Drake hit him again and released Orc to fall to the concrete.
“Which part of ‘nobody move’ did you not understand, Orc?” Drake demanded.
Orc rose to his knee and went for Drake like a linebacker. Drake stepped aside, nimble as a matador. He stuck his hand out and said to Chaz, “Give me that.”
Chaz handed him the bat.
Drake hit Orc in the ribs with a short, sharp forward thrust of the bat. Then again in the kidneys and again in the side of the head. Each blow was measured, accurate, effective.
Orc rolled over onto his back, helpless, exposed.
Drake pushed the thick end of the bat against Orc’s throat. “Dude. You really need to learn to listen when I talk.”
Then Drake laughed, stepped back, twirled the bat in the air, caught it, and rested it on his shoulder. He grinned at Sam.
“Now, how about you tell me what’s going on, Mr. Fire Chief.”
Sam had gone up against bullies before. But he’d never seen anything like Drake Merwin. Orc outweighed Drake by at least fifty pounds, but Drake had handled him like a little toy action figure.
Sam pointed at Bette, still cowering. “I think Orc hit her.”
“Yeah? So?”
“So I wasn’t going to let him do it again,” Sam said as calmly as he could.
“It didn’t look to me like you were getting ready to rescue anyone. Looked to me like you were about to get your head knocked off your shoulders,” Drake said.
“Bette wasn’t doing anything wrong,” a shrill young voice from the crowd yelled.
Without looking back, Drake said, “Shut up.” He pointed at Chaz. “You. Explain what this is about.”
Chaz was an athletic-looking kid with nearly shoulder-length blond hair and trendy glasses. He was wearing the Coates uniform, dirty and rumpled after many days’ use. “That girl was doing something.” He pointed at Bette. “She was using the power.”
Sam felt a cold chill run up his spine.
The power, he had said. Like it was just something you mentioned in casual conversation. Like it was a common thing everyone knew about.
Drake smirked. “Why, whatever can you possibly mean, Chaz?” The way he said it was an unmistakable threat.
“Nothing,” Chaz said quickly.
“She was doing a magic trick,” a voice yelled. “She wasn’t hurting anyone.”
“I told her to stop.” Orc was on his feet again, glaring with undisguised hatred, but also some wariness, at Drake.
“Orc is a deputy sheriff,” Drake said reasonably. “So when he tells someone to stop doing something wrong, they have to stop. If this girl refused to obey, hey, I guess she got what she deserved.”
“You don’t have the right to beat on people,” Sam said.
Drake had a shark’s grin: too many teeth, too little humor. “Someone has to make people listen to the rules. Right?”
“There are rules against doing magic tricks?” Edilio asked.
“Yes,” Drake said. “But I guess some people didn’t know that. Chaz? Give the fire chief the latest copy of the rules.”
Sam accepted a crumpled, folded piece of paper without looking at it.
“There you go,” Drake said. “Now you know the rules.”
“No one’s doing magic around here,” Quinn said, placating.
“Then my work is done,” Drake said, and laughed at his own wit. He tossed the baseball bat to Chaz. “Okay. Everyone go home.”
“Bette will stay here for a while,” Sam said.
“Whatever.”
Drake drew Orc and the others in his wake. The crowd parted for him.
Sam knelt beside Bette. “We’re going to get you bandaged up.”
“What’s this about magic tricks?” Quinn asked her.
Bette shook her head. “It was nothing.”
“She made little balls of light come out of her hands,” a young voice said. “It was a cool trick.”
“Okay, you guys heard what Drake said: everybody out of here,” Quinn said in a loud voice. “All of you go home.”
Sam, Quinn, and Edilio half carried Bette inside and sat her in the ambulance. Edilio used the sterile wipes to clean the blood from her face, applied an antibiotic cream, and used two butterfly bandages to close the wound.
“You can spend the night here, Bette,” Sam said.
“No, I have to get home, my brother will need me,” Bette said. “But, thanks.” She managed a smile for Edilio. “I’m sorry I got you kicked.”
Edilio shrugged, embarrassed. “No big thing.”
Sam left to walk Bette home. Quinn and Edilio trudged back up the stairs.
Quinn went to the pot and used the slotted spoon to drain a few pieces of rotini. He tasted one.
“It’s like mush, man.”
“Overcooked,” Edilio agreed, looking over his shoulder.
Quinn said, “Cheerios?”
He poured himself some and began humming to himself, determined not to get into a conversation with Edilio. It was getting so he could barely stand Edilio. His cheerfulness. His competence at just about everything. And just now, the way he had thrown himself against Orc like some kind of Mexican commando.
It was stupid, Quinn thought, stupid going after a guy like Orc. It was too bad what had happened to Bette, but what was the point picking a fight with someone you couldn’t beat? If Drake hadn’t come along, Edilio would be lucky to be walking right now.
Come to think of it . . .
Sam returned. He nodded at Edilio and barely looked at Quinn.
Quinn gritted his teeth. Perfect. Now Sam was mad at him for not getting his head beat in. Like Sam was such a big hero. Quinn could remember lots of times when Sam had wimped out on waves that Quinn jumped on. Lots of times.
“The pasta didn’t survive,” Quinn said.
“I got Bette home. I hope she’s okay,” Sam said. “She said she was okay.”
“Bette’s got what you have, doesn’t she?” Quinn said as Sam sat down and dug in to his own bowl of cereal.
“Yeah. Maybe less of it, I guess. She told me all she can do is make her hands kind of glow.”
“So she hasn’t burned anyone’s arm off yet, huh?” Quinn was tired of the way Sam was looking at him with a mixture of pity and contempt. He was tired of being dissed just because he had some common sense and minded his own business.
Sam looked up, eyes narrowed, like he might make an argument of it. But he pressed his lips into a grim line and pushed his food away and said nothing.
Quinn said, “This is why you can’t tell anyone. People will think you’re a freak. You see what happens to freaks.”
“Bette’s not a freak,” Sam said in the forced-calm way he had, that gritted-teeth thing he did. “She’s just a girl from school.”
“Don’t be stupid, Sam,” Quinn said. “Bette, Little Pete, the girl in the fire, you. If there’s four of you, there’s more. Normal people aren’t going to like that. Normal people are going to think you’re dangerous or whatever.”
“Is that what you think, Quinn?” Sam asked in a quiet voice. But still he avoided looking Quinn in the eye.
Sam found the rules sheet in his back pocket, unfolded it and spread it on the table.
Quinn said, “I’m just saying look around, man. Kids have enough to be scared of. How are normal people—”
“You want to stop saying ‘normal people’ like that?” Sam snapped.
Edilio, always the peacemaker now between Sam and Quinn, said, “Read out those rules, man.”
Sam sighed. He flattened the paper carefully, scanned down the page, and made a rude noise. “Number one says Caine is the mayor of Perdido Beach and the whole area known as the FAYZ.”
Edilio snorted. “Doesn’t think much of himself, does he?”
“Number two, Drake is appointed sheriff and has the power to enforce the rules. Number three, I’m fire chief and responsible for responding to emergencies. Great. Lucky me.” He glanced up and ad
ded, “Lucky us.”
“Nice of you to remember the little people,” Quinn sniped.
“Number four, no one may enter any store and remove anything without permission from the mayor or the sheriff.”
Quinn said, “You have a beef with that? People can’t be just looting stuff all the time, grabbing whatever.”
“No beef with that,” Sam agreed reluctantly. “Five says we all have to help Mother Mary at the day care, provide her with whatever she asks for, and help anytime she says. Okay. Fair enough. Six: thou shalt not kill.”
“Really?” Quinn asked.
Sam made a wan smile, the way he did when he was tired of being mad and expected everyone else to be tired of it, too. “Kidding,” Sam said.
“Okay, stop goofing and just read the thing.”
“Just trying to keep a sense of humor while the world’s falling apart around us,” Sam said. “Six: we all have to help out on jobs like searching homes or whatever. Seven: we’re all supposed to pass information on any bad behavior to Drake.”
“So we’re all supposed to be informers,” Edilio said.
“Don’t worry, there’s no immigration cops, no Migra,” Quinn said. “And, anyway, if someone can figure out how to send you back to Mexico, I’ll go with you.”
“Honduras,” Edilio said. “Not Mexico. For, like, the tenth time.”
“Number eight, here it is. I’ll read it like it’s written,” Sam said. “‘People will not perform magic tricks or any other action that causes fear or worry.’”
“What’s that mean?” Quinn asked.
“It means Caine obviously knows about the power.”
“Big surprise.” Edilio nodded over his bowl of cereal. “Kids talking like it was an act of God. I always said Caine had the power. People saying Caine’s like a mago. You know, like a magician.”
Quinn said, “Nah, man, if he had the power, he wouldn’t be having Orc and Drake trying to stop people using it.”
“Sure he would, Quinn,” Sam said. “If he wanted to be the only one who had it.”
“Paranoid much, brah?”
“Number nine,” Sam continued reading. “‘We are in a state of emergency. During this crisis no one should criticize, ridicule, or hinder any of the people performing their official duties.’”
Quinn shrugged. “Well, we are having a crisis, right? If this isn’t a crisis, I don’t know what would be.”
“So we’re suddenly not allowed to say anything?” Sam was shaking his head in disbelief. The moment of attempted reconciliation was over. Sam was back to being disappointed in Quinn.
“Look, it’s like school, right?” Quinn argued. “You can’t diss the teachers. Not to their faces, anyway.”
“Then you’ll really like number ten, Quinn: ‘The sheriff may decide that the above rules are insufficient to cover some emergency situations. In those cases, the sheriff may formulate whatever rules are needed to keep order and keep people safe.’”
“‘Formulate,’” Quinn snorted. “Sounds like Astrid helped them write it.”
Sam pushed the paper away. “No. Not Astrid’s style.” He folded his hands together, placed them on the table, and announced, “This is wrong.”
Edilio’s worried look mirrored Sam’s. “Yeah, man, this ain’t right. That’s saying Caine and Drake can do whatever they want, anytime they want.”
“That’s what it comes down to,” Sam agreed. “And he’s getting people to start suspecting each other, turn against each other.”
Quinn laughed. “You don’t get it, brah. People are already suspicious. This isn’t normal times, okay? We’re cut off, we have no adults of any kind, no police or teachers or parents, and no offense, but we have some of us, like, mutating or whatever. You act like you expect everything to just go along like normal, like there is no FAYZ.”
Sam was done with his patient act. “And you’re acting like you think Bette deserved that beating. Why are you not pissed off, Quinn? Why are you okay with the idea that a girl we know, a girl who never hurt anyone, gets beat down by Orc?”
“Oh, that’s where you’re going? Like it’s my fault?” Quinn stood up and shoved his chair back. “Look, Sam, I’m not saying it’s right for her to get beat on, all right? But what do you expect? I mean, kids get picked on for wearing the wrong clothes or sucking at sports or whatever. And that’s when there are teachers and parents around. That’s just everyday life. You think now, as messed up as everything is, kids are going to be thinking, ‘Oh, Sam can shoot firebolts out of his eyeballs or whatever, okay, that’s cool?’ No, brah, that’s not the way it is.”
To Quinn’s surprise, and even more, to Sam’s, Edilio said, “He’s right. If there’s more people with, you know, like you and Bette, there’s going to be trouble. Some folks with the power, some folks without. Me, I’m used to being a second-class citizen.” He shot a dark look at Quinn, which Quinn ignored. “But other people are going to be jealous and they’re going to get scared and, anyway, they’re all weirded out, so they are going to be looking for someone to blame. In Spanish, we say cabeza de turco. It means someone you blame for all your problems.”
“Scapegoat,” Quinn translated.
Edilio nodded. “Yeah, that’s it. A scapegoat.”
Quinn spread his hands wide in an expression of aggrieved innocence. “What have I been saying? That’s the way it is: you’re different, you get to be a victim. You try and act all superior, Sam, all righteous, but you haven’t even figured it out yet. Worst that happened to us back then was we get in trouble, get suspended, get an ‘F’ or whatever. Screw up now and it’s a baseball bat up alongside your head. There were always bullies, but the adults were still in charge. Now? Now the bullies rule. Different game, brother, a whole different game. We play by the bully rules now.”
SEVENTEEN
169 HOURS, 18 MINUTES
“I NEED MORE pills,” Cookie cried in a voice that to Dahra Baidoo’s dismay never seemed to weaken or grow hoarse.
“It’s too soon,” Dahra said for the millionth time in the last three days.
“Give me the pills!” Cookie bellowed. “It hurts. It hurts so bad.”
Dahra pressed her hands over her ears and tried to make sense of the text open in front of her. It would probably have been easy to figure out what to do if she still had the internet. Then she could have opened a Google page and punched in “Vicodin” and “overdose.” It was harder to get a straight answer from the thick, dog-eared Physicians’ Desk Reference someone had brought her from the only doctor’s office in Perdido Beach.
The problem, among other things, was that she was playing mix-and-match with everything from Advil to Vicodin to Tylenol with codeine. There was nothing in the book about how to control pain by mixing together a little of this and a little of that and not enough of anything.
Dahra’s boyfriend, Elwood, was slumped in a chair, passed out. He had been a faithful friend, at least so far as hanging around and keeping her company. And he always helped her lift Cookie up to slide the bedpan under his butt when he needed to go.
But there were limits to what her boyfriend would do. He wouldn’t clean out the bedpan. He wouldn’t hold the funnel when the boy needed to pee.
Dahra had done that. In the three days since she had accidentally become the person responsible for this squalid, dark, windowless, joyless, subterranean kingdom of misery beneath the church, Dahra had done all sorts of things she never thought she could do. Things she sure didn’t want to do, including giving a diabetic seven-year-old daily insulin injections.
There was a knock at the door and Dahra swiveled her chair away from the desk and the circle of light that spilled over the almost useless book.
Mary Terrafino was there with a girl who looked like she was maybe four.
“Hi, Mary,” Dahra said. “What do we have here?”
“I’m so sorry to bother you,” Mary said. “I know how busy you are. But she has some kind of pain in her stomach.”
Dahra knelt down to eye level with the little girl. “Hi, honey. What’s your name?”
“Ashley.”
“Okay, Ashley, let’s get your temperature and see what’s going on. Can you come over and sit on the table?”
Dahra slid the electronic thermometer into a fresh plastic cover and popped the thermometer into the little girl’s mouth.
“You have the moves down,” Mary said, and smiled.
Cookie bellowed suddenly, so loudly and so obscenely that Ashley almost swallowed the thermometer.
“I’m running out of pain pills,” Dahra said. “I don’t know what to do. We’ve emptied out the doctor’s office and sometimes we get some meds that people have found when they’re doing house searches. But he’s in so much pain.”
“Is it getting any better? His shoulder, I mean?”
“No,” Dahra said. “It’s not going to get better. All I can do is keep it clean.” She examined the thermometer. “Ninety-eight point nine. That’s well within the normal range. Lie back and let me check something. I’m going to push on your tummy. It might tickle a little.”
“Are you going to give me a shot?” the little girl asked.
“No, honey. I just want to push on your tummy.” Dahra pressed down with her fingertips, pressed the girl’s belly pretty far down and then released suddenly. “Did that hurt?”
“It tickled.”
“What are you checking for?” Mary asked.
“Appendicitis.” Dahra shrugged. “It’s about all I know, Mary. When I look up ‘stomach pain,’ I get everything from constipation to stomach cancer. Probably she needs to poop.” To the little girl she said, “Have you pooped today?”
“I don’t think so.”
“I’ll sit her on the toilet,” Mary said.
“Make her drink some water. You know, like a couple of cups.”
Mary squeezed her hand. “I know you’re not a doctor, but it’s good to have you.”
Dahra sighed. “I’m trying to read that book. But mostly all it does is scare me. I mean, there are a million diseases I’ve never even heard of and I don’t want to even think about.”
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