Drake sighed theatrically. “Okay. Pick her up. Throw her in the front seat next to Jack.”
Doing that took some effort. The girl was alive, but not really conscious and was too weak to move.
Quinn had gone rigid with fear and indecision. Sam could see the conflict on his face. Should he stick with Sam or try and ingratiate himself with Drake?
Sam wondered what he would decide. For now, his friend was staring wide-eyed, blank, mouth trembling, eyes darting, looking for an answer.
“It’ll be all right, Quinn,” Sam whispered.
Quinn didn’t even hear him.
Astrid climbed in. She sat directly behind Jack. “I really thought there might be some hope for you, Jack.”
“Nah,” Drake said. “Jack’s like a screwdriver or a pair of pliers. He’s just a tool. He does what we tell him to do.”
Little Pete and Lana shared the middle bench with Astrid. Edilio and Sam were in the back row. Drake pressed the gun to the back of Edilio’s head.
“Your problem’s with me, Drake,” Sam said.
“You might take a chance if it’s only your own life on the line,” Drake said. “But you won’t risk me shooting your pet Mexican here, or your girlfriend.”
They drove in jerks and starts, Jack frequently weaving off the road onto the shoulder. But they didn’t crash, which was Sam’s only hope. They pulled up outside Coates Academy.
Sam had been once before, brought there to see where his mother worked. The gloomy old building looked like it had been shelled. One entire room upstairs was exposed. The main door had been blown apart.
“Looks like a war zone,” Edilio commented.
“The FAYZ is a war zone,” Drake said darkly.
The sight of the place brought Sam a wave of sad memories. His mother had done her best to portray her job as something she was excited about, and Coates as a place where she was going to love working. But even then Sam had known that she was only here because he had broken up his mother’s marriage.
He felt within him the residue of his rage at his mother. It was childish. Shameful, really. Wrong. And it was the wrong time to be thinking about all that, now, where he was, with what was happening, what was likely to happen.
What was that phrase of Edilio’s? Cabeza de turco? Scapegoat? He needed someone to blame, and his anger had been building at his mother since long before the FAYZ.
But as mad as I am, Sam thought, it must be worse for Caine. I was the son she kept. He was the one she gave away.
When they pulled up, Panda and a couple of kids Sam didn’t know were waiting. They were armed with baseball bats.
“I want to see Caine,” Sam said as they climbed out.
“No doubt,” Drake said. “But first we have things to take care of. Line up. Walk single file around the building.”
“Tell Caine his brother is here,” Sam insisted.
“You’re not dealing with Caine, Sammy, you’re dealing with me,” Drake said. “I’d just as soon shoot you. I’d just as soon shoot all of you. So don’t piss me off.”
They did as ordered. They turned the corner and came to the commons area behind the main building. There was a small performance stage made to look like a gazebo.
More than two dozen kids lined a low railing around the gazebo. They were all tied to it by a rope leash that gave them no more than a few feet of movement. Neck to rail, like tethered horses. Each of the kids was weighed down by a concrete block that encased their hands. Their eyes were hollow, their cheeks caved in.
Astrid used a word that Sam had never imagined coming from her.
“Nice language,” Drake said with a smirk. “And in front of the Pe-tard, too.”
A cafeteria tray had been placed in front of each of the prisoners. It must have been a very recent delivery because some were still licking their trays, hunched over, faces down, tongues out, licking like dogs.
“It’s the circle of freaks,” Drake said proudly, waving a hand like a showman.
In a crusty old wheelbarrow to one side, three kids were using a short-handled shovel to mix cement. It made a heavy sloshing sound. They dumped a shovelful of gravel into the mix and stirred it like lumpy gravy.
“Oh, no,” Lana said, backing away, but one of the Coates kids smashed her behind the knee with his baseball bat, and she crumpled.
“Gotta do something with unhelpful freaks,” Drake said. “Can’t have you people running around loose.” He must have seen Sam start to react because he stuck his gun against Astrid’s head. “Your call, Sam. You so much as flinch and we’ll get to see what a genius brain really looks like.”
“Hey, I got no powers, man,” Quinn said.
“This is sick, Drake. Like you’re sick,” Astrid said. “I can’t even reason with you because you’re just too damaged, too hopelessly messed up.”
“Shut up,” Drake snapped. “Okay, Sam. You first. It’s easy to do. You just stick your hands in and then, presto, no more powers.”
Quinn pleaded. “Sam’s a freak, I’m not, man, I have no powers. I am just a normal person.”
Sam walked with shaky steps to the wheelbarrow. The kids mixing the concrete looked very unhappy about what they were doing, but Sam didn’t kid himself: they would do what they were told.
There was a hole dug in the dirt, about a foot long, half as wide, and maybe eight inches deep.
The cement mixers sloshed a shovelful of concrete into the hole, filling it a third of the way.
Doing that took some effort. The girl was alive, but not really conscious and was too weak to move.
Quinn had gone rigid with fear and indecision. Sam could see the conflict on his face. Should he stick with Sam or try and ingratiate himself with Drake?
Sam wondered what he would decide. For now, his friend was staring wide-eyed, blank, mouth trembling, eyes darting, looking for an answer.
“It’ll be all right, Quinn,” Sam whispered.
Quinn didn’t even hear him.
Astrid climbed in. She sat directly behind Jack. “I really thought there might be some hope for you, Jack.”
“Nah,” Drake said. “Jack’s like a screwdriver or a pair of pliers. He’s just a tool. He does what we tell him to do.”
Little Pete and Lana shared the middle bench with Astrid. Edilio and Sam were in the back row. Drake pressed the gun to the back of Edilio’s head.
“Your problem’s with me, Drake,” Sam said.
“You might take a chance if it’s only your own life on the line,” Drake said. “But you won’t risk me shooting your pet Mexican here, or your girlfriend.”
They drove in jerks and starts, Jack frequently weaving off the road onto the shoulder. But they didn’t crash, which was Sam’s only hope. They pulled up outside Coates Academy.
Sam had been once before, brought there to see where his mother worked. The gloomy old building looked like it had been shelled. One entire room upstairs was exposed. The main door had been blown apart.
“Looks like a war zone,” Edilio commented.
“The FAYZ is a war zone,” Drake said darkly.
The sight of the place brought Sam a wave of sad memories. His mother had done her best to portray her job as something she was excited about, and Coates as a place where she was going to love working. But even then Sam had known that she was only here because he had broken up his mother’s marriage.
He felt within him the residue of his rage at his mother. It was childish. Shameful, really. Wrong. And it was the wrong time to be thinking about all that, now, where he was, with what was happening, what was likely to happen.
What was that phrase of Edilio’s? Cabeza de turco? Scapegoat? He needed someone to blame, and his anger had been building at his mother since long before the FAYZ.
But as mad as I am, Sam thought, it must be worse for Caine. I was the son she kept. He was the one she gave away.
When they pulled up, Panda and a couple of kids Sam didn’t know were waiting. They were armed with baseball bats.
“I want to see Caine,” Sam said as they climbed out.
“No doubt,” Drake said. “But first we have things to take care of. Line up. Walk single file around the building.”
“Tell Caine his brother is here,” Sam insisted.
“You’re not dealing with Caine, Sammy, you’re dealing with me,” Drake said. “I’d just as soon shoot you. I’d just as soon shoot all of you. So don’t piss me off.”
They did as ordered. They turned the corner and came to the commons area behind the main building. There was a small performance stage made to look like a gazebo.
More than two dozen kids lined a low railing around the gazebo. They were all tied to it by a rope leash that gave them no more than a few feet of movement. Neck to rail, like tethered horses. Each of the kids was weighed down by a concrete block that encased their hands. Their eyes were hollow, their cheeks caved in.
Astrid used a word that Sam had never imagined coming from her.
“Nice language,” Drake said with a smirk. “And in front of the Pe-tard, too.”
A cafeteria tray had been placed in front of each of the prisoners. It must have been a very recent delivery because some were still licking their trays, hunched over, faces down, tongues out, licking like dogs.
“It’s the circle of freaks,” Drake said proudly, waving a hand like a showman.
In a crusty old wheelbarrow to one side, three kids were using a short-handled shovel to mix cement. It made a heavy sloshing sound. They dumped a shovelful of gravel into the mix and stirred it like lumpy gravy.
“Oh, no,” Lana said, backing away, but one of the Coates kids smashed her behind the knee with his baseball bat, and she crumpled.
“Gotta do something with unhelpful freaks,” Drake said. “Can’t have you people running around loose.” He must have seen Sam start to react because he stuck his gun against Astrid’s head. “Your call, Sam. You so much as flinch and we’ll get to see what a genius brain really looks like.”
“Hey, I got no powers, man,” Quinn said.
“This is sick, Drake. Like you’re sick,” Astrid said. “I can’t even reason with you because you’re just too damaged, too hopelessly messed up.”
“Shut up,” Drake snapped. “Okay, Sam. You first. It’s easy to do. You just stick your hands in and then, presto, no more powers.”
Quinn pleaded. “Sam’s a freak, I’m not, man, I have no powers. I am just a normal person.”
Sam walked with shaky steps to the wheelbarrow. The kids mixing the concrete looked very unhappy about what they were doing, but Sam didn’t kid himself: they would do what they were told.
There was a hole dug in the dirt, about a foot long, half as wide, and maybe eight inches deep.
The cement mixers sloshed a shovelful of concrete into the hole, filling it a third of the way.
