“Okay, follow the plan,” Hank said, as calmly as if all this was just a video game he’d put on pause.
Kids who had been tasked with bringing bottles began to unload them. Lance went to the hand-pump that brought gasoline up from the underground storage. He began to work it and fill glass bottles held by shaking hands.
“I can’t believe it,” someone said.
“We did it!” one exulted.
“Not yet,” Zil growled. “But it’s beginning.”
Hank said, “Remember: Stuff the rags far down into the bottle like I told you. And keep your lighters dry.”
They found a wheelbarrow in the weeds behind the station. It didn’t roll very well—the wheel was lopsided—but it worked to hold the bottles.
The smell of gasoline was thick in Zil’s throat. He was stressing, waiting for the counterattack. Waiting to see Sam striding up, hands blazing.
That would end it all.
But no matter how hard he peered into the black night, Zil did not see the one freak who would stop him.
Little Pete made a grunting sound as he pushed the buttons and worked the trackpad of his handheld.
Sam sat silent, withdrawn. He had said nothing since Taylor had hauled him through the door and woken Astrid from a fretful sleep.
It was stupid, Astrid realized, not talking to Sam. When Taylor had awakened her, she’d imagined somehow, in her sleepy confusion, that Sam had come running back, all forgiven.
But then Taylor had said she’d be back with the rest of the council and Astrid knew something had gone wrong.
Now they were all there. Well, most of them. Word was Dekka was sick with whatever was going around. But Albert was there, and really, Astrid admitted to herself, so long as Albert and Astrid were there, the important members of the council were present.
Unfortunately, Howard had also come. No one wanted to drag John out into the night. He could hear about it all later.
They had enough. Astrid, Albert, Howard, and Sam. Five out of seven. And, Astrid couldn’t help but note, any vote would be more likely to go in her favor.
They were at the table beneath an eerie Sammy Sun.
“Okay, Taylor, since Sam doesn’t exactly seem talkative,” Astrid said, “why are we all here?”
“A kid got murdered tonight,” Taylor said.
A hundred questions popped into Astrid’s head, but she asked the most important one first. “Who was it?”
“Edilio says he thinks it’s Juanito. Or Leonard.”
“He thinks?”
“Kind of hard to tell,” Taylor said, not quite smirking.
“What happened?” Albert asked.
Taylor looked at Sam. Sam said nothing. He stared. First at his own light, hovering in the air. Then at Taylor. He looked pale and almost frail. Like he was suddenly a much, much older person.
“Kid was whipped,” Taylor said. “It looked like what happened to Sam.”
Sam lowered his head and wrapped his hands behind his neck. He seemed to be trying to hold on to his head, pressing it hard like it might explode.
“Drake’s dead,” Albert said. Sounding like a guy who really, really hoped it was true. “He’s dead. He’s been dead.”
“Yeah, well…,” Taylor said.
“Yeah well, what?” Astrid asked, instantly hearing the change in her tone of voice, the evasion.
Taylor shifted uncomfortably. “Look, Edilio told me to bring Sam here and get you guys together. I think Sam is kind of, you know, flashing on stuff that happened.”
“That boy was whipped. Just like I was,” Sam said to the floor. “I know the marks. I…”
“It doesn’t mean it was Drake,” Albert said.
“Drake’s dead,” Astrid said. “Dead people don’t come back. Let’s not be ridiculous.”
Howard made a derisive snort. “Okay. That’s as far as I go with you on this, Sammy boy.” He made a hand-washing gesture.
Astrid slammed her palm on the table, surprising even herself. “Somebody better tell me what all these back-and-forth looks are about.”
“Brittney,” Howard said, spitting the name out like it was poison. “She came back. Sam had her and stuck her with Brianna, and told me not to talk about it.”
“Brittney?” Astrid said, confused.
Howard said, “Yeah. You know, like dead-girl Brittney? Way dead? Dead a long time and buried a long time and suddenly she’s sitting in my house chatting? That Brittney.”
“I’m still not…”
“Well, Astrid,” Howard said, “I guess we just found the limits of your big old genius brain. Point is that someone who was very seriously dead is suddenly not so dead anymore.”
“But…,” Astrid started. “But Drake…”
“As dead as Brittney,” Howard said. “Which might be a slight problem, since Brittney isn’t exactly dead herself.”
Astrid felt sick to her stomach. No. Surely not. Impossible. Insane. Not even here, not even in the FAYZ.
But Howard wasn’t lying. Taylor’s expression confirmed that. And Sam wasn’t jumping up to dispute it, either.
Astrid stood up. She stared hard at Sam. She could feel a throbbing in her head. “You didn’t tell me? This is happening and you didn’t tell the council?”
Sam barely glanced up.
“He didn’t tell you, Astrid,” Howard said, obviously enjoying the moment.
Kids who had been tasked with bringing bottles began to unload them. Lance went to the hand-pump that brought gasoline up from the underground storage. He began to work it and fill glass bottles held by shaking hands.
“I can’t believe it,” someone said.
“We did it!” one exulted.
“Not yet,” Zil growled. “But it’s beginning.”
Hank said, “Remember: Stuff the rags far down into the bottle like I told you. And keep your lighters dry.”
They found a wheelbarrow in the weeds behind the station. It didn’t roll very well—the wheel was lopsided—but it worked to hold the bottles.
The smell of gasoline was thick in Zil’s throat. He was stressing, waiting for the counterattack. Waiting to see Sam striding up, hands blazing.
That would end it all.
But no matter how hard he peered into the black night, Zil did not see the one freak who would stop him.
Little Pete made a grunting sound as he pushed the buttons and worked the trackpad of his handheld.
Sam sat silent, withdrawn. He had said nothing since Taylor had hauled him through the door and woken Astrid from a fretful sleep.
It was stupid, Astrid realized, not talking to Sam. When Taylor had awakened her, she’d imagined somehow, in her sleepy confusion, that Sam had come running back, all forgiven.
But then Taylor had said she’d be back with the rest of the council and Astrid knew something had gone wrong.
Now they were all there. Well, most of them. Word was Dekka was sick with whatever was going around. But Albert was there, and really, Astrid admitted to herself, so long as Albert and Astrid were there, the important members of the council were present.
Unfortunately, Howard had also come. No one wanted to drag John out into the night. He could hear about it all later.
They had enough. Astrid, Albert, Howard, and Sam. Five out of seven. And, Astrid couldn’t help but note, any vote would be more likely to go in her favor.
They were at the table beneath an eerie Sammy Sun.
“Okay, Taylor, since Sam doesn’t exactly seem talkative,” Astrid said, “why are we all here?”
“A kid got murdered tonight,” Taylor said.
A hundred questions popped into Astrid’s head, but she asked the most important one first. “Who was it?”
“Edilio says he thinks it’s Juanito. Or Leonard.”
“He thinks?”
“Kind of hard to tell,” Taylor said, not quite smirking.
“What happened?” Albert asked.
Taylor looked at Sam. Sam said nothing. He stared. First at his own light, hovering in the air. Then at Taylor. He looked pale and almost frail. Like he was suddenly a much, much older person.
“Kid was whipped,” Taylor said. “It looked like what happened to Sam.”
Sam lowered his head and wrapped his hands behind his neck. He seemed to be trying to hold on to his head, pressing it hard like it might explode.
“Drake’s dead,” Albert said. Sounding like a guy who really, really hoped it was true. “He’s dead. He’s been dead.”
“Yeah, well…,” Taylor said.
“Yeah well, what?” Astrid asked, instantly hearing the change in her tone of voice, the evasion.
Taylor shifted uncomfortably. “Look, Edilio told me to bring Sam here and get you guys together. I think Sam is kind of, you know, flashing on stuff that happened.”
“That boy was whipped. Just like I was,” Sam said to the floor. “I know the marks. I…”
“It doesn’t mean it was Drake,” Albert said.
“Drake’s dead,” Astrid said. “Dead people don’t come back. Let’s not be ridiculous.”
Howard made a derisive snort. “Okay. That’s as far as I go with you on this, Sammy boy.” He made a hand-washing gesture.
Astrid slammed her palm on the table, surprising even herself. “Somebody better tell me what all these back-and-forth looks are about.”
“Brittney,” Howard said, spitting the name out like it was poison. “She came back. Sam had her and stuck her with Brianna, and told me not to talk about it.”
“Brittney?” Astrid said, confused.
Howard said, “Yeah. You know, like dead-girl Brittney? Way dead? Dead a long time and buried a long time and suddenly she’s sitting in my house chatting? That Brittney.”
“I’m still not…”
“Well, Astrid,” Howard said, “I guess we just found the limits of your big old genius brain. Point is that someone who was very seriously dead is suddenly not so dead anymore.”
“But…,” Astrid started. “But Drake…”
“As dead as Brittney,” Howard said. “Which might be a slight problem, since Brittney isn’t exactly dead herself.”
Astrid felt sick to her stomach. No. Surely not. Impossible. Insane. Not even here, not even in the FAYZ.
But Howard wasn’t lying. Taylor’s expression confirmed that. And Sam wasn’t jumping up to dispute it, either.
Astrid stood up. She stared hard at Sam. She could feel a throbbing in her head. “You didn’t tell me? This is happening and you didn’t tell the council?”
Sam barely glanced up.
“He didn’t tell you, Astrid,” Howard said, obviously enjoying the moment.
