“So, uh, your name is Dove?” I asked.
“Yep, yep,” he chuckled. “Dove’s my name—just like the bird. My mom saw one sitting outside the hospital window the day I was born. That’s how she picked it.”
Kindred smiled. “Isn’t that lovely?”
“Yeah,” I said. “It’s lovely, all right.”
He stared out the kitchen window with a smile. “Sometimes I pretend she saw a falcon instead. And my name’s not Dove, but Falcon.”
“Falcon would have been pretty sweet,” I said.
He shrugged. “Yeah, but I guess I was better off than my brother. Mom didn’t see a bird outside her window with him.”
“What’d she see?” I asked. “A squirrel?”
“A tree.”
Dove had a younger brother named Tree. This was definitely a mental institution.
“I sense a visitor in the kitchen,” another voice called from the hall. “Are my suspicions correct?” A boy about my age poked his head around the corner. “Also,” he continued, “do we still have cornflakes?”
“Good morning, Sparky!” cried Kindred. “Your suspicions are indeed correct. This is Kai Bradbury. And, yes, we still have cornflakes.”
“Excellent,” said Sparky. He shuffled into the kitchen in his blue silk pajamas. His eyes were large and his ears stuck out to the sides like a bush baby’s. Around his neck, a creature with brown fur, big eyes, long claws, and a white face hung like a necklace.
Sparky nodded at me as he passed. “Greetings, stranger.”
The creature that hung from his neck turned its head and stuck its tongue out ever so slightly in my direction.
I pointed to the creature. “What’s that?”
“Tim,” Dove said, plopping another handful of blueberries into his mouth. His big teeth were stained blue.
“Not the kid,” I said. “The thing around his neck.”
“That thing,” said Kindred, “is Tim. And he’s not a thing. He’s a three-toed sloth. Named Tim. Rescued from rainforest destruction. And he’s a dear.”
I took a deep breath. I had to find out where I was and who I was dealing with, fast. Then I could find Mom and we could save Charlie.
Sparky alternated spoonfuls of cornflakes between himself and Tim. “Where’s Mila? Shouldn’t she be up by now?”
Mila.
That couldn’t be right. It must be someone else. It couldn’t be the Lost Boy. She’d fled after the Tube cracked. Swam away once I’d released her ankle to save Charlie.
Kindred sighed. “I don’t know, dear. She’s had a rough few days. With Bugsy’s,” she sniffed, “untimely… you know.”
Sparky twisted his spoon. “I think we’ve all been feeling that way.”
Kindred nodded. “It’s not easy. Mila knew him the best out of all of us. She had to. They went on raids together.”
Raids. Mila. It was too close. It was the same girl. I sucked in a breath.
Kindred turned. “What’s wrong, dear?”
“Nothing,” I said. “Nothing’s wrong. I just, uh, knew a girl named Mila in a class once. That’s all. Thought it might be the same one.”
Dove grinned. “I guarantee it wasn’t this Mila. Our Mila is the one and only Mila…” He trailed off, his eyes drifting and his mouth falling open.
“Vachowski,” Kindred finished for him. “Mila Vachowski.”
Dove shook his head. “Right, right,” he said. “Sorry. Zoned out for a second there.”
I felt sick to my stomach. The kitchen’s walls closed, and my heart pounded. This wasn’t a mental institution. This was the Lost Boys’ den. The people around me were terrorists.
But that meant that the “baddies” who’d gotten Charlie weren’t Lost Boys at all, but Feds. She was safe.
Kindred put her hand to my head. “Are you all right, dear?”
“I—I’m fine. Just dizzy. That’s all. Would you mind if I—could I use your bathroom?”
Kindred nodded. “Of course, dear. Down the hall, second door to your left.”
I rushed down the hall, sped past the bathroom and arrived at a panoramic window that provided a clear view of the ocean. There was a lever on the windowsill. I pulled it, and the bars lifted—I’d found my escape. I would get away from the Lost Boys. I slammed my fist against the glass.
A shower of shards rained on me, and I leaped out the window and onto the sandy beach below. Blood stained my white shirt. My knuckles were bleeding. A cool breeze hit my thighs and I struggled to hold my shirt down. A mixture of sweat and blood coated my face. A piece of glass was buried in my right palm.
Waves crashed on the shoreline farther down. There was no one in either direction. Nobody to call for help. I was confused—even Kauai beaches weren’t this empty. I was somewhere else, somewhere… far.
I glanced at the sand around me. Bottles and cans stuck up everywhere. The beach was littered with trash.
Footsteps pounded the hall behind me, no doubt responding to the sound of broken glass. I ran to the ocean and washed the window’s glass from my palm in the salty water. From where I kneeled, I could see that the shoreline curved back in both directions. The structure I’d been held in was on a peninsula, maybe a small island.
The last time I’d seen a real beach was on a trip to Maui we’d taken back when I was in the fifth grade. Dad was still alive then. I’d just met Charlie, and she’d been nice to me—and I didn’t have a lot of friends in those days—so we took her with us.
Maui was mostly towering skyscrapers and floating screens. A place sprawling with people and businesses thanks to its proximity to the Hawaiian Quartile, the largest Federal island. Mom said there was a time when Maui was mostly rainforests, but I didn’t believe her, and even if she was right, the installation of the Ministry of Transportation & Commerce headquarters on the island had eradicated them long ago.
Maui did have a few beaches left, however, and all of them were lined with condominiums. On our way down to one of them, Charlie saw a family of snails trying to cross the road. She insisted we carry them across because she didn’t want them to be crushed by cars. Dad said Charlie was the rare kind of person who looked at a snail and saw another soul.
I splashed water on my face, curled my toes in the sand, and swished my bleeding hand in the water. Someone grabbed my wrist. A tall boy with blond hair and broad shoulders stared at me with blue eyes that burned in the sun. “Perhaps it’s best if we keep the blood out of the water.”
He wasn’t wearing a shirt. Just pants. And judging by the definition of his abs, I guessed he’d never had a milkshake.
He pulled my hand from the water. “You’re not in Kansas anymore.”
“What’s Kansas?” I asked.
“Never mind,” he said.
“Are the nets down or something?”
The boy rubbed his square jaw. “There aren’t any nets out here.”
“Out here?”
“Outside Federal waters.”
I stepped back and stared at him. “You’re one of them.”
He ran a hand through his blond hair and smiled. “Perhaps.”
Behind him, I saw Kindred climb through the broken glass and hurry toward us. I glanced down the beach—nowhere to run. I stuck a foot back in the water.
He shook his head. “Not the best plan of escape. You’d be better off running for the trees.”
I waded farther into the water, up to my waist, and stepped on something sharp. A piece of aluminum floated to the surface.
“The whole island’s made out of trash,” said the boy.
“Trash?” I asked. I took another step and felt something plastic crush under my foot. A bottle floated to the surface.
He nodded. “You’re going to want to run.”
“Run?”
“In three,” he counted, “two, one—”
A massive fin broke the surface out in open water—a megalodon. I ran to shore.