“There’s always a way, Diana. There’s always a way.”
“Don’t,” she said. “Don’t find a way.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
9 HOURS
“YOU WANT US to shoot your brother?” Turk was incredulous.
“Don’t even think about it,” Edilio said. He had a tight grip on his rifle, finger on the trigger. The sights were centered on Turk’s anxious face. But his eyes were bleary and he was stifling a need to cough. “She doesn’t mean it.”
“Too many dead kids,” Astrid said wearily. “There just can’t be any more dead kids. It’s time to end it.”
Edilio felt panic rising within him. What was he supposed to do now? Was Astrid losing her mind like Mary Terrafino?
“I know how many kids have died,” Edilio said. “I buried most of them.”
“It’s all because of Little Pete,” Astrid said.
“No. You don’t know that.” Edilio aimed a furious look at her.
She blinked. Shook her head slightly. Her long hair, soaked, hung like golden snakes. “You aren’t the one taking care of him, Edilio. You’re not the one responsible.”
Edilio coughed, fought it back, coughed again. He tried to steady his mind and calm himself down. Had to keep focus.
“What are you two talking about?” Turk demanded. He was clearly confused.
Edilio felt the house rumble. Heavy footsteps. Orc. It had to be Orc. Orc on whose side? That was the question.
The boy-monster emerged onto the platform. He made a strange slushy sound as he moved, like someone shuffling their feet on wet gravel.
He pushed past Edilio. His head sagged to his chest, and for a moment Edilio had the incredible thought that Orc might have fallen asleep.
No, he was just hammered, Edilio realized. “Drop your guns.”
“No, no, no. What are you two talking about? That’s the first question,” Turk demanded, sensing an advantage he couldn’t quite put his finger on. His gun was still aimed at Astrid.
“Shut up, Turk, and drop your gun. If you murdered Albert, you’re going into exile.”
“What happens if I shoot the ’tard?” Lance demanded.
“You know the law. You kill someone, we give you a trial. And if you’re guilty, you leave town and never come back.”
“That’s not what I’m asking, and you know it, Edilio,” Lance snarled. “Tell me, Astrid. Tell us all. What happens if we shoot the ’tard?”
Panic. It was eating at Edilio’s mind. What was he supposed to do? He had to get control of the situation. He had to be in charge. But what should he do?
Edilio stared down the barrel of his rifle at Turk. His head was swimming. His neck and face were hot.
He shifted his aim, traversed the gun just an inch of arc to bring Lance into his sights.
The first one to decide would win.
“If—,” Astrid said.
BLAM!
The rifle kicked against Edilio’s shoulder. The side of Lance’s handsome face erupted in a fountain of blood.
“Lance!” Turk cried.
Lance brought his own gun around, not aiming at Little Pete now but at Edilio.
BLAM!
Lance’s aim was off. Nowhere near Edilio. Instead the bullet struck Orc in his thigh and ricocheted off.
Turk, his face a mask of fury, aimed at Edilio. But Edilio had already shifted his aim and his sights were back on Turk.
“Don’t!” Edilio warned.
Turk hesitated. But Edilio didn’t see the hesitation, he saw Turk’s gun and only his gun, the round black hole of the barrel, and without thinking he squeezed the trigger.
Another loud bang.
Another kick against his shoulder.
Turk was on his back. His gun was beyond his reach, although he was struggling to get to it.
“I said, don’t!” Edilio yelled again.
Turk held his stomach with one hand and reached for the gun with the other. Edilio’s finger was slippery on the trigger. He could feel something awful inside him, a tidal wave of awful, barely held in check as he aimed at Turk’s head.
Orc crunched Turk’s gun beneath his foot.
Edilio breathed. Sobbed for breath. Coughed.
He lowered his weapon.
Lance shrieked. It was a sound made up of fear and shock and pain. The bullet had struck his cheekbone and come out through his ear. Quivering red flesh hung loose.
Turk groaned more quietly. His throat convulsed. Like a fish on dry land, he was gulping, trying to breathe. His hand still stretched toward his now-useless gun.
Neither boy was dead.
Edilio formed the thought that would shame him later: he should finish them. He should do it now. Just walk up close and bang! If he didn’t, they might live, with Lana’s care. And if they lived they’d be back for revenge.
Orc and Astrid were both watching him.
It seemed terribly unfair that even now they were looking to him for some kind of answer.
“I’ll get Lana,” Edilio said.
He turned and ran, and fell down the steps. Heaving with sobs, blinded by rain and tears he ran for Clifftop.
It took Sam and Jack working together to start one of the motorboats. Almost all had dead batteries. But one of the boats had just enough power left to fire the engines.
They roared to life with a deep, wet growl.
“You know, this boat has power enough that it could pull water skiers,” Sam observed.
Dekka smiled fondly at him. “You want to water ski?”
“Don’t,” she said. “Don’t find a way.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
9 HOURS
“YOU WANT US to shoot your brother?” Turk was incredulous.
“Don’t even think about it,” Edilio said. He had a tight grip on his rifle, finger on the trigger. The sights were centered on Turk’s anxious face. But his eyes were bleary and he was stifling a need to cough. “She doesn’t mean it.”
“Too many dead kids,” Astrid said wearily. “There just can’t be any more dead kids. It’s time to end it.”
Edilio felt panic rising within him. What was he supposed to do now? Was Astrid losing her mind like Mary Terrafino?
“I know how many kids have died,” Edilio said. “I buried most of them.”
“It’s all because of Little Pete,” Astrid said.
“No. You don’t know that.” Edilio aimed a furious look at her.
She blinked. Shook her head slightly. Her long hair, soaked, hung like golden snakes. “You aren’t the one taking care of him, Edilio. You’re not the one responsible.”
Edilio coughed, fought it back, coughed again. He tried to steady his mind and calm himself down. Had to keep focus.
“What are you two talking about?” Turk demanded. He was clearly confused.
Edilio felt the house rumble. Heavy footsteps. Orc. It had to be Orc. Orc on whose side? That was the question.
The boy-monster emerged onto the platform. He made a strange slushy sound as he moved, like someone shuffling their feet on wet gravel.
He pushed past Edilio. His head sagged to his chest, and for a moment Edilio had the incredible thought that Orc might have fallen asleep.
No, he was just hammered, Edilio realized. “Drop your guns.”
“No, no, no. What are you two talking about? That’s the first question,” Turk demanded, sensing an advantage he couldn’t quite put his finger on. His gun was still aimed at Astrid.
“Shut up, Turk, and drop your gun. If you murdered Albert, you’re going into exile.”
“What happens if I shoot the ’tard?” Lance demanded.
“You know the law. You kill someone, we give you a trial. And if you’re guilty, you leave town and never come back.”
“That’s not what I’m asking, and you know it, Edilio,” Lance snarled. “Tell me, Astrid. Tell us all. What happens if we shoot the ’tard?”
Panic. It was eating at Edilio’s mind. What was he supposed to do? He had to get control of the situation. He had to be in charge. But what should he do?
Edilio stared down the barrel of his rifle at Turk. His head was swimming. His neck and face were hot.
He shifted his aim, traversed the gun just an inch of arc to bring Lance into his sights.
The first one to decide would win.
“If—,” Astrid said.
BLAM!
The rifle kicked against Edilio’s shoulder. The side of Lance’s handsome face erupted in a fountain of blood.
“Lance!” Turk cried.
Lance brought his own gun around, not aiming at Little Pete now but at Edilio.
BLAM!
Lance’s aim was off. Nowhere near Edilio. Instead the bullet struck Orc in his thigh and ricocheted off.
Turk, his face a mask of fury, aimed at Edilio. But Edilio had already shifted his aim and his sights were back on Turk.
“Don’t!” Edilio warned.
Turk hesitated. But Edilio didn’t see the hesitation, he saw Turk’s gun and only his gun, the round black hole of the barrel, and without thinking he squeezed the trigger.
Another loud bang.
Another kick against his shoulder.
Turk was on his back. His gun was beyond his reach, although he was struggling to get to it.
“I said, don’t!” Edilio yelled again.
Turk held his stomach with one hand and reached for the gun with the other. Edilio’s finger was slippery on the trigger. He could feel something awful inside him, a tidal wave of awful, barely held in check as he aimed at Turk’s head.
Orc crunched Turk’s gun beneath his foot.
Edilio breathed. Sobbed for breath. Coughed.
He lowered his weapon.
Lance shrieked. It was a sound made up of fear and shock and pain. The bullet had struck his cheekbone and come out through his ear. Quivering red flesh hung loose.
Turk groaned more quietly. His throat convulsed. Like a fish on dry land, he was gulping, trying to breathe. His hand still stretched toward his now-useless gun.
Neither boy was dead.
Edilio formed the thought that would shame him later: he should finish them. He should do it now. Just walk up close and bang! If he didn’t, they might live, with Lana’s care. And if they lived they’d be back for revenge.
Orc and Astrid were both watching him.
It seemed terribly unfair that even now they were looking to him for some kind of answer.
“I’ll get Lana,” Edilio said.
He turned and ran, and fell down the steps. Heaving with sobs, blinded by rain and tears he ran for Clifftop.
It took Sam and Jack working together to start one of the motorboats. Almost all had dead batteries. But one of the boats had just enough power left to fire the engines.
They roared to life with a deep, wet growl.
“You know, this boat has power enough that it could pull water skiers,” Sam observed.
Dekka smiled fondly at him. “You want to water ski?”
