141
" Sam?”
“Yeah.”
“I was on the school bus that day. Remember?”
“Vaguely,” he said, and laughed. “My fifteen minutes of fame.”
“You were the bravest, coolest person I’d ever known. Everyone thought so. You were the hero of the whole school. And then, I don’t know. It was like you kind of just…faded.”
He resented that a little. He hadn’t faded. Had he? “Well, most days the bus driver doesn’t have a heart attack,” Sam said.
Astrid laughed. “You’re one of those people, I think. You go along in your life just sort of living. And then something goes wrong and there you are. You step up and do what you have to do. Like today, the fire.”
“Yeah, well, to tell you the truth, I kind of prefer the other part. The part where I just live my life.”
Astrid nodded like she understood, but then she said, “That’s not going to happen this time. "
― Michael Grant
142
" Sam, Edilio’s a good guy,” Albert said, breaking in on Sam’s gloomy thoughts. “But like I said, he’ll tell the rest of them. Once the council knows, everyone knows. If everyone knows how desperate things are, what do you think will happen?”
Sam smiled without humor. “About half the people will be great. The other half will freak.”
“And people will end up getting killed,” Albert said. He cocked his head sideways, trying his best to look like the idea had just occurred to him. “And who is going to end up kicking butts? Who will end up playing Daddy and then be resented and blamed and finally told to go away?”
“You’ve gained new skills,” Sam said bitterly. “You used to just be about working harder than anyone else and being ambitious. You’re learning how to manipulate people.”
Albert’s mouth twitched and his eyes flashed angrily. “You’re not the only one walking around with a big load of responsibility on your shoulders, Sam. You play the big mean daddy who won’t let anyone have any fun, and I play the greedy businessman who is just looking out for himself. But don’t be stupid: maybe I am greedy, but without me no one eats. Or drinks. "
― Michael Grant , Plague (Gone, #4)
143
" Sorry, folks, but the maximum occupancy is seventy-five,” Albert said. Then he spotted Jack. “Jack, how’s it going?”
“What? Oh, fine.” Jack was confused as to how to proceed. He didn’t want to wait in line if Brianna wasn’t even inside.
“You look like a man with a question,” Albert prompted.
“Well, I’m kind of looking for Brianna. We had this…it’s a…tech thing. You wouldn’t understand.”
“Breeze is already inside.”
One of the kids in the line said, “Of course she is, she’s a freak. They always get in.”
A second kid nodded. “Yeah, the freaks don’t wait in lines. Bet she didn’t have to pay, either.”
Albert said, “Hey, she got here a little before you guys did and she waited. And she paid.” Then to Jack. “Go ahead in.”
“See?” the first kid crowed. “He’s one, too.”
“Dude, he set up my sound system,” Albert said. “What have you done for me other than stand here and bust on me? "
― Michael Grant , Hunger (Gone, #2)
144
" He overheard the director talking to one of the cameramen. The cameraman was explaining that he couldn’t get a good long shot on the exterior because someone had set up a fake graveyard right in the plaza.
“Kids just playing around, I guess, but it’s morbid; we’ll have to get rid of it, maybe bring in some sod to—”
“No,” Albert said.
“We’re almost ready for you,” the director assured him.
“That’s not a fake graveyard. Those aren’t fake graves. No one was playing around.”
“You’re saying those . . . those are actually . . .”
“What do you think happened here?” Albert asked in a soft voice. “What do you think this was?” Absurdly, embarrassingly, he had started to cry. “Those are kids buried there. Some of them were torn apart, you know. By coyotes. By . . . by bad people. Shot. Crushed. Like that. Some of those kids in the ground there couldn’t take it, the hunger and the fear . . . some of those kids out there had to be cut down from the ropes they used to hang themselves. Early on, when we still had any animals? I had a crew go out and hunt down cats. Cats and dogs and rats. Kill them. Other kids to skin them . . . cook them up.”
There were a dozen crew people in the McDonald’s. None spoke or moved.
Albert brushed away tears and sighed. “Yeah. So don’t mess with the graves. Okay? Other than that, we’re good to go. "
― Michael Grant , Light (Gone, #6)
145
" More than two dozen kids lined a low railing around the gazebo. They were all tied to it by a rope leash that gave them no more than a few feet of movement. Neck to rail, like tethered horses. Each of the kids was weighed down by a concrete block that encased their hands. Their eyes were hollow, their cheeks caved in.
Astrid used a word that Sam had never imagined coming from her.
“Nice language,” Drake said with a smirk. “And in front of the Pe-tard, too.”
A cafeteria tray had been placed in front of each of the prisoners. It must have been a very recent delivery because some were still licking their trays, hunched over, faces down, tongues out, licking like dogs.
“It’s the circle of freaks,” Drake said proudly, waving a hand like a showman.
In a crusty old wheelbarrow to one side, three kids were using a short-handled shovel to mix cement. It made a heavy sloshing sound. They dumped a shovelful of gravel into the mix and stirred it like lumpy gravy.
“Oh, no,” Lana said, backing away, but one of the Coates kids smashed her behind the knee with his baseball bat, and she crumpled.
“Gotta do something with unhelpful freaks,” Drake said. “Can’t have you people running around loose.” He must have seen Sam start to react because he stuck his gun against Astrid’s head. “Your call, Sam. You so much as flinch and we’ll get to see what a genius brain really looks like.”
“Hey, I got no powers, man,” Quinn said.
“This is sick, Drake. Like you’re sick,” Astrid said. “I can’t even reason with you because you’re just too damaged, too hopelessly messed up.”
“Shut up. "
― Michael Grant
150
" He’s becoming useless. Worse than useless,” Sam said. Then, relenting, he said, “We’ll get past it.”
“You mean you and Quinn?”
“Yeah.”
Astrid considered just keeping her mouth shut, not pushing it. But this was a talk she needed to have with Sam sooner or later. “I don’t think he’s going to get over it.”
“You don’t know him that well.”
“He’s jealous of you.”
“Well, of course I am so terribly handsome,” Sam said, straining to make a joke of it.
“He’s one kind of person, you’re another. When life is going along normally, you’re sort of the same. But when life turns strange and scary, when there’s a crisis, suddenly you’re completely different people. It’s not Quinn’s fault, really, but he’s not brave. He’s not strong. You are. "
― Michael Grant
151
" Today, each of you will make a decision,” Caine said. “To go with Sam, or to stay here. I won’t try to stop anyone, and I won’t hold it against anyone.” He placed his hand over his heart. “For those who choose to stay, let me be very clear: I will be in charge. Not as a mayor, but as a king. My word will be law. My decisions will be final.”
That caused some murmuring, most of it unhappy.
“But I’ll also do everything I can to leave each of you alone. Quinn, if he chooses to stay, can still fish. Albert, if he chooses to stay, will still run his business. Freaks and normals will be treated equally.”
He seemed about to add something else but caught himself after a sidelong look at Toto.
The silence lengthened and Sam knew it was time for him to speak. In the past he’d always had Astrid at his side for things like this. He was not much of a speaker. And in any case, he didn’t have much to say.
“Anyone who goes with me has a vote in how we do stuff. I guess I’ll be more or less in charge, but we’ll probably choose some other people, create a council like . . . Well, hopefully better than we had before. And, um . . .” He was tempted to laugh at his own pitiful performance. “Look, people, if you want someone, some . . . king, good grief, to tell you what to do, stay here. If you want to make more of your own decisions, well, come with me.”
He hadn’t said enough to even cause Toto to comment.
“You know which side I’m on, people,” Brianna yelled. “Sam’s been carrying the load since day one.”
“It was Caine that saved us,” a voice cried out. “Where was Sam?”
The crowd seemed undecided. Caine was beaming confidence, but Sam noticed that his jaw clenched, his smile was forced, and he was worried. "
― Michael Grant , Plague (Gone, #4)
152
" Um, people.”
It wasn’t hard to get their attention. They gathered around. Even the littlest ones toned down their giggling, at least a bit.
“First of all, thanks to Albert and his helpers for this meal. Let’s give it up for the true Mac Daddy.”
A round of hearty applause and some laughter, and Albert waved sheepishly. He frowned a little too, obviously conflicted about the use of the “Mac” prefix in a way that was not approved in the McDonald’s manual.
“And we have to mention Lana and Dahra, because without them, there would be a lot fewer of us here.”
Now the applause was almost reverential.
“Our first Thanksgiving in the FAYZ,” Sam said when the applause died down.
“Hope it’s our last,” someone shouted.
“Yeah. You got that right,” Sam agreed. “But we’re here. We’re here in this place we never wanted to be. And we’re scared. And I’m not going to lie and tell you that from here on, it will all be easy. It won’t be. It will be hard. And we’ll be scared some more, I guess. And sad. And lonely. Some terrible things have happened. Some terrible things…” For a moment, he lost his way. But then he stood up straighter again. “But, still, we are grateful, and we give thanks to God, if you believe in Him, or to fate, or to just ourselves, all of us here.”
“To you, Sam,” someone shouted.
“No, no, no.” He waved that off. “No. We give thanks to the nineteen kids who are buried right there.” He pointed at the six rows of three, plus the one who started a seventh row. Neat hand-painted wooden tombstones bore the names of Bette and too many others.
“And we give thanks to the heroes who are standing around here right now eating turkey. Too many names to mention, and they’d all just be embarrassed, anyway, but we all know them.”
There was a wave of loud, sustained applause, and many faces turned toward Edilio and Dekka, Taylor and Brianna, and some toward Quinn.
“We all hope this will end. We all hope we’ll soon be back in the world with people we love. But right now, we’re here. We’re in the FAYZ. And what we’re going to do is work together, and look out for each other, and help each other.” People nodded, some high-fived.
“Most of us are from Perdido Beach. Some are from Coates. Some of us are…well, a little strange.” A few titters. “And some of us are not. But we’re all here now, we’re all in it together. We’re going to survive. If this is our world now…I mean, it is our world now. It is our world. So, let’s make it a good one.”
He stepped down in silence.
Then someone started clapping rhythmically and saying, “Sam, Sam, Sam.” Others joined in, and soon every person in the plaza, even some of the prees, was chanting his name. "
― Michael Grant
154
" Sam,” Astrid yelled. “Quick.”
Sam thought he was too far gone to respond, but he somehow started his feet moving again and went up to where Little Pete was standing and Astrid kneeling.
There was a girl lying in the dirt. Her clothing was a mess, her black hair ratty. She was Asian, pretty without being beautiful, and little more than skin and bones. But the first thing they noticed was that her forearms ended in a solid concrete block.
Astrid made a quick sign of the cross and pressed two fingers against the girl’s neck. “Lana,” Astrid cried.
Lana sized up the situation quickly. “I don’t see any injuries. I think maybe she’s starving or else sick in some other way.”
“What’s she doing out here?” Edilio wondered. “Oh, man, what did someone do to her hands?”
“I can’t heal hunger,” Lana said. “I tried it on myself when I was with the pack. Didn’t work.”
Edilio untwisted the cap from his water bottle, knelt, and carefully drizzled water across the girl’s cheek so that a few drops curled into her mouth.
“Look, she’s swallowing.”
Edilio broke a tiny bite from one of the PowerBars and placed it gently into the girl’s mouth. After a second the girl’s mouth began to move, to chew.
“There’s a road over there,” Sam said. “I think so, anyway. A dirt road, I think.”
“Someone drove by and dumped her here,” Astrid agreed.
Sam pointed at the dirt. “You can see how she dragged that block.”
“Some sick stuff going on,” Edilio muttered angrily. “Who would do something like this? "
― Michael Grant
156
" No offense, Sam, but you’re going off the road. Off the road! Sam! You’re going off the road!”
“No, I’m not; shut up,” Sam snapped as he guided the huge truck back onto the road, narrowly avoiding overturning in the ditch.
“This is how I’m going to die,” Jack said. “Crammed in like this in a ditch.”
“Oh, please,” Sam said. “You’re strong enough to tear your way out even if we did crash.”
“Do me a favor and rescue me, too, "
― Michael Grant , Fear (Gone, #5)
157
" Albert, I don’t know how long we can keep Sam involved at all,” she said.
“You’re upset,” Albert replied.
“Yes, I’m upset. But that’s not the point. Sam is out of control. If we’re ever going to have a working system we may have to find someone else to play the role of savior.”
Albert sighed. “Astrid, we don’t know what’s out there in the night. And maybe you’re right that Sam is out of control. But me? I’m really glad it’s him out there getting ready to face whatever it is.”
Albert picked up his omnipresent notebook and left.
To a now empty, silent room, Astrid said, “Don’t die, Sam. Don’t die. "
― Michael Grant , Lies (Gone, #3)
158
" Don’t jump to—”
“I’m not,” Dekka said. “But if that’s what it is, if it’s those things, I’m going to ask you to take care of me.”
“We’ve been over this,” Sam said, pulling his hand away.
“If I tell you it’s time, you do it, okay, Sam?”
He couldn’t answer.
“I’m not afraid to die,” Dekka said. "
― Michael Grant , Plague (Gone, #4)
