The Orphan Army by Jonathan Maberry Page A

sighed. “I guess.” But he gazed longingly at the cart.
    Milo knew that this was one of the differences between his friend and him. Shark ate when he was scared and Milo couldn’t. In fact, Shark ate all of the food Milo couldn’t eat. That’s why Shark was heavy and Milo was skinny. People are different even when they’re dealing with the same problems.
    â€œThen I’m going to bed,” decided Shark.
    Milo grunted. “You can sleep?”
    â€œGot to. Been a long day and I’m beat.”
    â€œI’m too creeped out,” admitted Milo. “I don’t think I’m ever going to sleep again.”
    Shark shrugged. “Got to try, dude, or we’ll be zombies on the hike tomorrow.”
    â€œZombies,” mused Milo. “I wonder if that would be better than aliens.”
    â€œCouldn’t be worse. But, let’s face it, if there were zombies out there, you’d be safe.”
    â€œWhy?”
    Shark pinched his arm. “Nothing to eat.”
    â€œHilarious,” said Milo, not meaning it.
    But they laughed anyway.
    It was false and it didn’t last long.
    â€œSee ya in the morning. Hope you don’t have any dreams.”
    Milo nodded. “Hope you don’t, either.”
    Both of them meant it. It was the kindest thing friends could wish each other.
    Milo watched Shark walk away with little Killer trotting dutifully at his heels, tail wagging as if everything were right with the world. Far above the camp, visible through a gap in the camouflage netting that hid them all from the air, Orion strode across the sky, his belt and sword glittering. Milo wondered how many times the celestial giant had looked down on boys from a war-torn country talking in the night. Probably more than all the stars in the Louisiana sky.
    Milo always found comfort in that constellation. He felt that maybe not everything in the universe wanted to hurt him.
    Then he remembered that in the myth, Orion had been killed by a scorpion. Even though Scorpius was in the sky on the far side of the world, it reminded him of the Bugs and all the people they’d killed, all the things they’d destroyed.
    Depressed, Milo walked over to where his hammock was hung. He could have slept in the tent tonight, but he didn’t want to be alone. Out here there were soldiers sleeping in hammocks or bedrolls. Out here he felt safe. Or, safer, anyway.
    He took off his shoes, washed his face and hands with a cupful of water, climbed into the hammock, and lay there for more than an hour, trying to fall asleep.
    He didn’t think he would. Or could.
    But sleep found him anyway.
    And, sadly, he dreamed.

FROM MILO’S DREAM DIARY
    Really weird dream last night.
    It started with the same feast. Just like always. But then it changed again.
    There was a girl at the table this time.
    It was the girl from the woods. Those same eyes and the same smoke-colored hair. Her clothes were all dirty and covered with ashes and blood. She looked sick, too. Her skin was yellow and her eyes were bloodshot.
    â€œWhat happened?” I asked her.
    â€œThe world is dying,” she said, “and so are we.”
    â€œâ€˜We’? Who do you mean?”
    â€œAll of the orphans who wander in the night.”
    â€œWhat does that mean?” I asked, but she wouldn’t tell me. So I said, “If you tell me your name, I won’t conjure with it.”
    The girl looked at me for a really long time. She looked so sad and scared that I wanted to do something for her. I felt really bad for her.
    She said, “My name is Evangelyne Winter.”
    I told her that it was a pretty name.
    â€œIt’s an old name. It was my grandmother’s name, and she ran with the night winds.”
    She wouldn’t explain what that meant.
    I turned to get some food for her, but when I turned back, she was gone. Her chair was empty and all rusted and broken.
    Then I felt something push against my