“Go, Breeze,” someone yelled.
But another voice yelled, “Quit showing off, stupid mutant.”
Brianna stopped dead. Her dress settled back into place. “Who said that?”
Zil. The same jerk who had picked on Jack over the phones.
“Me,” Zil said, stepping forward. “And don’t bother trying to look tough. I’m not scared of you, freak.”
“You should be,” Brianna hissed.
Suddenly there was Dekka, up off her chair, hand extended between Brianna and Zil. “No,” she said in her deep voice. “None of that.”
Quinn joined her. “Dekka’s right, we can’t be having fights and stuff here. Sam will shut this place down.”
“Maybe we should have two different clubs,” a seventh grader named Antoine said. “You know, one for freaks and one for normals.”
“Man, what is the matter with you?” Quinn demanded.
“I don’t like her acting like she’s so cool, is all,” Zil said, stepping beside Antoine.
“You should be on our side, Quinn. Everyone knows you’re a normal,” another kid, Lance, said. “Well . . . kind of normal. You’re still Quinn.”
“Knock it off,” Dekka growled.
“I can take care of myself,” Brianna snapped at Dekka. “I can handle both these little twerps, slap them both down so fast, they wouldn’t even see it happening.”
“Be cool,” Dekka said to her. “Why don’t you just have a good time and not put on a show?”
For a second Brianna looked as if she might challenge Dekka. But Dekka never flinched, just waited.
Brianna sighed theatrically. “Okay. The Breeze is not into making trouble. The Breeze is all about a good time.” She made a sort of curtsy to Dekka, which Dekka accepted with a nod.
The music rose again and kids went back to dancing or hanging around.
“Hey, Jack,” Brianna said. “You came.”
“Yeah.”
“So. You think you could beat Dekka?” she asked.
The question startled him. His mouth dropped open.
“Kidding. Just kidding,” Brianna said. “Dekka’s actually very cool. Not as cool as me, of course.”
“No one is as cool as you,” Jack blurted.
Brianna accepted this as though it were only her natural due. “You want to dance?”
“I don’t know how,” Jack said.
“Really?”
“Really.”
“I could teach you.”
“I’d be too embarrassed.”
Brianna shrugged. “It’s not like anyone is going to laugh at you.”
“Yes, they would.”
Brianna shook her head. At normal speed. “No way. Everyone is hoping you’ll fix the phones and the internet and all. Everyone likes you. Well, not exactly likes, but everyone hopes you’ll do it.”
“I told you I fixed the phones already,” Jack said.
Brianna’s eyes narrowed. “Jack-O, watch what you say about that. It’s supposed to be a secret, right?” Then she shifted focus to someone just behind Jack’s shoulder. “What did you hear?”
Jack twisted to see the shaved-head kid shrugging. “What? I didn’t hear anything.”
That voice. Jack knew that voice.
“That’s right you didn’t hear anything,” Brianna said pointedly. “And you better not repeat what you didn’t hear.”
He knew that voice.
He stared at the kid with the voice.
And suddenly, he saw.
“So come dance with me,” Brianna said, tugging at Jack’s arm.
He pulled away. “I uh . . . I have to go,” he said, unable to tear his gaze away from the shaved-head “boy.”
“No one will laugh at you,” Brianna pleaded.
But Jack just shook off her hand and fled toward the door.
“Okay, fine, forget you,” Brianna yelled. “Jerk. Computer Jerk.” Then, loud enough for everyone to hear, she said, “I guess he’s scared of girls.”
SEVENTEEN
22 HOURS
DIANA FOLLOWED JACK from the McClub. It was a relief to get away from Brianna and Dekka. Both girls knew Diana well. Neither had any reason to like her.
Fortunately, Dekka had eyes only for Brianna, and Brianna was focused on Jack. There had been a terrifying moment when Brianna had spoken directly to Diana, but she’d quickly looked down at the ground and Brianna had not recognized her.
Jack was moving, ignoring Albert’s polite “Good night,” walking quickly away from the club. Not quite running but looking as if he wanted to.
She caught up with him. “Jack.”
He stopped. He looked around, fearful that someone might overhear. “Diana?” he whispered.
“Mmmm. Yep. Like the new hairdo?” She rubbed her hand over her brush cut.
For a boy with the strength of ten grown men, he looked awfully nervous.
“What are you doing here?”
“I need you, Jack.”
“You? You need me?”
She tilted her head to the side and sized him up. “So, you like Brianna, huh? And here I thought I was the girl of your dreams.”
Flesh tones were all blue in the harsh streetlight, but Diana was sure he was blushing.
“Come on,” she said. “Let’s walk on the beach. We’ll have some privacy there.”
He followed her obediently, as she knew he would. He might have a crush on cute little Brianna, but Diana had missed none of the covert looks Jack had sent her way over the months she’d known him. She still had some power over him. They climbed the low sea wall and labored across the sand under the night sky. Diana wished she could live down here, close to the beach. As shabby and damaged as Perdido Beach was, it was still so much more alive than the Fear Factory, as some kids called Coates Academy.
“What is it you want?” Jack asked. His voice sounded desperate.
“So. You got the cell phones working. I was wondering what was taking you so long,” Diana said. “You always used to tell me it would be fairly easy.”
“I can’t talk about it,” he said miserably.
“Sam won’t let you do it, will he? Why?” When he didn’t answer, she provided her own explanation. “Because we’d be able to use it, too. Interesting. Poor Caine: always underestimating his brother.”
Jack plodded along beside her. The strength in his limbs drove his feet too deep into the sand.
“Caine knows about you now, of course, about you being a mutant. With a serious power, no less.”
“He knows?” Jack’s voice rose an octave.
Diana smiled to herself. Still scared. Good. “Yep. He knows everything. He knows it’s not your fault you ended up over here. He knows that was me.”
“Did he make you cut off your hair?”
The question caught Diana off-guard. She laughed. “Oh, Jack. No. Caine forgave me. You know how he is. He gets mad, but really he’s very forgiving.”
“That’s not how he seemed to me,” Jack said.
Diana chose not to argue that point. “How’s the internet project going?”
“I need a decent server. I need a serious router.”
“Are those pieces of equipment?”
The question allowed Jack a moment of superiority. She heard the familiar pedantic tone in his voice. “Yes, those are pieces of equipment.”
“Have you looked everywhere?”
“Yeah.”
“Did you look at Coates when you were still with us?”
“Of course. I know every piece of technology at Coates, and probably every one here in Perdido Beach.”
So, Diana thought, that was the bait she had to lay out for Jack. Of course. What else? He might lust for Diana, and long for Brianna, but Jack’s true love was made of silicon.
“Even if you got a router, what makes you think Sam would let you set up your own internet?”
The long, long hesitation was all the confirmation Diana needed.
At last he said, “I
don’t know.”
“I know Sam is a nice guy,” Diana conceded. “Nicer than Caine. But Caine has always had respect for what you can do, Jack. Even back before the FAYZ. You know he always let you do your thing.”
“Maybe,” Jack muttered.
“I mean, put it this way: do you imagine, even for a second, that Caine would give you a job as hard as setting up the cell phone system and then just blow you off?”
His silence was eloquent.
“We need you, Jack,” Diana said. “We need you back.”
“I have stuff to do here.”
She put her hand on his arm and he stopped walking. She came around to stand face-to-face with him. She stood too close. Close enough that she could be sure that the hard drive he had in place of a heart was whirring away.
She stroked his face with her fingers. Not too overt, not really a promise, just enough to disorient him, poor boy.
“Come back, Jack,” Diana breathed. “Caine has a job for you. The biggest job you can imagine. The ultimate technological challenge.” She spoke the last three words slowly, pausing dramatically.
Jack’s eyes widened. “What is it?”
“Something only you can do,” she said. “Only you.”
“Can’t you tell me?” he pleaded.
“It’s huge, Jack. Beyond anything you’ve tried so far. Bigger computers. Far more complex programs. Maybe too much—even for you.”
He shook his head, but barely. “It’s a trick. You’re just trying to get me to go back so Caine and Drake can teach me a lesson.”
“Don’t flatter yourself, kid,” Diana said. Time to close the deal. Time to make him believe. “You’re only good for one thing. You’re not Courageous Jack or Fighting Jack or even Lover Jack, although I know you have your sad little fantasies. You’re Computer Jack. Sam won’t let you do what you can do. Caine will. And Jack?”
“Yes.”
“So very much technology. Such a huge challenge. And only you can do it.”
“I . . . I have to think about . . .”
“No, Jack. It’s right now. Right now, or never.”
She turned and began to walk away. Jack stood there, hesitating. But she knew. She had seen it in his eyes.
“Hey. Someone’s been in my room,” Zil Sperry said, coming down the stairs at a run.
Hunter Lefkowitz was splayed out on the couch, one leg up on the back, one leg touching the floor, both arms behind his head. He was watching a DVD of Superbad. He’d watched it at least ten times before. He knew every joke.
“How can you tell, man? The mess your room is in?” Hunter said, barely paying attention.
Zil came around and hit the power button on the side of the TV. “Not finding that real funny, freak. Someone was in my room. Someone took something that belonged to me.”
Hunter shared the house with three other boys, Zil, Charlie, and Harry. They’d been friends back before the FAYZ. They were all seventh graders, and the thing that had united them was their love of the San Francisco Giants. Perdido Beach was definitely Dodgers territory, with maybe a scattering of Angels fans. But Zil and Charlie had moved here at various times from the Bay Area, Harry had come from Lake Tahoe, and Hunter just plain liked the Giants.
So they had banded together to irritate other kids at school by ostentatiously dressing up in the orange and black. They’d gotten together on summer afternoons to watch games.
But there were no pro sports in the FAYZ. No TV, either. The four of them no longer had the one shared interest that had bound them together.
And lately distance had grown between Hunter and the other three for a reason unique to the FAYZ: Hunter was a freak. The other three were normals. At first they’d all talked about it together, like, no big deal, they’d probably all get powers eventually, it was just that Hunter was first.
But as the weeks had worn on, none of the other three had changed at all, whereas Hunter was rapidly becoming a potentially powerful mutant. That had bothered Zil.
It had bothered him more with each passing day.
“Hey man, turn the set back on,” Hunter demanded, pointing angrily at the set.
“Give it back, Hunter,” Zil demanded.
“Give what back, jerkwad?”
Zil hesitated. Then, “You know what.”
Hunter sighed heavily and sat up. “Okay, so you’re accusing me of stealing something and you won’t even tell me what it is? Man, you must be awfully bored to be starting some beef with me over nothing.”
“Beef!” Zil cried accusingly.
Harry came wandering in from the dining room, where he was building a complicated LEGO design, attracted by the sound of raised voices.
“What’s going on?” Harry asked.
“Moof boy here stole something from my room,” Zil said.
“You’re lying,” Hunter shot back. “And don’t be calling me names.”
“Moof? You’re a mutant freak. Why shouldn’t I call you that?”
“What’s going on?” Harry asked again, bewildered.
“Give it back,” Zil said. “Give it back.”
“You stupid moron, I don’t even know what you’re talking about!” Hunter was on his feet now, red in the face.
“The jerky,” Zil said. “You called me jerkwad. Then you said ‘beef.’ So stop trying to be clever. You know exactly what it was, because you stole it. I had a piece of beef jerky.”
“That’s what this is about?” Hunter was incredulous. “First off, why were you holding out on us, man? I thought we shared—”
“Shut up, you mutant freak of nature,” Zil shouted. “I don’t share anything with you. I might share stuff with humans, but not with chuds.”
They’d had disagreements before. Even arguments. And this was not the first time Zil had harped on Hunter’s powers. But this was more intense, and now it was starting to seem like a fight they’d managed to sidestep in the past was now unavoidable. The question in Hunter’s mind was, could he win? Zil was bigger and stronger. But if there had to be a fight, then, okay, Hunter would have that fight. He couldn’t back down.
“Step back, Zil,” Hunter warned.
“Shut your fat mutant face, you subhuman chud freak,” Zil shot back. He balled his fists, tense, ready.
“Last chance,” Hunter warned.
Zil hesitated, but only for a second. He spun and grabbed a long, bronze poker from in front of the fireplace.
Hunter recoiled in shock. Zil could kill him with the poker. This wasn’t just a fistfight.
He raised his hands, palms out.
Harry moved with surprising speed, trying to get between the two of them, trying to calm them down, maybe, or maybe just get out of the way
Then Harry screamed.
He clawed at his neck.
He turned, slowly, and stared in horror at Hunter. Harry’s glasses slid off the end of his nose. His eyes rolled up in his head, and he crumpled to the floor.
Hunter and Zil both froze. They looked down at Harry.
“What happened?” Zil asked. “What did you do to him?”
Hunter shook his head. “Nothing. Nothing, man, I didn’t do anything.”
Zil dropped to his knees and touched Harry’s neck. “It’s hot. His skin is hot.”
Hunter backed away. “I didn’t do anything, man.”
“You freak! You murdering freak! You killed him.”
“He’s not dead, he’s breathing,” Hunter protested. “I didn’t mean to . . . He jumped between us—”
“It was me you were trying to kill,” Zil yelled.
“You were going to hit me with that poker!”
“What did you do, man? Did you turn on your magic microwave hands and fry his brains?”
Hunter was looking at his own palms, appalled, not wanting it to be true, needing for it not to be true. He hadn’t meant . . . Harry had been his friend . . .
“Oh, my God, you murdering mutant freak!”
“I’ll get Lana. She’ll sav
e him,” Hunter said. “He’ll be okay. He’ll be fine.”
But as he watched, a massive blister was forming on the back of Harry’s neck, right at the base of his skull. The blister was six inches across, as big as an orange, a hairy sac full of liquid.
Hunter ran from the room. His former friend’s shouted accusations followed him: “Murdering freak! Murdering freak!”
Sam was asleep in the extra bedroom at Astrid’s house. He heard the sound of someone vomiting in the adjoining bathroom.
He was beyond weary, but nevertheless he dragged himself up out of bed, grabbed a T-shirt, and tapped at the bathroom door. “Hey,” he said.
“What?” Mary’s voice, shaky.
“You okay?”
“Oh, I’m sorry. Did I wake you up?”
“Sounded like you were ralphing. Are you sick?”
“No. No, I’m fine.”
He could have sworn he heard a sob in her voice, a catch. “You sure?”
Her voice steadied. “Yeah, I’m fine, Sam. Go back to sleep. Sorry I woke you.”
Sam thought that was a good suggestion. He climbed back into bed and arranged the pillows the way he liked them. He stared at the clock. Midnight. He closed his eyes. But he knew that sleep wasn’t coming back anytime soon. Instead there came a rushing freight train loaded with worries and fragments of worries. And his old friend, hunger. It was hard to fall asleep when your stomach was twisting into knots.
He heard the toilet flush and the bathroom light went off.
What if Mary was sick? Who could he get to take over running the day care? Astrid had to deal with Little Pete, so it couldn’t be her. He started running down the list of people he could trust to behave in a mature fashion and cope.
The only kids he could think of to take over for Mary would probably just do the job so they could get into the day care’s oatmeal supplies.
He’d been dreaming, he realized. Junior Mints. He’d been dreaming about . . .
. . . Junior Mints.
That was it, the thing nagging at the edge of his consciousness. Junior Mints.
“I’m going nuts from hunger, that’s what it is, I’m slowly but surely going nuts.”
He forced his eyes closed, but the nagging in the back of his head was yammering louder now, not letting go, demanding attention.
Alton and Dalton fighting over whom they belonged to. Who had taken them.
Gone Series Complete Collection Page 59