stockpile of goodies, that message had obviously stuck, although he knew Simon had wandered far. In all the time since the world died, Peter had caught only a few glimpses of Simon and his pack near Rule—always at a distance, and well upwind—but never Penny.

That feeding ground was ghastly but fascinating with its array of wolf carcasses and that skull pyramid. Peter couldn’t begin to guess why Simon chose to wear a wolf skin either. Peter was interested in wolves. They’d been going to Isle Royale when the accident happened. So, for Simon, did the wolves represent a link to him? Possible, but Peter always sensed he was missing something.

“Well, you are the resourceful one, aren’t you, boy-o?” Finn leveled a look at Simon. “What about you? Aren’t you hungry, son?”

The only change in Simon was his eyes, which hardened to diamonds. This was something Peter never had seen in any Changed, not even Davey. Hunger was one thing. But hate was personal. So this was also interesting.

“Well,” Finn said again, although his tone carried a measure of bemusement and . . . irritation? “You really are different. What I wouldn’t give to get inside your head.”

“That wasn’t the deal. You promised not to hurt them,” Peter said, thinking how empty that sounded. Look at him. Finn had carved Lang into kebabs.

“I haven’t forgotten,” Finn said, his voice stony, the avuncular grandpa gone. When Penny tried another snatch, Finn pulled the plate out of reach. “That’s enough for now. You thirsty, Penny?” He tugged a water bottle from his hip. “Want something to wash that down?”

The drug. Peter’s heart lurched. “Finn!” He tried a lunge, but the collar noosed down. Choking, he strained, throwing his head from side to side. “P-Penny . . . d-don’t drink . . .”

“Relax, boy-o.” Finn tossed the bottle through the bars. “You think I want to risk this baby? Not on your life. I am very interested in that little monster.”

“Why?” Peter’s throat felt as if he’d swallowed a blowtorch.

“For one thing, I’m curious to see if she eats her young. I’m completely serious about that. For another, that fetus was exposed. Interesting to see what pops out and what it becomes.” Folding his arms, Finn nodded at the girl, who was guzzling water. “Look at that. Do you realize that she hasn’t once offered anything to Simon? It’s almost as if he’s not there.”

Peter had noticed. It was so strange, too, given how close they’d all been before. It’s like Penny’s been erased. His eyes shifted to Simon, and he was startled to find Simon’s eyes on him. No hatred there, but Peter read plenty of hurt and confusion. Betrayal.

He saw Simon suddenly tense, then wedge himself between Penny and the bars. A moment later, a tent flap rustled as Davey, in his camo-whites, appeared with a guard who seemed to be mostly an ornament.

“Davey.” Finn tossed a chunk. Snagging the meat with an expert, one-handed grab, Davey crammed the food into his mouth. His alert eyes never left Finn. “Good boy.” Finn patted his leg the way an owner called an attentive puppy. “Let’s talk to Peter, all right?”