“Guess I better see if I know how to drive this thing,” Quinn said.
“You said you know how to drive,” Albert accused.
“I do. I’ve driven Edilio’s Jeep, anyway. But this is bigger.”
“Great,” Albert muttered.
Quinn turned the key and the engine roared. It seemed way too loud, like it would wake up the whole town.
“Yikes,” Quinn said. He put it into drive, and the beast lurched forward, bumped across a curb, and fishtailed out onto the highway.
“Hey, let’s not get killed, huh?” Albert yelled.
Quinn steadied the truck and it went off at a sedate thirty miles an hour straight down the center of what had once been a busy highway.
“You seem a little cranky, Albert,” Quinn said playfully. “Are you going to tell me what this trip is all about? I mean, it’s, what, three a.m.? We’re not going to kill a guy, right?”
“You’re getting paid, aren’t you?” Albert snapped.
“You haven’t told him?” Lana said from the backseat. “Albert, he has to know what’s going on.”
When Albert didn’t answer, Lana said, “We’re going after gold, Quinn.”
She saw Quinn’s eyes framed in the rearview mirror.
“Um. What?”
“Hermit Jim’s shack. The gold,” Lana explained.
Lana saw Quinn’s eyes again, more worried. “Excuse me, but last time we were out there, we were getting chewed on by coyotes.”
“You know how to handle a gun now. And you have a gun with you,” Albert said calmly. “And Cookie has a gun. You’re both trained.”
“That’s right,” Cookie agreed. “But I don’t want to shoot no one. Unless they mess with the Healer.”
“And we need gold why?” Quinn asked a bit shrilly.
“We need money,” Albert said. “You can only get so far with barter. We need a system, and the system works better if you have a basis for the currency.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Okay, look, take the fish business, right?” Albert began.
“It hasn’t been much of a business,” Quinn grumbled. “I barely caught enough yesterday to make bait.”
“You’ll have good days and bad days,” Albert said impatiently. “Some days you’ll have a lot of fish. So let’s say you want to trade some fish for oranges.”
“Sounds good, actually. You know someone with oranges?”
“You have enough fish that you want to trade some for oranges, and some for bread, and some for a kid to clean your room for you. That’s three different places you have to go with your fish in your hand to pay someone.”
“Is anyone else really starving right now?” Quinn joked. “I mean, dude: oranges? Bread? Stop.”
Albert ignored him. “What you do if you have money, instead of just trading things, is you can have a market where everyone brings what they have to sell, right? All in one place. And everyone is walking around with pieces of gold, not their fish, or a wheelbarrow full of corn or whatever, trying to make deals.”
Quinn said, “Either way, I’m standing around with my fish. Either I’m walking around selling them at this market of yours, or I’m standing still and people are coming to me to trade, but either way—”
“No, man,” Albert interrupted impatiently. “Because you’re selling your fish to someone who sells it to other people. You need to be out fishing, because that’s what you’re good at. Not selling fish. Catching fish.”
Quinn frowned. “You mean, I’m selling them to you.”
“Could be,” Albert agreed. “Then I sell them to Lana. That way, Quinn, you’re doing what you do and I’m doing what I do, and to make all that work out easy peasy we need money of some kind.”
“Yeah, well, since I’m doing this all night there may not be any fish tomorrow, either,” Quinn grumbled. Then he asked the question Lana expected. “Why are you coming along, Healer?”
The use of her “title” bothered Lana; she wasn’t quite sure why. And the question on top of the title bothered her. She didn’t like the question. She shifted in her seat and stared out of the window.
“She’s coming because I need a guide,” Albert said. “And I’m going to pay her. When I get the gold. Which brings us to a little something called credit.”
Poor Albert, Lana thought as Albert launched into a lecture on the usefulness of credit. Smart kid. He’d probably end up owning the FAYZ some day. But he knew nothing of her reasons for going on this trip.
All the gold in the world wouldn’t be enough to pay her for what she was planning to do. Gold couldn’t touch the cold dread that filled her heart. And gold wouldn’t be any use to her if she failed.
“There’s more than money in the world,” Lana said, thinking she was speaking only to herself.
“Like what?” Albert asked.
“Like freedom,” Lana said.
At which point Albert went on, talking about how money could buy freedom. Lana supposed he was right, in most cases. But not in this one.
Not in this case.
She couldn’t bribe the Darkness. But maybe, maybe…maybe she could kill it.
Caine sat silent, biting his thumb, chewing at the ragged nail.
Panda was driving. Computer Jack was squeezed in the backseat between Diana and Bug. They were the lead car. The second car, an SUV, was behind them, Drake and four of his soldiers. All were armed.
They drove cautiously. Caine insisted on it. Panda had gotten better at driving, more confident, but he was still just thirteen. He still drove scared.
The SUV behind, urged on no doubt by Drake, practically hung on their bumper, impatient.
Down Highway 1, past abandoned businesses, weaving around crashed cars and overturned trucks. All the debris of the FAYZ, the litter left behind by all the disappeared.
They turned onto the power plant road.
“Don’t drive us off the road,” Caine cautioned. “It’s a long drop.”
“Don’t worry,” Panda said.
“Uh-huh,” Caine said. There was a cliff to the left, a hundred-foot drop to the ocean rocks below. Caine wondered if he could use his powers to stop the car falling in the event that it did topple over. That kind of thing might be worth practicing, to see if he could use his telekinetic power to suspend a falling object with him inside. It would take just the right balance.
“What was that?” Panda cried.
“What was what?”
“I saw it, too,” Diana said.
“Saw what?” Caine demanded.
“Like a blur. Like something shooting past us.”
There was silence. Then, Caine cursed. “Brianna. Faster, Panda!”
“I don’t want to run off—”
“Faster,” Caine hissed.
The walkie-talkie crackled. Drake’s voice. “You guys see that?”
Caine keyed his own set. “Yeah. Brianna. Either that or a tornado.”
“She’ll get there before us,” Diana said.
“She’s already there,” Caine agreed.
“Don’t you think maybe we should do this some other time?” Diana asked.
Caine laughed. “Just because Brianna is zipping around? I’m not worried about that girl.” It was phony bravado. Brianna “zipping around” could mean that an ambush was waiting. Or it could mean that Sam had been alerted and was already on his way.
He keyed the walkie-talkie. “Drake. They may be ready when we get there.”
“Good. I’m in the mood for a fight,” Drake answered.
Caine twisted halfway in his seat to see Diana. Her nearly bald head was distracting. It had the strange effect of focusing his attention on her eyes and lips. He winked at her. “Drake’s not worried.”
Diana said nothing.
“You worried, Panda?” Caine asked. Panda was too terrified to answer. His fingers were white from gripping the wheel.
“Nobody’s worried but you, Diana,” Caine said.
Caine hadn’t asked J
ack. He was going to be careful with Jack for a while. At least until the computer genius had given him what he needed.
“Coming up on the gate,” Bug said.
There was a brick guardhouse beside a tall chain-link fence. Lights were blazing everywhere. Spotlights atop the guardhouse, trained down along the fence line in both directions. And beyond the gate the vast bulk of the power plant itself, humming, vibrating, a sinister presence in the night. It was bigger than Caine had imagined, and was comprised of several buildings, the largest of which looked like a prison. It could almost be a small city of its own. The parking lot was half full of cars, glittering in the glow.
“There’s Brianna!” Caine cried, and pointed at the girl, doubled over, clutching the fence, tugging ineffectually at it. She glanced back fearfully at them, face blue-white in the headlights. She shouted something that Caine did not hear.
In obvious frustration she rattled the chain link, unable to open it, unable, it seemed, to get the attention of anyone in the guardhouse. If anyone even was in the guardhouse.
Panda slammed on the brakes and the car skidded.
Caine leaped out and raised his hands toward Brianna. But in a blur she was gone only to reappear halfway up the hill to the right.
“Hello, Brianna, long time no see,” Caine called to her.
“Hello, Caine. How’s that leg where Sam burned your skin off?”
Caine smiled at her. “Everyone out of the car,” he said in a whisper. “Now!”
Panda, Jack, and Diana piled out. Bug may have piled out or not, Caine didn’t see him, but with Bug, that didn’t mean much.
“Whatcha up to?” Brianna asked. She was chewing gum, trying to act nonchalant. But Caine could see that she had not yet recovered from the exertion. She would be tired. Hungry, too, no doubt. He wished he had some food to offer her. Like a bone for a dog. Test her loyalty.
But they had not brought any food.
“Oh, not much, Brianna,” Caine answered. He dropped his hands to his waist, arms crossed over his chest, and turned his palms toward the car behind him. Then, in a swift motion he rotated his arms up over his head and brought them down.
The car jumped up off the ground. It was yanked into the sky like it was a giant’s yo-yo that had run out its string.
The car inscribed a tight arc, twenty, thirty feet in the air, and hurtled down toward Brianna.
The car smashed the dirt with shocking violence. The windshield and all the other windows shattered into a million glittering pieces. Like someone had set off a hand grenade inside. Two of the tires blew out. The hood popped clear off, twirled in the air, and crashed.
Brianna was standing twenty feet away from the impact.
“Wow. That was cool, Caine,” Brianna mocked. “I’ll bet that seemed really fast to you, huh? Car flying through the air all lightning quick? Why don’t you try again?”
“She’s baiting you, Caine,” Diana said, stepping up beside him. “She’s stalling. Not to mention that whoever is on guard inside may have heard that.”
Drake’s car had come to a stop just behind theirs. He leaped from the car and went racing toward Brianna, unspooling his whip hand as he went.
Brianna laughed and gave Drake the finger. “Come on, Drake, you can catch me.” Drake lunged at her, but suddenly she was behind him.
“Knock it off, Drake,” Caine yelled. “You can’t catch her. And all we’re doing is making noise and wasting time.”
“The gate’s locked,” Brianna taunted, suddenly just out of arm’s reach in front of Caine. When she came to a stop she quivered like an arrow hitting a target.
“Gate?” Caine said. He aimed his hands at the shattered car. It came up off the ground and flew, tumbling, through the air, spraying bits of glass like a comet’s tail.
The car smashed into the gate, ripped the gate from its mooring, wrapping chain link around itself, and carried the twisted mess for forty feet before hitting the parking lot and skidding into a parked minivan.
It made enough noise to wake a deaf person.
“And now,” Caine said, “it’s open. Good-bye, Brianna.”
The girl glared at him and was gone.
“Drake, leave two guys in the guardhouse,” Caine ordered. “Let’s go get this over with.”
Edilio pulled the Jeep into Zil, Hunter, Lance, and Harry’s driveway. Sam and Dekka jumped out. The front door of the house was ajar.
“Edilio? Go. Find Lana. Maybe pick up Taylor on the way, huh, if she’s in the plaza still? She could help you search.”
“You sure you don’t want me to—”
“Get Lana.” He slapped his hand on the hood, a signal to hurry. Edilio gunned it into reverse and then took off down the street.
“How do we play this?” Dekka asked.
“We see what’s what. If Hunter’s gone nuts, lift him off the ground, keep him from running away. Bounce him off the ceiling, if you need to. I’m not looking to hurt him, just talk to him,” Sam said. He knocked on the open door, which swung away from him. “Hunter. You in there?”
No answer.
“Okay, it’s Sam, and I’m coming in.” He purposely did not mention Dekka. Dekka was a weapon he’d as soon keep in reserve. “I’m hoping there won’t be any kind of problem.”
Sam took a deep breath and stepped inside.
A painting of an attractive but serious-looking woman with luxuriant red hair hung in the entryway. Someone, presumably one of the current residents, had defaced the painting with a mustache carefully drawn on with a black Sharpie.
The hallway was a mess—a Frisbee on the side table, a dirty gym sock hanging from a chandelier, a mirror badly out of alignment and cracked. Not much different from most of the residences in a FAYZ without parents.
The first room, on the left, was a formal dining room, dark. The kitchen was ahead, down the hall, past the stairs. The family room was ahead and to the right. Dekka poked her head into the dining room, peered under the table, and whispered, “Clear.”
Sam advanced to the family room.
The family room was an even bigger mess than the hallway: DVDs strewn here and there, long-emptied soda cans, some sort of bright yellow Nerf projectiles, family photos—the red-haired woman again, and what was probably her husband—knocked over on the mantel, dust thick on bookshelves.
At first Sam didn’t see Harry. He had fallen between the couch and a heavy coffee table. But one step closer, and he came into view.
Harry was lying facedown. There was a deflating blister on the back of his neck. It reminded Sam of a balloon three days after a party.
Sam pushed the table aside, but it was wedged. “Dekka?”
Dekka raised one hand, and the table lifted off the floor. Sam gave it a shove. It floated aside till it was out of Dekka’s field, then it crashed to the floor.
Sam knelt beside Harry. Carefully avoiding the blister, he pressed two fingers against Harry’s neck. “I’m not feeling anything,” Sam said. “You try.”
Dekka glanced around, searching for what she needed, and came up with a small, mirrored box. She twisted Harry’s head to the side and held the mirrored surface close to the boy’s nostrils.
“What are you doing?” Sam asked.
“If he’s breathing, you’d see it. Condensation.”
“I think he’s dead,” Sam said.
They both stood up then and took a couple of steps back. Dekka set the box aside, careful, like Harry was asleep and she didn’t want to wake him.
“What do we do about this?” Dekka wondered.
“That’s a very good question,” Sam said. “I wish I had a very good answer.”
“If Hunter killed him…”
“Yeah.”
“The freak-versus-normal thing…”
“We can’t let it get like that,” Sam said forcefully. “If Hunter did this…I mean, I guess we have to hear what he says about it.”
“Maybe talk to Astrid, huh?” Dekka suggested.
S
am laughed mirthlessly. “She’ll say we should have a trial.”
“We could, you know, just make this go away,” Dekka said.
Sam didn’t answer.
“You know what I’m saying,” Dekka said.
Sam nodded. “Yes. I do. We’re trying to keep from starving. Trying to stay ready in case Caine starts something. The last thing we need is some big argument between freaks and normals.”
“Of course Zil won’t shut up about it, no matter what we do,” Dekka pointed out. “We could say we got here, Harry wasn’t here, we found nothing. But Zil would never believe it, and a lot of kids would go along with him.”
“Yep,” Sam said. “We are stuck with this.”
They stood side-by-side, staring down at Harry. The blister still slowly, slowly deflating.
Then Sam led the way back out to the driveway. Edilio roared up ten minutes later with Dahra Baidoo in the passenger seat.
“Hey, Dahra,” Sam said. “Thanks for coming.”
“I couldn’t find Lana,” Edilio said. “She’s not in her room at Clifftop. Her dog was gone, too. I got Taylor bouncing around, looking for her everywhere. The rest are still hanging out in the plaza in case we need them.”
Sam nodded. He was used to Lana’s strange and sudden relocations. The Healer was a restless girl. “Dahra, take a look, huh? Inside. On the floor.”
Edilio looked quizzically at Sam. Sam shook his head and avoided making eye contact.
Dahra was back in less than a minute. “I’m not Lana, but even she couldn’t do anything here. She’s not Jesus,” she snapped. “She doesn’t raise the dead.”
“We were hoping he wasn’t dead,” Dekka said.
“He’s dead, all right,” Dahra said. “Did either of you notice that the skin on his neck wasn’t burned? The hair around it wasn’t singed? The blister must have welled up from inside. Which means something cooked him from the inside out. That leaves you out as a suspect, Sam: I’ve seen your handiwork. You leave people looking like marshmallows that got dropped in the coals.”
“Hey,” Edilio blurted angrily. “You got no reason to be harshing on Sam.”
“It’s okay, Edilio,” Sam said mildly.
“No. He’s right,” Dahra said. She touched Sam’s shoulder. “Sorry, Sam. I’m tired and I don’t like seeing dead bodies, okay?”