Lies

  She walked down the aisle of the church. The crowd parted for her. Mother Mary.

  “He admitted it to me, Astrid,” Mary said. “He lied. He lied because you told him to.”

  Astrid wanted to deny it. The words of denial were on the tip of her tongue. But she couldn’t make them come out.

  “Mary’s right, everyone,” Howard said. “Astrid told us all to lie. About Brittney and about Orsay.”

  “Orsay is a fake,” Astrid said weakly.

  “Maybe,” Howard said. “But you don’t know that. None of us know that.”

  “Orsay’s no fake. She told me something only I knew,” Mary said. “And she prophesied that a tribulation was coming soon.”

  “Mary, that’s an old trick,” Astrid said. “This is the FAYZ: a tribulation is always coming, in case you haven’t noticed. We’re up to our necks in tribulation. She’s manipulating you.”

  “Yeah, unlike you,” Howard said, his voice dripping sarcasm.

  Every eye was on her. Disbelieving. Angry. Accusing. Scared.

  “Orsay says we can step out on our fifteenth,” Mary said. “She told me to lay down my burden. That was what my mom said in her dream. Put down my burden.”

  “Mary, you must know better than that,” Astrid said.

  “No. I don’t know better,” Mary said so quietly, Astrid almost didn’t hear her. “And neither do you.”

  “Mary, those kids need you,” Astrid pleaded.

  Suddenly, unexpectedly, this had become life and death. What Mary was talking about was suicide. Astrid was sure of that much. Logic told her this was probably true. But her faith told her even more certainly: giving up, surrendering, accepting something that at the very least looked and felt like suicide could never be good. That was a joke that God would not play.

  “Maybe not,” Mary said softly. “Maybe what they need is a way out of here, those kids. Maybe their moms and dads are waiting for them and we’re the ones keeping them apart.”

  And there it was: the thing Astrid had feared from the first time she heard of Orsay’s so-called prophecies.

  The silence in the church was nearly absolute.

  “None of the littles are anywhere near their fifteenth,” Astrid said.

  “And they won’t make it to their fifteenth in this horrible place,” Mary said. Her voice broke. Astrid recognized the desperation: she’d felt it herself as she endured Little Pete’s meltdown. She’d felt it so many times since the coming of the FAYZ.

  “We’re in hell, Astrid,” Mary said, almost pleading with her to understand. “This. This is hell.”

  Astrid could imagine what Mary’s life was like. The constant work. The constant responsibility. The unbelievable stress. The depression. The fear. All of it so much worse for Mary than for just about anyone else.

  But this couldn’t go on. This had to be stopped. Even if it meant hurting Mary.

  “Mary, you’ve been one of the most important, necessary people in the FAYZ,” Astrid said carefully. “But I know it’s been hard on you.”

  Astrid had a sick feeling inside, knowing what she was going to say, what she had to say. Knowing that it was a betrayal.

  “Mary, look, I know you’re not able to find the meds you need to take. I know you’ve been taking a lot of drugs, trying to control the things in your head.”

  The silence was total in the church. Kids stared at Mary, then at Astrid. It had turned into a test of who they would believe. Astrid knew the answer to that.

  “Mary, I know you’re dealing with depression and anorexia. Anyone looking at you knows that.”

  The crowd hung on each word.

  “I know that you’ve been battling some demons, Mary.”

  Mary barked a disbelieving laugh. “Are you calling me crazy?”

  “Of course not,” Astrid said, but in such a way that it was clear even to the youngest or dumbest in the room that she was alleging exactly that. “But you do have a couple of mental…issues…that are possibly distorting your thinking.”

  Mary flinched as if someone had hit her. She looked around the room, looking for a friendly face, looking for signs that not everyone was agreeing with Astrid.

  Astrid saw those same faces. They had turned stony and suspicious. But all of that suspicion was aimed at Astrid, not at Mary.

  “I think you need to stay home for a while,” Astrid said. “We’ll get someone else to run the day care, while you pull yourself together.”

  Howard’s jaw was hanging open. “You’re firing Mary? And she’s the one who’s nuts?”

  Even Edilio seemed amazed. “I don’t think Astrid’s talking about Mary not running the day care,” he said quickly, with a warning look at Astrid.

  “That’s exactly what I’m talking about, Edilio. Mary has fallen for Orsay’s lies. It’s dangerous. Dangerous to Mary if she decides to step out. And dangerous to the kids if Mary keeps listening to Orsay.”

  Mary covered her mouth with one hand, aghast. The hand touched her lips, then went to her hair. Then she smoothed the front of her blouse. “You think I would ever hurt one of my kids?”

  “Mary,” Astrid said, finding a pitiless tone, “you’re a troubled, depressed person off her meds who is talking about how maybe it would be best if those kids died and went to their parents.”

  “That’s not what I…,” Mary began. She took a couple of quick, shallow breaths. “You know what? I’m going back to work. I have things to do.”

  “No, Mary,” Astrid said forcefully. “Go home.” Then, to Edilio she said, “If she tries to enter the day care, stop her.”

  Astrid expected Edilio to agree, or at least to do as he’d been told. But when she glanced his way, she knew better.

  “I can’t do that, Astrid,” Edilio said. “You keep saying we need laws and all, and you know what? You’re right. We got no law says I have a right to stop Mary. And you know what else we need? We need laws to keep you from trying stuff like this.”

  Mary walked from the room followed by loud applause.

  “She could hurt those kids,” Astrid said shrilly.

  “Yeah, and Zil burned down the town because you said we couldn’t stop him,” Edilio shot back.

  “I’m the head of the council,” Astrid pleaded.

  “You want us to vote on that?” Howard asked. “Because we can vote right now.”

  Astrid froze. She looked out at a sea of faces, not one of which belonged to someone who was on her side.

  “Petey. Come on,” Astrid said.

  She held her head up high as she walked through the crowd and out of the church.

  Another failure. The only comfort was that it would be her last as the head of the council.

  THIRTY-THREE

  7 HOURS, 51 MINUTES

  “I DON’T SEE any big mansion,” Diana said. “I see trees.”

  “Bug,” Caine called.

  “Good luck finding him,” Diana said. Bug had been clearly visible during the climb up from the water. Caine had caught him once as he fell.

  But as they topped the cliff they faced a line of trees, not a fabulous Hollywood hideaway. Trees and more trees.

  Penny lost it then. She started yelling, “Where is it? Where is it?” and running into the forest.

  “Bug!” Caine shouted. No answer.

  “Yeah,” Diana said, “We trusted Bug. And here we are.” She turned and saw the boat. It was drifting farther and farther away. On its way to the distant power plant maybe. Maybe they would survive somehow. Maybe they would be better off than Diana was.

  “Sheep!” Penny’s voice from some distance away.

  Diana exchanged a look with Caine. Was Penny crazy? Maybe so, but was she hallucinating sheep?

  The two of them started forward into the woods. Soon they saw that the trees were just a narrow belt and that beyond them lay a sunny meadow of knee-high grass.

  Penny was at the edge of the meadow, staring and pointing and wobbling like she might topple over at any moment.

/>   “They’re real, right?” Penny asked.

  Diana shaded her eyes and, yes, they were real. Three dirty-white cotton balls with black faces, almost within reach. The sheep turned and stared at them with stupid eyes.

  Caine acted quickly. He raised his hand and snatched one of the sheep off the ground. It flew through the air and smacked with sickening force into a large tree. It fell to the ground, white wool marked with red.

  They were on it like tigers. Bug, suddenly visible right there next to them, tearing at the wool, desperate to expose the flesh. But with bare hands and brittle fingernails, even with their dull loose teeth, they couldn’t reach the meat.

  “We need something sharp,” Caine said.

  Penny found a sharp-edged rock. Too big for her to carry, but not too heavy for Caine. The rock rose in the air and came down like a cleaver.

  It was messy. But it worked. And the four of them ripped and tore at chunks of raw mutton.

  “Kind of hungry, huh?”

  Two kids were standing there like they had appeared out of thin air. The taller one had spoken. His eyes were intelligent, mocking, and wary. The other kid’s face was impassive, expressionless.

  Both were dressed in bandages. Bandages wrapped around their hands. The shorter kid had a bandana around his lower face.

  The silence stretched as Caine, Diana, Penny, and Bug stared and were stared back at.

  “What are you supposed to be, mummies?” Diana asked. She wiped sheep’s blood from her mouth and then realized that it had saturated her shirt and that there would be no wiping it away.

  “We’re lepers,” the tall kid said.

  Diana felt her heart skip several beats.

  “My name is Sanjit,” the tall boy said, and extended a hand that seemed to be stumps of fingers bound with gauze. “This is Choo.”

  “Stay back!” Caine snapped.

  “Oh, don’t worry,” Sanjit said. “It’s not always contagious. I mean, sure, sometimes. But not always.”

  He dropped his hand to his side.

  “You have leprosy?” Caine demanded.

  “Like at Sunday school?” Bug said.

  Sanjit nodded. “It’s not that bad. It doesn’t hurt. I mean, if your finger falls off, you kind of don’t even feel it.”

  “I felt it when my penis fell off, but it didn’t hurt that bad,” the one called Choo said.

  Penny yelped. Caine shifted uncomfortably. Bug faded from view as he backpedaled away.

  “But people are scared of leprosy, anyway,” Sanjit said. “Silly. Kind of.”

  “What are you doing here?” Caine asked warily. He had put down his food, keeping his hands ready.

  “Hey, I should ask you that,” Sanjit said. Not harsh but definitely not willing to be pushed around by Caine, either. “We live here. You just got here.”

  “Plus, you killed one of our sheep,” Choo said.

  “This is the San Francisco de Sales leper colony,” Sanjit said. “Didn’t you know?”

  Diana began to laugh. “A leper colony? That’s where we are? That’s what we half killed ourselves getting to?”

  “Shut up, Diana,” Caine snapped.

  “You guys want to come back to the hospital with us?” Sanjit offered hopefully. “All the adult patients and the nurses and doctors are gone, they just disappeared one day. We’re all by ourselves.”

  “We heard there was some movie star’s mansion out here.”

  Sanjit’s dark eyes narrowed. He glanced right, as if trying to make sense of what she was saying. Then he said, “Oh, I know what you’re thinking of. Todd Chance and Jennifer Brattle pay for this place. It’s, like, their charity.”

  Diana couldn’t stop giggling. A leper colony. That’s what Bug had read about. A leper colony paid for by two rich movie stars. Their charity thing.

  “I think Bug may have gotten just a few of the details wrong,” she managed to say between dry, racking laughs that were indistinguishable from sobs.

  “You can have the sheep,” Choo said.

  Diana stopped laughing. Caine’s eyes narrowed.

  Sanjit quickly said, “But we’d rather just have you come back with us. I mean, we’re kind of lonely.”

  Caine stared at Choo. Choo stared back, then looked away. “He doesn’t seem to want us to come to this hospital,” Caine said, indicating Choo.

  Diana saw fear in the younger boy’s eyes.

  “Have them take off their bandages,” Diana said. All urge to laugh was gone now. Both boys had bright eyes. The visible parts of them seemed healthy. Their hair wasn’t brittle and broken like hers.

  “You heard her,” Caine said.

  “No,” Sanjit said. “It’s not good for our leprosy to be exposed.”

  Caine took a deep breath. “I’m going to count to three and then I’m going to throw your little lying friend there straight into a tree. Just like I did with this sheep.”

  “He’ll do it,” Diana warned. “Don’t believe he won’t.”

  Sanjit hung his head.

  “Sorry,” Choo said. “I screwed it up.”

  Sanjit began unwinding the gauze from his perfectly healthy fingers. “Okay, you got us. So, allow me to welcome you to San Francisco de Sales Island.”

  “Thanks,” Caine said dryly.

  “And yes, we do have some food. Maybe you’d like to join us? Unless you want to stick with your sheep sushi.”

  Throughout the morning and early afternoon, the shell-shocked kids of Perdido Beach milled around, lost and confused.

  But Albert was neither lost nor confused. Throughout the day kids came to his office in the McDonald’s. He had a booth there, in a corner by the window so he could look out on the plaza and see what passed by.

  “Hunter came in with a deer,” a kid reported. “And some birds. About seventy-five pounds of usable meat.”

  “Good,” Albert said.

  Quinn came in, looking tired and smelling of fish. He sagged into the seat across from Albert. “We went back out. We didn’t do very well since we got started late. But we have maybe fifty pounds usable.”

  “That’s good work,” Albert said. He calculated in his head. “We have about six ounces a head of meat. Nothing from the fields.” He tapped the table, thinking. “It’s not worth opening the mall. We’ll do a cookout in the plaza. Roast up the meat, make a stew out of the fish. Charge a ’Berto a head.”

  Quinn shook his head. “Man, you really want to get all these kids together in one place? Freaks and normals? As crazed as everyone is?”

  Albert thought that over. “We don’t have time to open the mall and we need to get this product out there.”

  Quinn made a half smile. “Product.” He shook his head. “Dude, the one guy I’m not worried about when the FAYZ ends—or even if it doesn’t—is you, Albert.”

  Albert nodded in agreement, accepting the flattery as a simple statement of fact. “I keep my focus.”

  “Yes. You do,” Quinn agreed in a tone that made Albert wonder just what he meant.

  “Hey, by the way, one of my guys thinks he saw Sam. Up on the rocks, just down from the power plant,” Quinn said.

  “Sam’s not back here yet?”

  Quinn shook his head. “The number one question I keep hearing: where is Sam?”

  Albert curled his lip. “I think Sam’s having some kind of breakdown.”

  “Well, he’s got a right, doesn’t he?” Quinn said.

  “Maybe,” Albert allowed. “But mostly I think he’s just pouting. He’s mad because he’s not the only person in charge anymore.”

  Quinn shifted uncomfortably. “He’s the one who goes right into the danger when most of us are sitting on our butts or hiding under a table.”

  “Yeah. But that’s his job, isn’t it? I mean, the council pays him twenty ’Bertos a week, which is twice what most people make.”

  Quinn didn’t look as if he liked that explanation very much. “Doesn’t change the fact that he could get killed. And, you know, i
t’s still not fair pay or anything. My guys make ten ’Bertos a week to fish, and it’s hard work, but dude, a lot of people could do that job. Only one guy can do Sam’s job.”

  “Yes. The only single person. But what we need is more people doing it. With less power.”

  “You’re not getting anti-freak, are you?”

  Albert pushed the idea away. “Don’t accuse me of being an idiot, okay?” It irritated him, Quinn standing up for Sam. He had nothing against Sam. Sam had kept them safe from Caine and that creep Drake and Pack Leader, Albert understood that. But the time for heroes was on its way out. Or at least he hoped it was. They needed to build an actual society with laws and rules and rights.

  This was Perdido Beach, after all, not Sam’s Beach.

  “Heard another kid, this is like the fourth, say he saw Drake Merwin during the fire,” Quinn said.

  Albert snorted. “There’s a lot of bull going around.”

  Quinn looked at him long enough that it almost made Albert uncomfortable. Then, Quinn said, “I guess if it turns out to be true we better hope Sam decides to come back.”

  “Orc could take care of Drake. And he’d do it for a pint of vodka,” Albert said dismissively.

  Quinn sighed and got up to leave. “Sometimes I worry about you, man.”

  “Hey, I’m feeding people in case you didn’t notice,” Albert said. “Astrid talks and Sam pouts, and I get the job done. Me. Why? Because I don’t talk, I just do.”

  Quinn sat back down. He leaned forward, elbows on knees. “Man, don’t you remember taking tests in school? Multiple choice: A, B, C, D, or E, all of the above.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Dude, sometimes the answer is ‘all of the above.’ This place needs you. And it needs Astrid. And it needs Sam. It’s all of the above, Albert.”

  Albert blinked.

  “I mean, no offense,” Quinn said quickly. “But it’s like Astrid’s yapping away about how we need some kind of system, and you’re counting your money, and Sam’s acting like we should all just shut up and get out of his way and let him fry whoever messes with him. And the three of you aren’t really stepping up. You aren’t working together, which is what all of us regular people need you to do. Because, and really, I’m not trying to be a jerk or whatever, but duh: we do need a system, and we do need you and your ’Bertos, and sometimes we need Sam to just come along and kick some ass.”