“My mommy always calls me that.”
“Sweetheart? Oh. Would you like me to call you something else?”
“No. But I just want to know when my mommy is coming. I miss her. I always hug her and she kisses me.”
“I know. But until she comes back, can I give you a kiss?”
“No. Only my mommy.”
“Okay, sweetheart. Let’s go back to bed.”
Back in the main room Mary went to John. “Hey, brother.” She ruffled his red curls. “We’re running out of stuff. We’ll have a problem in the morning. I have to go see what I can round up. Can you hang in here for a while?”
“Yeah. I can wipe butts.”
Mary went out into the night onto the mostly quiet plaza. Some kids were sleeping on benches. Some huddled in little groups around flashlights. She spotted Howard walking along with a Mountain Dew in one hand and a baseball bat in the other.
“Have you seen Sam?” Mary asked.
“What do you want with Sam?”
“I can’t take care of all those littles with just John to help me.”
Howard shrugged. “Who asked you to?”
That was too much. Mary was tall and strong. Howard, though a boy, was smaller. Mary took two steps toward him, pushing her face right into his. “Listen, you little worm. If I don’t take care of those kids, they’ll die. Do you understand that? There are babies in there who need to be fed and need to be changed, and I seem to be the only one who realizes it. And there are probably more little kids still in their homes, all alone, not knowing what’s happening, not knowing how to feed themselves, scared to death.”
Howard took a step back, tentatively lifted the bat, then let it fall. “What am I supposed to do?” he whined.
“You? Nothing. Where’s Sam?”
“He took off.”
“What do you mean, he took off?”
“I mean him and Quinn and Astrid took off.”
Mary blinked, feeling stupid and slow. “Who’s in charge?”
“You think just because Sam likes to play the big hero every couple years that makes him the guy in charge?”
Mary had been on the bus two years ago when the driver, Mr. Colombo, had had his heart attack. She’d had her head in a book, not paying attention, but she had looked up when she felt the bus swerve. By the time she had focused, Sam was guiding the bus onto the shoulder of the road.
In the two years that followed, Sam had been so quiet and so modest and so not involved in the social life of the school that Mary had sort of forgotten that moment of heroism. Most people had.
And yet she hadn’t even been surprised when it was Sam who had stepped up during the fire. And she had somehow assumed that if anyone was going to be in charge, it would be Sam. She found herself angry with him for not being here now: she needed help.
“Go get Orc,” Mary said.
“I don’t tell Orc what to do, bitch.”
“Excuse me?” she snapped. “What did you just call me?”
Howard gulped. “Didn’t mean nothing, Mary.”
“Where is Orc?”
“I think he’s sleeping.”
“Wake him up. I need some help. I can’t stay awake any longer. I need at least two kids who have experience babysitting. And then I need diapers and bottles and nipples and Cheerios and lots of milk.”
“Why am I going to do all that?”
Mary didn’t have an answer. “I don’t know, Howard,” she said. “Maybe because you’re really not a complete jerk? Maybe you’re really a decent human being?”
That earned her a skeptical look and a derisive snort.
“Look, kids will do what Orc says,” Mary said. “They’re scared of him. All I’m asking is for Orc to act like Orc.”
Howard thought this over. Mary could almost see the wheels spinning in his head.
“Forget it,” she said. “I’ll talk to Sam when he gets back.”
“Yeah, he’s the big hero, isn’t he?” Howard said, dripping sarcasm. “But hey, where is he? You see him around? I don’t see him around.”
“Are you going to help or not? I have to get back.”
“All right. I’ll get your stuff, Mary. But you better remember who helped you. You’re working for Orc and me.”
“I’m taking care of little kids,” Mary said. “If I’m working for anyone, it’s for them.”
“Like I say, you remember who was there when you needed them.” Howard turned on his heel and swaggered away.
“Two babysitters and food,” Mary called after him.
Mary returned to the day care. Three kids were crying, and it was spreading. John was staggering from crib to floor mat.
“I’m back,” Mary said. “Get some sleep, John.”
John simply crumpled. He was snoring before he hit the floor.
“It’s okay,” Mary told the first crying child. “It’s going to be all right.”
NINE
277 HOURS, 06 MINUTES
SAM SLEPT IN his clothes and woke too early.
He had spent the night on the couch in the large main room of the hotel suite. He knew from campouts on the beach that Quinn talked in his sleep.
He blinked and saw Astrid, a slender shadow against the sun. She was standing in front of the window but looking at him. He quickly wiped his mouth on the pillow.
“Sorry, sleep drool.”
“Sweetheart? Oh. Would you like me to call you something else?”
“No. But I just want to know when my mommy is coming. I miss her. I always hug her and she kisses me.”
“I know. But until she comes back, can I give you a kiss?”
“No. Only my mommy.”
“Okay, sweetheart. Let’s go back to bed.”
Back in the main room Mary went to John. “Hey, brother.” She ruffled his red curls. “We’re running out of stuff. We’ll have a problem in the morning. I have to go see what I can round up. Can you hang in here for a while?”
“Yeah. I can wipe butts.”
Mary went out into the night onto the mostly quiet plaza. Some kids were sleeping on benches. Some huddled in little groups around flashlights. She spotted Howard walking along with a Mountain Dew in one hand and a baseball bat in the other.
“Have you seen Sam?” Mary asked.
“What do you want with Sam?”
“I can’t take care of all those littles with just John to help me.”
Howard shrugged. “Who asked you to?”
That was too much. Mary was tall and strong. Howard, though a boy, was smaller. Mary took two steps toward him, pushing her face right into his. “Listen, you little worm. If I don’t take care of those kids, they’ll die. Do you understand that? There are babies in there who need to be fed and need to be changed, and I seem to be the only one who realizes it. And there are probably more little kids still in their homes, all alone, not knowing what’s happening, not knowing how to feed themselves, scared to death.”
Howard took a step back, tentatively lifted the bat, then let it fall. “What am I supposed to do?” he whined.
“You? Nothing. Where’s Sam?”
“He took off.”
“What do you mean, he took off?”
“I mean him and Quinn and Astrid took off.”
Mary blinked, feeling stupid and slow. “Who’s in charge?”
“You think just because Sam likes to play the big hero every couple years that makes him the guy in charge?”
Mary had been on the bus two years ago when the driver, Mr. Colombo, had had his heart attack. She’d had her head in a book, not paying attention, but she had looked up when she felt the bus swerve. By the time she had focused, Sam was guiding the bus onto the shoulder of the road.
In the two years that followed, Sam had been so quiet and so modest and so not involved in the social life of the school that Mary had sort of forgotten that moment of heroism. Most people had.
And yet she hadn’t even been surprised when it was Sam who had stepped up during the fire. And she had somehow assumed that if anyone was going to be in charge, it would be Sam. She found herself angry with him for not being here now: she needed help.
“Go get Orc,” Mary said.
“I don’t tell Orc what to do, bitch.”
“Excuse me?” she snapped. “What did you just call me?”
Howard gulped. “Didn’t mean nothing, Mary.”
“Where is Orc?”
“I think he’s sleeping.”
“Wake him up. I need some help. I can’t stay awake any longer. I need at least two kids who have experience babysitting. And then I need diapers and bottles and nipples and Cheerios and lots of milk.”
“Why am I going to do all that?”
Mary didn’t have an answer. “I don’t know, Howard,” she said. “Maybe because you’re really not a complete jerk? Maybe you’re really a decent human being?”
That earned her a skeptical look and a derisive snort.
“Look, kids will do what Orc says,” Mary said. “They’re scared of him. All I’m asking is for Orc to act like Orc.”
Howard thought this over. Mary could almost see the wheels spinning in his head.
“Forget it,” she said. “I’ll talk to Sam when he gets back.”
“Yeah, he’s the big hero, isn’t he?” Howard said, dripping sarcasm. “But hey, where is he? You see him around? I don’t see him around.”
“Are you going to help or not? I have to get back.”
“All right. I’ll get your stuff, Mary. But you better remember who helped you. You’re working for Orc and me.”
“I’m taking care of little kids,” Mary said. “If I’m working for anyone, it’s for them.”
“Like I say, you remember who was there when you needed them.” Howard turned on his heel and swaggered away.
“Two babysitters and food,” Mary called after him.
Mary returned to the day care. Three kids were crying, and it was spreading. John was staggering from crib to floor mat.
“I’m back,” Mary said. “Get some sleep, John.”
John simply crumpled. He was snoring before he hit the floor.
“It’s okay,” Mary told the first crying child. “It’s going to be all right.”
NINE
277 HOURS, 06 MINUTES
SAM SLEPT IN his clothes and woke too early.
He had spent the night on the couch in the large main room of the hotel suite. He knew from campouts on the beach that Quinn talked in his sleep.
He blinked and saw Astrid, a slender shadow against the sun. She was standing in front of the window but looking at him. He quickly wiped his mouth on the pillow.
“Sorry, sleep drool.”
