Astrid breathed for what felt like the first time in a long while. She was thankful Brianna had broken at least some of the tension.
“By the way, back to business: they’re headed into the desert,” Brianna announced to Sam. “A happy little crew, Mom and daughter and Uncle Whip Hand. I got a little too close and that baby nearly buried me under about a ton of rock. That is one bad baby.”
Brianna nodded, satisfied. “That can be my tagline. ‘That is one bad baby.’”
“No, no,” Dekka said. “Just: no.”
Astrid smiled, and her mother thought it was meant for her and smiled back.
“I saw someone recording it,” Sam said. “Me burning that … that creature. You know what they’ll see? You know what people out there will think?”
Astrid knew he was jumping out of his skin. She could see—anyone could see—the look of horror on Connie Temple’s face every time she looked at her son.
“Son,” singular, for Caine had taken one long look at his mother, turned, and walked away, back to town.
“You’ve been afraid of this for a long time, Sam,” Astrid said in a low voice. “You’ve been afraid of being judged.”
Sam nodded. He looked down at the ground, then at Astrid. She had expected to see sadness there. Maybe guilt. She almost cried out with relief when she saw the eyes of the boy who had never backed down. She saw the eyes of the boy who had first stepped forward to fight Orc and later Caine and Drake and Penny.
She saw Sam Temple. Her Sam Temple.
“Well,” Sam said, “I guess they’ll think what they want to think.”
“It’s getting dark out there,” Dekka said. “When night comes, we’d better get Penny out of there. Bury her. Everyone who shows up stares at—”
Dekka fell silent, because Sam was moving. He walked purposefully to the spot where Penny’s body lay, her head crushed beneath a rock, like some grotesque parody of the Wicked Witch of the East.
Cameras tracked Sam’s movement.
Eyes—many of them hostile, condemning—traced his every step.
Sam looked straight at the cameras. Then he looked at his mother. Astrid held her breath.
Then Sam systematically, thoroughly, incinerated Penny’s body. Until nothing but ash was left.
Connie Temple stood still as a statue, refusing to look away.
When Sam was finished, he nodded once at his mother, turned his back, and walked over to Astrid. “She will not be buried in the plaza with good kids who died for no good reason. If we’re looking for people to bury, we’ll find what’s left of Cigar and Taylor.”
Lana shook her head just slightly. “I can’t say for sure that Taylor is dead. Or that she’s alive.”
Sam nodded. “That’s the kind of thing all those people out there are going to have a hard time understanding. But anyway, there they are, and you know what? We still have kids to feed and a monster to kill.” He reached his hand toward Astrid. “You ready to go?”
Astrid looked past him, over his shoulder, to her mother’s worry-etched face. Then she took Sam’s hand.
“There’s a lot to do,” Sam said to the kids within earshot. His back was turned to the outside. “A lot to do, a lot to work out, and this war is a long way from over. They will be back.” He jerked his head toward the north, where Gaia had fled.
“Quinn,” Sam said. “You want to be in charge of business down here in Perdido Beach? Take over Albert’s job? I think Caine would agree.”
“Absolutely not,” Quinn said. “No. Nooo. No.”
Sam looked a little taken aback. “No? Well, I guess they’ll work something out. Caine and Lana and Edilio and Astrid.”
“I hope they do,” Quinn said fervently. He gave Sam a friendly punch on the shoulder. “Thanks for saving our butts. Again. But me? Dude: I am going fishing.”
Astrid felt she should look back at her parents. Explain that she had to leave. Make some excuse. Stay there to reassure them.
But something fundamental had changed, like a shift in the magnetic poles or a rearranging of the laws of physics. Because she no longer belonged with them. She was no longer theirs.
She was his.
And he was hers.
And this was their world.
“By the way, back to business: they’re headed into the desert,” Brianna announced to Sam. “A happy little crew, Mom and daughter and Uncle Whip Hand. I got a little too close and that baby nearly buried me under about a ton of rock. That is one bad baby.”
Brianna nodded, satisfied. “That can be my tagline. ‘That is one bad baby.’”
“No, no,” Dekka said. “Just: no.”
Astrid smiled, and her mother thought it was meant for her and smiled back.
“I saw someone recording it,” Sam said. “Me burning that … that creature. You know what they’ll see? You know what people out there will think?”
Astrid knew he was jumping out of his skin. She could see—anyone could see—the look of horror on Connie Temple’s face every time she looked at her son.
“Son,” singular, for Caine had taken one long look at his mother, turned, and walked away, back to town.
“You’ve been afraid of this for a long time, Sam,” Astrid said in a low voice. “You’ve been afraid of being judged.”
Sam nodded. He looked down at the ground, then at Astrid. She had expected to see sadness there. Maybe guilt. She almost cried out with relief when she saw the eyes of the boy who had never backed down. She saw the eyes of the boy who had first stepped forward to fight Orc and later Caine and Drake and Penny.
She saw Sam Temple. Her Sam Temple.
“Well,” Sam said, “I guess they’ll think what they want to think.”
“It’s getting dark out there,” Dekka said. “When night comes, we’d better get Penny out of there. Bury her. Everyone who shows up stares at—”
Dekka fell silent, because Sam was moving. He walked purposefully to the spot where Penny’s body lay, her head crushed beneath a rock, like some grotesque parody of the Wicked Witch of the East.
Cameras tracked Sam’s movement.
Eyes—many of them hostile, condemning—traced his every step.
Sam looked straight at the cameras. Then he looked at his mother. Astrid held her breath.
Then Sam systematically, thoroughly, incinerated Penny’s body. Until nothing but ash was left.
Connie Temple stood still as a statue, refusing to look away.
When Sam was finished, he nodded once at his mother, turned his back, and walked over to Astrid. “She will not be buried in the plaza with good kids who died for no good reason. If we’re looking for people to bury, we’ll find what’s left of Cigar and Taylor.”
Lana shook her head just slightly. “I can’t say for sure that Taylor is dead. Or that she’s alive.”
Sam nodded. “That’s the kind of thing all those people out there are going to have a hard time understanding. But anyway, there they are, and you know what? We still have kids to feed and a monster to kill.” He reached his hand toward Astrid. “You ready to go?”
Astrid looked past him, over his shoulder, to her mother’s worry-etched face. Then she took Sam’s hand.
“There’s a lot to do,” Sam said to the kids within earshot. His back was turned to the outside. “A lot to do, a lot to work out, and this war is a long way from over. They will be back.” He jerked his head toward the north, where Gaia had fled.
“Quinn,” Sam said. “You want to be in charge of business down here in Perdido Beach? Take over Albert’s job? I think Caine would agree.”
“Absolutely not,” Quinn said. “No. Nooo. No.”
Sam looked a little taken aback. “No? Well, I guess they’ll work something out. Caine and Lana and Edilio and Astrid.”
“I hope they do,” Quinn said fervently. He gave Sam a friendly punch on the shoulder. “Thanks for saving our butts. Again. But me? Dude: I am going fishing.”
Astrid felt she should look back at her parents. Explain that she had to leave. Make some excuse. Stay there to reassure them.
But something fundamental had changed, like a shift in the magnetic poles or a rearranging of the laws of physics. Because she no longer belonged with them. She was no longer theirs.
She was his.
And he was hers.
And this was their world.
