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> The Mouth bit down on the Enemy. The Enemy was slippery. It slid down her throat almost eagerly. The Mouth gulped and gagged. Too much, too big … But the Enemy would not come up. The Mouth swallowed and…and …

  Tate stumbled. She saw the floor. Smelled smoke.

  <> Yago’s voice.

  “Sleep,” Tate mumbled. “I need sleep.”

  <> Not Yago’s voice. Tate felt her head jerk up and her eyelids open wider. She hadn’t moved them. Someone else was controlling them.

  “Amelia?” Tate asked warily. She struggled for control of her body. Her eyes and head responded, but her feet began to twitch oddly. Her right foot — oh, agony. The pain was radiating up her bones into her legs. She did not want to move her foot. “Stop it!”

  <>

  Definitely Amelia.

  Tate moaned low. “I told you this would happen,” she said,

  <> Yago said arrogantly.

  Amelia laughed. <>

  “Schedule?” Tate said angrily. “You want to make a schedule for controlling my body?

  What are we going to do — tack it up on the fridge? Review it at our family meetings?”

  The burst of anger kept her alert as long as she was talking, but as soon as she finished, she began to feel limp with fatigue. Sleep. She needed sleep Tate sank cross-legged onto the floor and rested her head in her hands. Her foot was throbbing dully.

  She was already nodding off when her eyelids moved slowly upward, offering her a view of her fingers.

  <> Amelia said determinedly.

  Tate didn’t need to close her eyelids to fall asleep. Her eyes had already rolled back in her rather crowded head.

  Tate dreamed.

  She was floating above the gray Earth. She would have been at tree height had there been any trees. The landscape was nothing but dirt. Lifeless. A cemetery for her friends, and the seven billion who had died before them.

  Such a sad place. Such a lonely place.

  Then Tate’s eyes picked up movement. She strained, trying to see what it was. Her vision shifted, she saw them — bands of people marching steadily toward some distant object. They were like believers moving toward Mecca. Or wildebeests converging on a water hole.

  Primitive. Matted hair. They wore furs, bundles of shapeless clothing. They looked exhausted

  —. shoulders hunched forward, eyes on the ground.

  Tate scanned the horizon, trying to unlock the puzzle, anxious to see where they were going

  — but there was nothing on the horizon but dust.

  Tate woke to the sound of arguing.

  <> Yago was saying, <>

  Sensations began to flood in. Her right foot was throbbing hotly. She avoided looking at it, imagining her burned skin.

  Her neck ached. Someone was trying to turn it and succeeding only in making her twitch painfully. Amelia. Judging from the ache in her muscles, Amelia had been twitching them for hours.

  “Cool it, Amelia,” Tate said irritably.

  <> Amelia said in a huffy tone. <>

  <> Yago interrupted. <>

  “Why?” Tate asked warily. Her drowsiness was falling away and she was starting to feel scared again. Amelia was right. Two more slime monsters were still out there. She couldn’t run on her foot. It felt as if someone had drilled a hole straight through it. If Duncan and Charlie attacked, she was toast.

  <> Yago muttered. <>

  <> Amelia interrupted. <>

  <> Yago put in. <> Tate agreed. Vehemently. But she didn’t like Yago and Amelia giving her orders. “The Mouth just appears,” she said peevishly. “I can’t control it.”

  <> Amelia said.

  Tate felt like telling Amelia where to go. But then she imagined another voice added to the chorus in her head. Psycho Charlie. Arrogant Duncan. Or — oh, god — maybe even both of them. Not a happy thought.

  Then came the smell.

  Matches. Sulfur. Something burning.

  Faint now, but growing stronger.

  <> Yago asked urgently.

  <> Amelia said, and she sounded much calmer than Tate felt. <> Tate didn’t trust anyone who promised to take care of everything. Besides, she didn’t know how to let go of her body. And, if she could do it, she wondered if she’d ever be able to wrest control back from Amelia.

  She looked around. Was that a glistening patch on the ceiling off to her left? Yes, she was quite certain it was. Duncan was up there. Or Charlie.

  Tate’s heart leaped up like a fluttering bird. She tried to run. The pain in her right foot brought her to her knees, whimpering.

  <> Yago whispered conspiratorially. <>

  <> Amelia said flatly.

  The glistening patch was growing closer now. The sulfur smell was stronger. Tate made her decision.

  It wasn’t difficult.

  Tate wanted to hide. She let the feeling consume her. She imagined herself growing smaller, shrinking down to stand next to a bite-size Yago. She imagined Amelia rising up, swelling like ohe of those hot-air balloons in the Thanksgiving parade —

  <> Tate yelled.

  Amelia had sensed her opening. Tate felt Amelia hovering over her eagerly — and then Amelia was squeezing her, suffocating her, crushing her, pushing her roughly aside —

  Tate was weightless. Gravity was gone.

  It was like the floating moment before sleep descends. Her body felt fuzzy, distant. The pain in her foot had receded to a dull ache. That gave Tate some satisfaction. If Amelia wanted to be in charge, let her deal with the full force of the pain.

  Tate tried to wiggle her toes. For one terrifying moment, nothing happened. Panicking, Tate clamped down, concentrated, and managed a painful wiggle. She checked in with her fingers, eyebrows, wrists, neck —

  “Please,” Amelia said testily. “I don’t need a backseat driver.”

  <> Tate said, feeling oddly chagrined.

  <> Yago said. <
  slime monster at two o’clock.>>

  Suddenly, she — they — was, were running, a strange disorienting feeling like being bounced along on an invisible horse.

  <> Yago asked nastily. <>

  <> Tate said shakily <>

  “Let me know if you have a better idea,” Amelia said, and now some of her cool confidence was gone.

  <> Tate said furiously. Being scared and out of control was worse than just being plain scared, she discovered.

  And now an awful thought occurred to Tate for the first time. What if this was a trick? What if Amelia was working with Duncan and Charlie somehow? What if the three of them took control of her body and forced her out?

  <> Tate shouted.
<>

  “In your dreams, sweetie,” Amelia said.

  An image from her dream came to Tate. A band of ragged people — then it was gone.

  <> Yago said. <>

  The slime monster was dripping off the ceiling, forming a pool in front of them. Tate watched in horror as it moved into a circle shape around them, cutting off any escape.

  “Ideas?” Amelia asked nervously. This was the first time she had faced one of the slime monsters in battle. It showed, Tate thought angrily.

  <> Yago said impatiently.

  “No,” Amelia said stubbornly. “I’m not sharing this body with anyone.”

  <> Yago said furiously.

  Tate had never felt more like throttling someone. Amelia was going to get them killed! Tate watched resentfully as the slime monster tightened the circle.

  Was she doomed to spend eternity with Yago and Amelia?

  “I’m going to just — push through,” Amelia announced.

  Push through a wall of acid? Not a bright idea.

  <> Tate shouted. She concentrated on restraining her body, pulling back against Amelia’s forward movement. Yago was trying to work with her. The battle for control made her body flail awkwardly. The slime brushed against her elbow. She felt a shock of pain — then cold fury.

  How exactly did a slime creature eat?

  She was about to find out.

  Then — it happened. Her vision shifted to red. Amelia guessed what was happening and began to scream. That changed nothing. The Mouth had identified the Enemy.

  She/Them/It surged forward.

  The Mouth was powerful. The Mouth was efficient.

  It closed over the head of the Enemy and Amelia could do nothing to stop it.

  CHAPTER 10

  <>

  Amelia gave a low animal groan. She ran a few loping steps, got the obligatory sickness out of the way, stumbled to the left, and fell heavily on her side. Her eyes fluttered closed.

  A second later, Tate could hear her snoring ever so slightly. The sound infuriated her. This was the woman who had demanded she stay awake? Look at her. She had no control.

  <> Yago said disgustedly, <
  Know your limits, respect your limits. Is that so hard?>>

  <> Charlie’s voice cracked with uncertainty.

  <> Yago asked insolently.

  <> Charlie asked.

  There was a pause as Yago apparently considered how to answer this question. Finally he simply said, <>

  <> Tate scolded. But the truth was she could relate to Yago’s reluctance to try to explain the situation.

  <> Charlie said with surprise. <>

  <> Tate snapped. <>

  <> Charlie whispered the last word.

  <> Yago said. <> Long pause.

  <> Charlie finally said. <>

  <> Yago said coldly.

  <> Charlie rambled on. <>

  Tate nervously noted the edge of hysteria in his voice. Great. The last thing they needed was Charlie having a breakdown in their head.

  Her.

  Her head.

  Not theirs. Never theirs. This was her body. Only hers. She didn’t have to share. Didn’t want to.

  Wasn’t going to.

  Letting Amelia have control had been a mistake. Now it was time to get control back.

  Now, while Amelia was asleep. While her guard was down.

  Tate remembered how she’d let Amelia take control by sort of shrinking down. She decided to try reversing the process.

  While Charlie kept blathering about how weird the whole situation was, she visualized her disembodied self. She was tiny, the size of a Little People action figure. She imagined herself growing back to her real size, gaining in power, getting strong enough to push Amelia aside.

  She tried to open her eyes.

  Nothing.

  Tate was sick with worry. She concentrated like she’d never concentrated before. It was like trying to bend a spoon with your mind. It wasn’t working! Tate was giving in to despair when —

  Her right eyelid fluttered open and then closed.

  Had she done that?

  Tate felt her confidence surge.

  She tried again. This time she was certain she opened her right eye. For some reason, she was having more trouble on the left —

  “Quit it….” Amelia mumbled sleepily. Tate felt her control on the eye slip slightly — as if Amelia had reached out in her sleep and strengthened her grip.

  Yago had fallen silent. Apparently, he was aware of Tate’s struggle.

  Charlie chatted on. <> he said blithely. <>

  <> Yago whispered low, and Tate knew he was talking to her <>

  Right, Tate thought. Good advice.

  She took a moment to prepare herself. Then she performed something like a mental leap. She imagined herself grabbing hold of her entire body — eyes, arms, legs, head, hands. At the same time, she imagined Amelia shrinking into irrelevance, turning into one of those Little People dolls that ride up the elevator in the plastic garage.

  Tate knew immediately, that it had worked. She felt something like her body rushing up to embrace her — as if it recognized her, or knew who was supposed to be boss. Tate was relieved — until she felt the searing pain that wasn’t just in her foot but had traveled about halfway to her knee. It was a moment’s sensation and then she was the one sleeping.

  Tate dreamed.

  She was walking the permanent dusk of the dust-choked Earth, shoulder to shoulder with one of the ragged creatures. Surrounding them was a band of maybe fifteen others — some big, some small.

  Maybe the small ones were children. She didn’t know.

  The creature closest to Tate was clearly human, but the soot-covered skin, matted hair, and bulky clothes made it impossible for her to guess whether it was male or female.

  They plodded silently along, each step raising a poof of dust. Somehow Tate knew the creature’s feelings. She could feel emotions radiating off the band like waves of heat. Feelings so intense they made her sick.

  Hunger.

  Thirst.

  Fear.

  Fear was the strongest. The pathetic creatures were afraid of so many things. Of the future.

  Of one another. But most of all, of the thing that was in front of them. Of the — the Source.

  Tate looked up, scanning the blighted landscape for this thing that frightened the creatures so badly. This — this Source.

  Something glinting dully on the horizon. Something metallic. She squinted, trying to make it out, trying to guess what could be shining in all of this dusty gloom.

  And then — wham!

  Instant close-up. She was there, standing next to the Source, and the filthy band was still miles behind her.

  Tate stared, slowly taking in the huge mass that towered above her, reducing her to complete insignificance.

  It was Mother.

  Tate had seen her from the outside only a few times before, on the pointless “scientif
ic”

  missions Jobs had arranged after they’d landed the ship on the ruined Earth. Still, she recognized the graceless bulk immediately. It had all of the poetry of a very oversized tin can.

  Only — this wasn’t a dream-memory of Mother’s time on Earth. Something was … off.

  The ship had crashed. A gaping hole in one side exposed what looked like the bridge. Debris littered the ground nearby. The enormous engines were entirely buried. Ash drifted over the ship, further obscuring her. Her metallic skin was dulled and pockmarked with age. The bridge window was sandblasted opaque.

  Tate shivered.

  How had Mother gotten here?

  Hmmmmmmmm.

  A deep resonant sound surrounded Tate. Was it the ship’s engines? No. Tate didn’t need an engineer to tell her those engines would never fire again.

  Hmmmmmmmm.

  A chilling toneless drone.

  Tate spun around.

  The filthy creatures stood in a circle all around her. Dozens of them. Their eyes shone strangely in their ash-covered faces.

  Surprise hit Tate like a sucker punch to the gut. She knew a few of these faces, 2Face. Jobs.

  Mo’Steel. Olga.

  Her friends were there, inexplicably mixed in with the dusty, wild creatures — as if they had somehow become part of their band. There was Violet, practically unrecognizable, her hair matted into woolly-looking dreadlocks. Mo had an ugly pink scar on his throat that looked as if someone had tried to cut his head off and almost succeeded.

  “Mo!” Tate cried. “What’s happened? Why is Mother here? Are you okay?”

  The swirling wind carried off Tate’s words. Her friends, the dust creatures — everyone seemed unaware of her presence. They moved as a group, bowing double before Mother, putting their foreheads in the choking ash and continuing to hum softly as one. The sound seemed to give voice to their fear.

  Mmmmmmm.

  Mmmmmmm.

  CHAPTER 11

  <>

  Tate woke up — and felt instantly on alert. Would Amelia try to wrest control of her body away from her? Because that wasn’t happening.

  <