Scorpion Shards by Neal Shusterman Page B

of Placerville into darkness. She knew she should have felt terror and revulsion at each of these catastrophes, yet, against all reason, a sudden peace always filled her in the aftermath.All that destruction didn’t feel real to her in those moments after—it seemed little more than a painted canvas before her.
    But Dillon was real, and she always turned her newfound calm to him, comforting him and his conscience, which had a strong case for feeling guilty. She thought she was beginning to understand that strange calm: she was in the shadow of Dillon’s destruction now—and that was far less terrifying than being in its path—for if those horrible things were happening to someone else, it meant that they weren’t happening to her.
    What remained in that swollen calm was a single question in Deanna’s mind.
    How?
    How does he accomplish these things?
    She looked to the night sky—to the supernova that still shone in the heavens, as if it could answer her.
    â€œIs it winking at you?” asked Dillon, turning to look at it as well. “Is it telling you all the secrets of the universe?”
    Deanna shook her head. “It’s just telling me to go east.”
    Dillon nodded. “I know.”
    It was true. From the moment its light appeared in the sky, she and Dillon were falling east; carried by an irresistible current, like driftwood pulled toward a raging waterfall. Suddenly Deanna’s aching wrist and aching body didn’t matter. Her family didn’t matter—they seemed like people from a different lifetime and, aside from a single postcard to tell them she was all right, they had been shuffled far back in Deanna’s mind. All that mattered was moving east with Dillon—and all because of that star.
    Maybe the others know more, thought Deanna. Oh, yes, she knew about The Others—they both did. Although they spoke of them only once, they knew that it was The Others who were drawing them east. It was Dillon who didn’t want to discussthem—as if this knowledge of The Others was too important a thing to say out loud.
    Deanna could swear she could sometimes hear their voices in the rustling of leaves—see their faces in dreams she couldn’t quite remember. She thought to tell Dillon, but thought better of it.
    Far below, at the bottom of the hillside, an ambulance could be heard arriving at the scene of the rock slide.
    â€œNo one was supposed to get hurt . . . ,” said Dillon, squeezing his eyes tightly shut.
    Deanna pushed the sound of the ambulance out of her mind. Instead she focused on Dillon—how he needed her and how she needed him to keep her fears away. How strong they were together.
    A trickle of pebbles fell past them on the dark hillside, settling in the aftermath of Dillon’s rock slide.
    â€œI don’t understand how you did it,” she asked him. “All you did was throw a stone . . .”
    â€œIt wasn’t just a stone,” he told her. “It was the right stone.”
    But it was still beyond Deanna to understand just what he meant by that. He had thrown a stone, and that stone had begun an inconceivable chain of events—his stone hit another, which then rolled against a large boulder, and in a few moments the whole mountainside beneath them was falling away before their eyes. It would have been wonderful, if it wasn’t so horrible.
    â€œDo you hate me, Deanna?” Dillon asked. “Do you hate me for the things that I do?”
    Did she hate him? She probably ought to hate him, but how could she when he was the only one who didn’t run from her? How could she hate him when he treasured every ounce of comfort she gave him? The more he needed her, the more sheloved him—she couldn’t help it. Whatever you do, I’ll forgive you, Dillon, she said to herself, because I know the goodness inside you—even if no one else can see.
    But to him, she only