Free The Orphan Army by Jonathan Maberry Page A

I’m with you on that,” said Shark, “we should show this stuff to him.”
    They reluctantly agreed, but when he came trotting over, before he even looked at what they wanted to show him, he said, “It’s dat wreckage, right? Da tracks?”
    â€œYes, how’d you—” But Milo cut himself off. Everyone was gathering now, jabbering about the same thing. They’d seen it in their quadrants, too.
    â€œWhat is it?” asked Shark. “Lizzie thinks it’s an elephant.”
    Not one person laughed.
    Barnaby’s face was pinched. “Okay, dat’s it. We’re done here. Pack your tings and fall in. We out of here in five minutes. And dat’s not five minutes and one second. You all hear me? Move!”
    They ran to gather up their equipment.
    Everyone was lined up in three minutes.
    Barnaby gave them a curt nod of approval. “We’re out of here now. Ghost pace, to konprann ?”
    Do you understand?
    They did. Ghost pace was scavenger lingo for moving as quickly as silence would allow. They were all good at it, even Shark, who was bigger than any two of the others. Big didn’t always mean clumsy.
    Within seconds the clearing was empty.
    From the woods, Milo took one last look back as the leaves closed across the trail. He thought that he saw a single, brief flash of gray.
    Wolf?
    Girl?
    Or his own frantic imagination?
    When he paused to take a better look, there was nothing.
    He shivered despite the heat.
    Then he turned and hurried to catch up with his friends.

FROM MILO’S DREAM DIARY
    I had one dream where I was sitting in a cave talking to shadows.
    The cave was strange, because it looked like someone lived there. It was rock and dirt, but there were shelves on the walls and a table, chairs, and a cot. It felt like a lonely place, though. Not sure I know why. Could what a person feels kind of stick to the walls? Or hang in the air? It was like that. Like maybe whoever lived there spent too much time alone and not enough time playing with other kids.
    Funny, but until I wrote that last sentence, I didn’t really know that the cave was where a kid lived. But looking at what I wrote makes me believe that.
    It was where some kid lived all alone.
    No other kids.
    But not no one to talk to.
    She had people to talk to.
    She?
    Why did I write that?
    How come I sometimes know more about my dreams when I write them down than when I have them?
    Does writing them down help me remember stuff I forget when I wake up?
    Not sure.
    Anyway, I remember sitting in that cave in my dream and talking to someone. It wasn’t the Witch of the World. Not that time.
    I couldn’t actually hear the voice, either. It was like thinking back and forth.
    This is all I remember of the conversation:
    Me: Where is this place?
    Her: It’s not anywhere you can find. It has to let you find it.
    Me: What does that mean? How can a place do that?
    Her: Earth is alive. It has feelings. It has thoughts.
    Me: It’s just a planet.
    Her: No, it isn’t. It never was. How come you don’t know that?
    Me: Do the Bugs know that?
    Her: They didn’t when they came here. They do now. That’s why everything is going bad.
    And that was all I remember.
    There was more, and I wish I could remember it, because I think it was really important.

T he day didn’t get better.
    It wasn’t a Tuesday, but it was quickly becoming one of Milo’s least favorite Mondays.
    When they got back to camp, he saw a lot of activity. At first Milo thought the camp was being moved. Again. Since the invasion, no humans set up any permanent settlements. This camp, though home to Milo, had been moved dozens of times, and soon it would be time to move it again. The Bugs were always looking. Milo was surprised at the activity, though, because this camp was so far out of the normal Bug patrol areas.
    But then he realized that it wasn’t the whole camp that was in motion. It was only