Well, no more.
He was done being played. If Astrid and Albert wanted to keep Sam in some little box, where they could take him out and use him whenever they wanted, and then not even let him do his job-they could forget it.
And if Astrid wanted to think of herself and Little Pete and Sam as being some kind of family, only Sam never got to, well…she could forget that, too.
You didn’t run away because of any of that, a cruel voice in his head said. You didn’t run away because Astrid won’t sleep with you. Or because she is bossy. You ran away from Drake.
“Whatever,” Sam said aloud.
And then, a thought occurred to Sam that rocked him. He’d become a big hero because of Astrid. And when he seemed to have lost her, he stopped being that guy.
Was that possible? Was it possible that arrogant, frustrating, manipulative Astrid was the reason he could play Sam the Hero?
He had shown some courage before, the actions that earned him the nickname School Bus Sam. But he had immediately walked away from that image, done his best to disappear back into anonymity. He’d been allergic to responsibility. When the FAYZ came he’d been just another kid. And even after the FAYZ came he’d done his best to avoid the role that others wanted to force on him.
But then there had been Astrid. He had done it for her. For her he’d been the hero.
“Yeah, well,” he said to the rocks and the surf, “In that case, I’m fine being regular old Sam.”
He felt comforted by that thought. For a while. Until the image of Whip Hand bubbled to the surface again.
“It’s just an excuse,” Sam admitted to the ocean. “Whatever’s going on with Astrid, you still have to do it.”
He still, no matter what, had to face Drake.
“I’m glad you saw that, too, Choo,” Sanjit whispered. “Because otherwise I’d be sure I was crazy.”
“It was that kid, that boy. He did it. Somehow,” Virtue said.
The two of them were in the rocks atop the cliff. There was scarcely an inch of the island they hadn’t explored both before the big disappearance and after. Much of the island had been denuded of trees dating back to a time when someone had raised sheep and goats on the island. But at the fringes there was still virgin forest of scrub oak, mahogany and cypress trees, and dozens of flowering bushes. The island foxes still hunted in these woods.
In other places palm trees swayed high above tumbled rocks. But there were no beaches on San Francisco De Sales Island. No convenient inlets. In the days of sheep ranching the shepherds had lowered the animals in wicker baskets. Sanjit had seen the tumbled remains of that apparatus, had considered trying to swing out over the water for the sheer fun of it, had decided it was crazy when he noticed that the support beams were eaten by ants and termites.
The island was almost impregnable, which was why his adopted parents had bought it. It was one place the paparazzi couldn’t reach. In the interior of the island was a short airstrip large enough to accommodate private jets. And at the compound was the helipad.
“They’re going east,” Sanjit commented.
“How did he do that?” Virtue asked.
Sanjit had noticed about Virtue that he was not quick to adapt to new and unexpected circumstances. Sanjit had grown up on the streets with con men, pickpockets, magicians and others who specialized in illusion. He didn’t think what he had just witnessed was an illusion, he believed it was real. But he was ready to accept that and move on.
“It’s impossible,” Virtue said.
The boat was definitely under way again, heading east, which was good. It was the long way around the island. It would take hours and hours for them to get to where the beached yacht lay.
“It’s not possible,” Virtue said again, and now it was starting to get on Sanjit’s nerves.
“Choo. Every single adult disappears in a heartbeat, there’s no TV or radio, no planes in the sky, no boats sailing by. Have you not figured out we’re not exactly in the land of possible? We have been picked up, kidnapped, and adopted all over again. Except this time it wasn’t to America. I don’t know where we are or what’s going on. But brother, we’ve been through this before, you know? New world, new rules.”
Virtue blinked once. Twice. He nodded. “Kind of, we have, huh? So, what do we do?”
“Whatever we have to do to survive,” Sanjit said.
And then the old familiar Virtue was back. “That’s a nice line, Wisdom. Like something out of a movie. Unfortunately it’s kind of meaningless.”
“Yes. Yes, it is,” Sanjit admitted with a grin. He slapped Virtue on the shoulder. “Coming up with something more meaningful is your thing.”
“Can you guys handle things for a few minutes?” Mary asked. John glanced at the three helpers, three kids who had either been scheduled or, in the case of one, was a homeless fugitive who had come to the day care looking for shelter and been put to work.
During the night and morning the population of the day care more than doubled. Now the numbers were starting to decline a little as kids drifted off in ones or twos, looking for siblings or friends. Or homes that, from all that Mary had heard, might no longer exist.
Mary knew she probably should not let anyone leave. Not until they were sure it was safe.
“But when would that be?” she muttered. She blinked a couple of times, trying to focus. Her vision was weird. More than just sleepiness. A blur that turned edges to neon when she moved her head too fast.
She searched for and found her pill bottle. When she shook it, it made no sound. “No, no way.” She opened it and looked inside. She upended it. Still empty.
When had she finished it off? She couldn’t remember. The depression beast must have come for her and she must have fought it off with the last of the meds.
At some point. Before. Must have.
“Yeah,” she said aloud, voice slurred.
“What?” John asked, frowning like it was all he could do to pay attention.
“Nothing. Talking to myself. I have to go find Sam or Astrid or someone, whoever is in charge. We’re out of water. We need twice the usual amount of food. And I need someone to…you know…” She lost her train of thought, but John didn’t seem to notice.
“Use some of the emergency food to feed them until I get back,” Mary said. She walked away before John could ask how he was supposed to stretch four cans of mixed vegetables and a vacuum-pack of spicy dried peas to cover thirty or forty hungry kids.
Near the plaza things didn’t look much different than usual. They smelled different-smoke and the acrid stench of melted plastic. But the only evidence of the disaster at first was the pall of brown haze that hovered above the town. That and a pile of debris peeking out from behind the McDonald’s.
Mary stopped at town hall, thinking maybe she would find the council hard at work making decisions, organizing, planning. John had gone on a tour with them earlier, but if he was back they should be, too.
She needed to talk to Dahra. See what meds she had available. Get something before the depression swallowed her up again. Before she…something.
No one was home in the offices, but Mary could hear moans of pain coming from the basement infirmary. She didn’t want to think about what was going on down there. No, not now, Dahra would kick her out.
Even though it would really only take Dahra a few seconds to grab a Prozac or whatever she had.
Mary almost ran smack into Lana who was sitting outside on the town hall steps smoking a cigarette.
Her hands were stained red. No one had water to waste on washing off blood.
Lana glanced up at her. “So. How was your night?”
“Me? Oh, not great.”
Lana nodded. “Burns. They take a long time to heal. Bad night. Bad, bad night.”
“Where’s Patrick?” Mary asked.
“Inside. He helps kids stay calm,” Lana said. “You should get a dog for the day care. Helps kids…Helps them, you know, not notice that their fingers are burned off.”