Hunger (11 page)

She walked harder, faster, almost running, pumping her arms and forcing Patrick into a long lope to keep up. But she wasn’t fast enough to outrun a truck that zoomed crazily up to her honking its horn.

Again she tore off her headphones and yelled, “What?”

But this was no loose tooth or skinned knee.

Albert and Howard piled out. Howard helped pull Orc from the back. The boy…the creature…staggered as if drunk. He probably was, Lana thought. Then again, maybe he had a pretty good excuse.

There was a hole in one of the last human parts of him, his cheek. Dried blood crusted his cheek and neck. Fresher, redder blood still oozed down his cheek and neck.

“What happened?” Lana asked.

“Zekes got him,” Howard answered. He was torn between a kind of low-level panic and relief that he had finally reached the Healer. He held Orc’s elbow as if Orc needed Howard’s
frail strength to support him.

“Has he got a worm in him?” Lana asked, cautious.

“No, we got the worm,” Albert reassured her. “We were just hoping you could help him.”

“I don’t want no more rock on me,” Orc said.

Lana understood. Orc had been a garden variety thug, unaware of any special power, until the coyotes had gotten to him in the desert. They had chewed him up badly. Very badly. Worse than anything that had happened to Lana, even. Everywhere they had chewed him had filled in with the gravel covering that made Orc nearly indestructible.

He didn’t want to lose the last of his human body, the patch of pink skin that included his mouth and part of his neck.

Lana nodded.

“You need to stop weaving back and forth, Orc. I don’t want you falling on me,” she said. “Sit down on the ground.”

He sat down too suddenly and giggled a little at it.

Lana lay her hand against the gruesome hole.

“Don’t want no more rock,” Orc repeated.

The bleeding stopped almost immediately.

“Does it hurt?” Lana asked. “I mean the rock. I know the hole hurts.”

“No. It don’t hurt.” Orc slammed his fist against his opposite arm, hard enough that any human arm would have been shattered. “I barely feel it. Even Drake’s whip, when we was fighting, I barely felt it.”

Suddenly he was weeping. Tears rolled from human eyes onto cheeks of flesh and pebbles.

“I don’t feel nothing except…” He pointed a thick stone finger at the flesh of his face.

“Yeah,” Lana said. Her irritation was gone. Her burden was smaller, maybe, than Orc’s.

Lana pulled her hand away to see the progress. The hole was smaller. Still crusted with blood, but no longer actively bleeding.

She put her hand back in place. “Just a couple minutes more, Orc.”

“My name’s Charles,” Orc said.

“Is it?”

“It is,” Howard confirmed.

“What were you guys doing going into the worm field?” Lana asked.

Howard shot a resentful look at Albert, who answered, “Orc was picking cabbage.”

“My name’s Charles Merriman,” Orc repeated. “People should call me by my real name sometimes.”

Lana’s gaze met Howard’s.

Now, Lana thought, now he wants his old name back. The bully who reveled in a monster’s name was now a monster in fact, and wanted to be called Charles.

“You’re all better,” Lana announced.

“Is it still skin?” Orc asked.

“It is,” Lana reassured him. “It’s still human.”

Lana took Albert’s arm and drew him away. “What are you doing sending him into the worm field like that?”

Albert’s face went blank. He was surprised at being
reproached. For a moment Lana thought he would tell her to take a jump. But that moment passed, and Albert slumped a little, as if the air had gone out of him.

“I’m trying to help,” Albert said.

“By paying him with beer?”

“I paid him what he wanted, and Sam was okay with it. You were at the meeting,” Albert said. “Look, how else do you think you get someone like Orc to spend hours in the hot sun working? Astrid seems to think people will work just because we ask them to. Maybe some will. But Orc?”

Lana could see his point. “Okay. I shouldn’t have jumped all over you.”

“It’s okay. I’m getting used to it,” Albert said. “Suddenly I’m the bad guy. But you know what? I didn’t make people the way they are. If kids are going to work, they’re going to want something back.”

“If they don’t work, we all starve.”

“Yeah. I get that,” Albert said with more than a tinge of sarcasm. “Only, here’s the thing: Kids know we won’t let them starve as long as there’s any food left, right? So they figure, hey, let someone else do the work. Let someone else pick cabbages and artichokes.”

Lana wanted to get back to her run. She needed to finish, to run to the FAYZ wall. But there was something fascinating about Albert. “Okay. So how do you get people to work?”

He shrugged. “Pay them.”

“You mean, money?”

“Yeah. Except guess who had most of the money in their
wallets and purses when they disappeared? Then a few kids stole what was left in cash registers and all. So if we start back using the old money we just make a few thieves powerful. It’s kind of a problem.”

“Why is a kid going to work for money if they know we’ll share the food, anyway?” Lana asked.

“Because some will do different stuff for money. I mean, look, some kids have no skills, right? So they pick the food for money. Then they take the money and spend it with some kid who can maybe cook the food for them, right? And that kid maybe needs a pair of sneakers and some other kid has rounded up all the sneakers and he has a store.”

Lana realized her mouth was open. She laughed. The first time in a while.

“Fine. Laugh,” Albert said, and turned away.

“No, no, no,” Lana hastened to say. “No, I wasn’t making fun of you. It’s just that, I mean, you’re the only kid that has any kind of a plan for anything.”

Albert actually looked embarrassed. “Well, you know, Sam and Astrid are working their butts off.”

“Yeah. But you’re looking ahead. You’re actually thinking about how we put it all together.”

Albert nodded. “I guess.”

“Good for you, man,” Lana said. “I gotta go. Orc will be okay. As okay as he can be, anyway.”

“Thanks,” Albert said, and seemed genuinely grateful.

“Hey, let me see that hand,” Lana said.

Albert seemed puzzled. He looked at his own hand, swollen and discolored from punching Orc’s stone face.

“Oh, yeah,” Albert said as Lana briefly took his hand in hers. “Thanks again.”

Lana put her headphones back on and trotted a few steps. Then she stopped. She turned and took them off. “Hey. Albert. The money thing.”

“Yes?”

She hesitated, knowing that in this moment she was perhaps starting a chain reaction. Knowing that it was dangerous to the point of madness. It was eerie, as if fate had intervened in the person of Albert, showing her the way to her half-formed goal. “Wouldn’t gold work? I mean, as money?”

Albert’s sharp eyes found hers. “Should we get together and talk?”

“Yeah,” Lana said.

“Stop by the club tonight.”

“The what?”

Albert grinned. He fished a half sheet of paper from his pocket and handed it to her.

Lana glanced at it. Then at him. She laughed and handed it back. “I’ll be there.”

She started running again. But her thoughts were taking a different tack than before. Albert was planning for the future, not just letting it happen to him. That was the thing to do. To plan. To act. Not just to let things happen.

She was right to plan.

Come to me.

Maybe I will, Lana thought. And maybe you won’t like it much when I do.

70
HOURS
, 11
MINUTES

“
MOTHER MARY WANTS
to draft two more kids,” Astrid told Sam.

“Okay. Approved.”

“Dahra says we’re running low on kids’ Tylenol and kids’ Advil, she wants to make sure it’s okay to start giving them split adult pills.”

Sam spread his hands in a helpless gesture. “What?”

“We’re running low on kid pills, Dahra wants to split adult pills.”

Sam rocked back in the leather chair designed for a grown man. “Okay. Whatever. Approved.” He took a sip of water from a bottle. The wrapper on the bottle said “Dasani” but it was tap water. The dishes from dinner—horrible homemade split-pea soup that smelled burned, and a quarter cabbage each—had been pushed aside onto the sideboard where in the old days the mayor of Perdido Beach had kept framed pictures of his family. It was one of the better meals Sam had
had lately. The fresh cabbage tasted surprisingly good.

There was little more than smears on the plates: the era of kids not eating everything was over.

Astrid puffed out her cheeks and sighed. “Kids are asking why Lana isn’t around when they need her.”

“I can only ask Lana to heal big things. I can’t demand she be around 24/7 to handle every boo-boo.”

Astrid looked at the list she had compiled on her laptop. “Actually, I think this involved a stubbed toe that ‘hurted.’”

“How much more is on the list?” Sam asked.

“Three hundred and five items,” Astrid said. When Sam’s face went pale, she relented. “Okay, it’s actually just thirty-two. Now, don’t you feel relieved it’s not really three hundred?”

“This is crazy,” Sam said.

“Next up: the Judsons and the McHanrahans are fighting because they share a dog, so both families are feeding her—they still have a big bag of dry dog food—but the Judsons are calling her Sweetie and the McHanrahans are calling her BooBoo.”

“You’re kidding.”

“I’m not kidding,” Astrid said.

“What is that noise?” Sam demanded.

Astrid shrugged. “I guess someone has their stereo cranked up.”

“This is not going to work, Astrid.”

“The music?”

“This. This thing where every day I have a hundred stupid questions I have to decide. Like I’m everyone’s parent now.
I’m sitting here listening to how little kids are complaining because their older sisters make them take a bath, and stepping into fights over who owns which Build-A-Bear outfit, and now over dog names. Dog names?”

“They’re all still just little kids,” Astrid said.

“Some of these kids are developing powers that scare me,” Sam grumbled. “But they can’t decide who gets to have which special towel? Or whether to watch
The Little Mermaid
or
Shrek Three
?”

“No,” Astrid said. “They can’t. They need a parent. That’s you.”

Sam usually handled the daily dose of nonsense with equanimity, or at least with nothing worse than grouchy humor. But today he was feeling it was finally too much. Yesterday he’d lost E.Z. This morning he’d seen almost no one show up for work. And Edilio had been forced to track kids down for two hours. Even then they had come back with a pitiful amount of cantaloupes, barely enough to feed the day care. All of that followed by Duck Zhang and some crazy story about falling through the ground into a radioactive tunnel full of water bats.

The only person who’d been productive was Orc. He had picked several hundred cabbages before the worms had nearly killed him.

“What is that music?” he demanded, angry and needing to yell at someone or something. Sam stomped to the window and threw it open. Immediately the volume of the music, most of it vibrating bass, increased dramatically.

Down in the square things were dark but for the streetlights and a strobe light blinking through the front window of McDonald’s.

“What in the…”

Astrid came and stood beside him. “What is that? Is Albert throwing a party?”

Sam didn’t answer. He left without a word, annoyed, angry, and secretly glad of any excuse to get out of answering kids’ stupid questions and handling their stupid problems.

He took the steps two at a time. Down to the ground floor, out through the big front door, ignoring a “Hello” from the kid Edilio had guarding the town hall, and down the big marble steps to the street.

Quinn was passing by, clearly heading toward McDonald’s.

“Hey, brah,” Quinn said.

“What is going on, do you know?” Sam asked.

“It’s a club.” Quinn grinned. “Man, you must be working too hard. Everyone knows about it.”

Sam stared at him. “It’s a what?”

“McClub, brah. All you need is some batteries or some toilet paper.”

This announcement left Sam baffled. He considered asking Quinn for clarification, but then Albert appeared, formally dressed, like he thought it was graduation or something. He actually had on a dark sports coat and slacks in a lighter shade. His shirt was pale blue, collared, and ironed. Spotting Sam, he extended his hand.

Sam ignored the hand. “Albert, what is going on here?”

“Dancing, mostly,” Albert said.

“Excuse me?”

“Kids are dancing.”

Quinn caught up then and stepped in front of Sam to shake Albert’s still-extended hand. “Hey, dude. I have batteries.”

“Good to see you, Quinn. The price is four D cells, or eight double As, or ten triple As, or a dozen Cs. If you have a mix, I can work it out.”

Quinn dug in his pocket and produced four triple A batteries and three D cells. He handed them to Albert, who agreed to the price and dropped the batteries into a plastic bag at his feet.

“Okay, the rules are no food, no alcohol, no attitude, no fights, and when I call ‘time,’ there’s no arguing about it. Do you agree to these rules?”

“Dude, if I had any food, would I be here? I’d be home eating it.” Quinn put his hand over his heart like he was pledging allegiance to the flag and said, “I do.” He jerked a thumb back at Sam. “Don’t bother with him: Sam doesn’t dance.”

“Have a good time, Quinn,” Albert said, and swung open the door to admit him.

Sam stared in absolute amazement. He was torn between outrage and an urge to laugh in admiration.

“Who told you you could do this?” Sam asked.

Albert shrugged. “Same person who told me I could run the McDonald’s until we ran out of food: no one. I just did it.”

“Fine, but you gave away the food. Now you’re charging people. That’s not cool, Albert.”

“You’re trying to profit?” This from Astrid, who had followed Sam, Little Pete in tow.

Inside, the music had shifted from hip-hop to a song Sam happened to love: the ridiculously hooky Tim Armstrong tune “Into Action.” If he ever were to dance, this might be the tune that did it.

Albert considered Astrid and Sam. “Yes. I’m trying to make a profit. I’m using batteries, toilet paper, and paper towels as currency. Each is something that will eventually be in short supply.”

“You’re trying to get all the toilet paper in town?” Astrid shrilled. “Are you kidding?”

“No, Astrid, I’m not kidding,” Albert said. “Look, right now, kids are playing with the stuff. I saw little kids throwing rolls of it around on their lawns like it was a toy. So—”

“So your solution is to try and take it all away from people?”

“You’d rather see it wasted?”

“Yeah, actually,” Astrid huffed. “Rather than you getting it all for yourself. You’re acting like a jerk.”

Albert’s eyes flared. “Look, Astrid, now kids know they can buy their way into the club with it. So they’re not going to waste it anymore.”

“No, they’re going to give it all to you,” she shot back. “And what happens when they need some?”

“Then there will still be some left because I made it valuable.”

“Valuable to you.”

“Valuable to everyone, Astrid.”

“It’s you taking advantage of kids dumb enough not to know any better. Sam, you have to put a stop to this.”

Sam had drifted away from the conversation, his head full of the music. He snapped back. “She’s right, Albert, this isn’t okay. You didn’t get permission—”

“I didn’t think I needed permission to give kids what they want. I mean, I’m not threatening anyone, saying, ‘Give me your toilet paper, give me your batteries.’ I’m just playing some music and saying, ‘If you want to come in and dance, then it’ll cost you.’”

“Dude, I respect you being ambitious and all,” Sam said. “But I have to shut this down. You never got permission, even, let alone asked us if it was okay to charge people.”

Albert said, “Sam, I respect you more than I can even say. And Astrid, you are way smarter than me. But I don’t see how you have the right to shut me down.”

That was it for Sam. “Okay, I tried to be nice. But I am the mayor. I was elected, as you probably remember, since I think you voted for me.”

“I did. I’d do it again, man. But Sam, Astrid, you guys are wrong here. This club is about all these kids have that can get them together for a good time. They’re sitting in their homes starving and feeling sad and scared. When they’re dancing, they forget how hungry and sad they are. This is a good thing I’m doing.”

Sam stared hard at Albert, a stare that kids in Perdido Beach took seriously. But Albert did not back down.

“Sam, how many cantaloupes did Edilio manage to bring back with kids who were rounded up and forced to work?” Albert asked.

“Not many,” Sam admitted.

“Orc picked a whole truckload of cabbage. Before the zekes figured out how to get at him. Because we paid Orc to work.”

“He did it because he’s the world’s youngest alcoholic and you paid him with beer,” Astrid snapped. “I know what you want, Albert. You want to get everything for yourself and be this big, important guy. But you know what? This is a whole new world. We have a chance to make it a better world. It doesn’t have to be about some people getting over on everyone else. It can be fair to everyone.”

Albert laughed. “Everyone can be equally hungry. In a week or so, everyone can starve.”

A group of kids were leaving, pushing open the door. Sam recognized them, of course. He knew everyone in town now, at least by sight if not by name.

They came out laughing, giggling, happy.

“Hey, Big Sam,” one of them said.

Another said, “You should go in, dude, it’s great.”

Sam just nodded in acknowledgment.

The decision could no longer be put off. Close down the club or let it go. If he didn’t close it down he was giving ground to Albert and would probably have another stupid fight with Astrid, who would feel as if he’d ignored her.

Not for the first time, or even the hundredth time, Sam
wished he had never, ever agreed to become anyone’s leader.

Sam stole a glance at the watch on Albert’s wrist. It was almost nine p.m.

“Close it down,” Sam said firmly. “Close it. At ten thirty. Kids need sleep.”

Inside the club Quinn relaxed into the beat. Some ska-punk, sure. Maybe later some hip-hop. Some classic old tunes, maybe.

Give it up for Albert: the guy had turned the Mac’s into a decent dance club. The main lights were all off, just the menu boards were illuminated. But they didn’t show Happy Meals and combos. Albert had covered them with pink tissue paper so they gave off a mellow glow, just enough to light the whites of people’s eyes and their teeth when they smiled.

Hunter, what was he, seventh grade? He was the one spinning the CDs and scratching the turntable. He wasn’t exactly a professional, but he was good enough. Cool enough kid, Quinn thought, even though the rumor was he was developing some killer powers. Time would tell if he would stay cool, or turn as arrogant as some of the freaks. Like Brianna, who was suddenly calling herself “the Breeze” and demanding everyone else play along. Like she was a comic book superhero. The Breeze. And he’d kind of liked her, once.

Speaking of which, there she was, dancing like a crazy person, speeding herself up, feet flying, bouncing up and down so fast, she looked like she might start flying around the room.

She’d been telling everyone who would listen how she beat a bullet. “I’m now officially faster than a speeding bullet. Me and Superman.”

In another corner the weird little kid named Duck was peddling some crazy story involving fish-bats and an underground city or whatever.

And then there was Dekka, sitting by herself, nodding almost imperceptibly to the beat, eyes on Brianna. No one really knew much about Dekka. She was one of the Coates kids, one of the ones who had been rescued from Caine and Drake’s cruel cinderblock torture.

She had a vibe to her, Dekka, a feeling she gave off that she was strong and a little dangerous. There was some history there, Quinn thought, something in her past, like with almost all the Coates kids. Coates was known as a school for troubled rich kids. They weren’t all rich, they weren’t all troubled, but the majority had some serious issues.

Quinn slid between two fourth graders, a guy and a girl, dancing. Together. When Quinn was that age he would never have danced with a girl like they were on a date. In fact, he still didn’t. But things were different now, he supposed. Fourth grade was like…like middle-aged or something. He himself was old. Old, old, old at almost fifteen.

Birthday coming up. The question was, what would he do? Stay or step outside?

Mostly, ever since Sam had survived, kids who had hit the Fatal Fifteen had survived. Sam had told them how to do it.

Computer Jack, who back in those days was with Caine,
had used high-speed photography to record a captive kid up at Coates hitting the moment, the AoD, the Age of Destruction. Jack had come to Perdido Beach with the tale of the tape, the great revelation that in that fateful moment your world would slow down, slow down to a crawl as you approached infinity. And there, in that moment, would come a tempter to beckon to you, call to you, ask you to cross over.

But the tempter was a fraud. A liar. Like a devil, Quinn thought, like a devil. He backed into someone and turned to apologize.

“Hey, Quinn.” It was Lana, shouting over the music so that it was halfway to lip-reading for Quinn. The Healer actually speaking to him.

“Oh. Hi, Lana. This is cool, huh?” He indicated the room with an awkward motion.