He didn’t know what to say or think. It made him angry, but he didn’t even know why it should. Of course they would want to learn about kids who suddenly developed supernatural powers.
And of course they would want to keep it secret.
But still it made him angry and uneasy. “This means they know. People on the outside, they’ve been able to guess some of what happened.”
“The real data are on those computers,” Jack said. “This printout is just a small file. If the power was back on . . .”
Sam glared at the barrier near at hand. And wondered, not for the first time, what kind of welcome they would get if that barrier ever came down.
Chapter Eighteen
32 HOURS, 36 MINUTES
TOTO LED THEM from the facility to the train.
It was farther than Sam had thought. It had been a trick of perspective in the desert emptiness that had made the train seem to be right beside the building. In fact, they were a ten-minute walk away.
There were two yellow and black Union Pacific diesel engines. Both still stood upright on the track.
Behind the engines was a rust-colored boxcar, also still on the track.
Behind these came a jumbled mess. There were seven derailed flatbed railcars. Each had spilled two containers— massive steel rectangles—onto the dirt and stunted bushes.
At the far end, the barrier had sliced a boxcar in half. The barrier had snapped into place, bisecting the burnt-orange boxcar, and the sudden shift must have derailed the other cars.
But Sam, Dekka, and Jack were not very interested in such speculation. Dozens of plastic-wrapped pallets had been flung across the tracks and the ground, spilled from the sliced-open boxcar.
Each of the pallets was piled high with flats of Nutella.
“That’s, like, hundreds and hundreds of jars,” Sam said.
“Thousands,” Jack said. “Thousands. We’re . . . we’re rich.”
If each jar had been a giant diamond, Sam would still have preferred the Nutella.
“This is the greatest discovery in the history of the FAYZ,” Dekka said, sounding like she was witnessing a miracle.
“What is a phase? What do they mean by phase?” Toto asked.
“FAYZ. Fallout Alley Youth Zone,” Sam said distractedly. “It’s supposed to be funny. Dude: what’s in the rest of these containers?”
Toto looked uncomfortable. He squirmed so much he looked like he was dancing. “I don’t know.”
“What do you mean, you don’t know? Are you lying?” Dekka demanded sharply.
“No lies,” Toto said, eyes flashing. “I’m Toto the truth teller, subject 1-01. Not Toto the liar.”
“Then what are you saying? You never looked in any of these containers? There’s fourteen containers. Plus that first boxcar. What do you mean you don’t know?” Dekka found it outrageous.
Toto did his squirmy dance again. “I couldn’t get them open. They’re locked. And they’re steel. I hit them with chairs, but they wouldn’t open.”
Sam, Dekka, and Jack all stared at the strange boy.
Then they stared at the containers.
Then they stared at one another.
“Well,” Sam said, “I do believe we can get them open.”
Approximately eight seconds later Sam had burned the lock from the nearest container. Jack then pushed the door open.
The contents of the container were wrapped in plastic but still unmistakable.
“Toilets?” Dekka said.
Many of the porcelain fixtures were cracked from derailing, the shards held in place by the shrink-wrap.
A second container revealed more toilets.
The third container held what had to be thousands of medium-sized cartons. The cartons contained baseball caps. Dodgers caps.
“One size fits all,” Dekka said, disgustedly. “But I’m an Angels fan.”
“This is going to take us a while to go through everything,” Sam said. “But I think it’s probably worth it.”
The fourth held wicker lawn furniture.
“Or not,” Sam said, disgusted.
The fifth container was wicker flowerpots and cracked terra-cotta pots as well as two pallets of plaster yard pretties: cherubs, gnomes, and the Virgin Mary.
The sixth was house paint and deck stain.
The seventh was better, a mixed load, pallets of shrimp-flavored Cup-a-Noodles, chicken-flavored ramen, coffee filters and coffee makers, and boxes of mixed teas.
“I wish I’d had some of those noodles,” Toto said wistfully. “It would have been nice to have noodles.”
“Noodles are fine,” Sam agreed.
“I wouldn’t say no to some noodles,” Jack said.
“True, true statement! He would not say no to noodles,” Toto babbled.
The eighth container was empty. Nothing.
The ninth was two big pieces of industrial machinery. “Whatchamacallits,” Jack said. He searched for the words. “You know. Like industrial lathes or whatever.”
“Yeah, great,” Dekka said. “All we need is two hundred and twenty volts and we can set up a machine shop.”
Sam was starting to feel anxious. Nutella and noodles were fine. Great, in fact. Miraculous. But he’d been hoping for more food, more water, more medicine, something. It was absurdly like Christmas morning when he was little: hoping for something he couldn’t even put a name to. A game-changer. Something . . . amazing.
When Jack opened the tenth container he just stood, staring.
And of course they would want to keep it secret.
But still it made him angry and uneasy. “This means they know. People on the outside, they’ve been able to guess some of what happened.”
“The real data are on those computers,” Jack said. “This printout is just a small file. If the power was back on . . .”
Sam glared at the barrier near at hand. And wondered, not for the first time, what kind of welcome they would get if that barrier ever came down.
Chapter Eighteen
32 HOURS, 36 MINUTES
TOTO LED THEM from the facility to the train.
It was farther than Sam had thought. It had been a trick of perspective in the desert emptiness that had made the train seem to be right beside the building. In fact, they were a ten-minute walk away.
There were two yellow and black Union Pacific diesel engines. Both still stood upright on the track.
Behind the engines was a rust-colored boxcar, also still on the track.
Behind these came a jumbled mess. There were seven derailed flatbed railcars. Each had spilled two containers— massive steel rectangles—onto the dirt and stunted bushes.
At the far end, the barrier had sliced a boxcar in half. The barrier had snapped into place, bisecting the burnt-orange boxcar, and the sudden shift must have derailed the other cars.
But Sam, Dekka, and Jack were not very interested in such speculation. Dozens of plastic-wrapped pallets had been flung across the tracks and the ground, spilled from the sliced-open boxcar.
Each of the pallets was piled high with flats of Nutella.
“That’s, like, hundreds and hundreds of jars,” Sam said.
“Thousands,” Jack said. “Thousands. We’re . . . we’re rich.”
If each jar had been a giant diamond, Sam would still have preferred the Nutella.
“This is the greatest discovery in the history of the FAYZ,” Dekka said, sounding like she was witnessing a miracle.
“What is a phase? What do they mean by phase?” Toto asked.
“FAYZ. Fallout Alley Youth Zone,” Sam said distractedly. “It’s supposed to be funny. Dude: what’s in the rest of these containers?”
Toto looked uncomfortable. He squirmed so much he looked like he was dancing. “I don’t know.”
“What do you mean, you don’t know? Are you lying?” Dekka demanded sharply.
“No lies,” Toto said, eyes flashing. “I’m Toto the truth teller, subject 1-01. Not Toto the liar.”
“Then what are you saying? You never looked in any of these containers? There’s fourteen containers. Plus that first boxcar. What do you mean you don’t know?” Dekka found it outrageous.
Toto did his squirmy dance again. “I couldn’t get them open. They’re locked. And they’re steel. I hit them with chairs, but they wouldn’t open.”
Sam, Dekka, and Jack all stared at the strange boy.
Then they stared at the containers.
Then they stared at one another.
“Well,” Sam said, “I do believe we can get them open.”
Approximately eight seconds later Sam had burned the lock from the nearest container. Jack then pushed the door open.
The contents of the container were wrapped in plastic but still unmistakable.
“Toilets?” Dekka said.
Many of the porcelain fixtures were cracked from derailing, the shards held in place by the shrink-wrap.
A second container revealed more toilets.
The third container held what had to be thousands of medium-sized cartons. The cartons contained baseball caps. Dodgers caps.
“One size fits all,” Dekka said, disgustedly. “But I’m an Angels fan.”
“This is going to take us a while to go through everything,” Sam said. “But I think it’s probably worth it.”
The fourth held wicker lawn furniture.
“Or not,” Sam said, disgusted.
The fifth container was wicker flowerpots and cracked terra-cotta pots as well as two pallets of plaster yard pretties: cherubs, gnomes, and the Virgin Mary.
The sixth was house paint and deck stain.
The seventh was better, a mixed load, pallets of shrimp-flavored Cup-a-Noodles, chicken-flavored ramen, coffee filters and coffee makers, and boxes of mixed teas.
“I wish I’d had some of those noodles,” Toto said wistfully. “It would have been nice to have noodles.”
“Noodles are fine,” Sam agreed.
“I wouldn’t say no to some noodles,” Jack said.
“True, true statement! He would not say no to noodles,” Toto babbled.
The eighth container was empty. Nothing.
The ninth was two big pieces of industrial machinery. “Whatchamacallits,” Jack said. He searched for the words. “You know. Like industrial lathes or whatever.”
“Yeah, great,” Dekka said. “All we need is two hundred and twenty volts and we can set up a machine shop.”
Sam was starting to feel anxious. Nutella and noodles were fine. Great, in fact. Miraculous. But he’d been hoping for more food, more water, more medicine, something. It was absurdly like Christmas morning when he was little: hoping for something he couldn’t even put a name to. A game-changer. Something . . . amazing.
When Jack opened the tenth container he just stood, staring.
