Gone Series Complete Collection (34 page)

“Nah. We couldn’t. We couldn’t just hide out in the woods eating dehydrated camping food. We can’t just hide.”

Astrid’s lip trembled and she brushed at a tear just forming.

“We have to go back. At least, I do. I have to stand up.”

As if to illustrate the point, Sam stood up. He took Astrid’s hand and drew her after him. Together they walked back to the others.

“Edilio. Quinn. I have made a lot of mistakes. And maybe I’m making one now, too. But I’m tired of avoiding a fight. And I’m tired of trying to run away. I’m very, very worried I’m going to get you all killed. So you guys all have to decide for yourselves whether you want to go with me. But I have to go back to Perdido Beach.”

“We’re going to fight Caine?” Quinn asked in alarm.

“About time,” Edilio said.

“Welcome to McDonald’s,” Albert said. “How may I help you?”

“Hey, Albert,” Mary said. She looked up at the menu, which had a number of items covered over with taped-on black construction paper. Salads had disappeared quickly. Milk shakes were gone because the machine had broken down.

Albert waited patiently and smiled at the little girl with Mary. Mary noticed and said, “Oh, I’m sorry, I should introduce you. This is Isabella. Isabella, this is Albert.”

“Welcome to McDonald’s,” Albert said.

“Isabella is new. A search team just found her and brought her in.”

“My mom and dad are gone,” Isabella said.

“I know. My parents are gone, too,” Albert replied.

“I guess a Big Mac and a Biggie fries for me,” Mary said. “And a kid’s meal for Isabella.”

“Chicken nuggets or hamburger?”

“Nuggets.”

“And would you like that Big Mac with a bagel bun, an English muffin bun, or on a waffle?”

“Waffle?”

Albert shrugged. “Sorry, Mary, but there’s no fresh bread to be found anywhere. I’m using anything frozen I can get for buns. And of course there’s no lettuce, but you know that.”

“Still have special sauce?”

“I have about fifty gallons of Big Mac sauce. And as far as pickles, I’m good forever. Let me get your order started. I’d go with the bagel bun, if I was you.”

“Bagel, then.”

Albert dropped a fresh basket of fries into hot oil. Then an order of nuggets in a second basket. He punched both timers. He moved with ease to the grill and slapped three patties down.

He laid out the bagel, squirted on some sauce, sprinkled onions, placed two pickle chips in the center of the bagel top.

He waited and watched Mary trying to cheer Isabella up in the dining area. The little girl was solemn and seemed on the edge of tears.

Albert flipped the burgers and settled the burger press in place to speed cooking.

The fry timer went off. He lifted the basket, shook it to throw off extra oil, and tossed the fries into the bin. A quick pass with the salt shaker. Then up came the nuggets.

Albert enjoyed the balletic moves he had practiced and perfected over the last—how many days had it been? Eight? Nine? Nine days running the McDonald’s.

“Cool,” Albert said with quiet satisfaction.

Since the incident everyone now referred to as “Albert’s Cat,” Albert had stayed in, or at least close to, the McDonald’s. There were no supernatural, teleporting cats in the McDonald’s.

He assembled the order onto two trays and carried them out to the only occupied table.

“Thanks,” Mary said gratefully.

“We ran out of our regular promo,” Albert said. “But I got some toys, you know, little stuff from Ralph’s or whatever. So there is a toy in the Happy Meal. Just not the regular one.”

Isabella pulled a tiny plastic doll with bright pink hair from her bag. She did not smile. But she did hold on to the doll.

“So, how long can you keep this place open?” Mary asked.

“Well, I have lots of burger patties. The day of the FAYZ there was a delivery truck coming through. You must have seen it plowed into that old house up behind the muffler place, right? Anyway, when I got there the engine was still running, so the cooling unit was still on. I have my walk-in packed. Plus I have burgers stashed in freezers all over town.” He nodded in satisfaction. “I have sixteen thousand, two hundred and eighty patties—including Quarter Pounders. I’m selling about two hundred and fifty a day. So I’m good for about two months, give or take. Fries will run out sooner.”

“Then what?”

Albert hesitated, like he wasn’t sure if he should get into it, but then, glad to have someone to share his worries with, he said, “Look, we can’t live forever on the food we have. I mean, okay, we have all the food here, all the food at the grocery store, and a bunch of food in all the different houses, right?”

“That’s a lot of food. Sit with us, Albert.”

He was uncomfortable doing so. “It says in the manual we don’t sit down with customers. But I guess I could take a break and sit at this next table.”

Mary smiled. “You’re into this.”

Albert nodded. “When the FAYZ comes down I want the district manager to come here and say, ‘Wow, good job, Albert.’”

“It’s more than a good job. You make people think maybe there’s some hope, you know?”

“Thanks, Mary, that’s cool of you to say that.” He thought it was the nicest thing anyone had ever said to him and it gave him a nice glow. Lots of kids just came in and complained that he didn’t have exactly what they wanted.

“But you’re worried about what happens next?” Mary prompted.

“There’s a lot of food now. But already there are shortages. You almost can’t find a candy bar or chips anymore. Sodas will run out before too much longer. And eventually we’ll be out of everything.”

“How long is eventually?”

“I don’t know. But pretty soon people will be fighting over food. We’re using food up. We’re not growing more food or making or creating new things.”

Mary had taken two bites of the Big Mac. “Does Caine know this?”

“I’ve told him. But he’s got his mind on other things.”

“This is kind of a major problem,” Mary said.

Albert didn’t want to talk about sad things, not while someone was enjoying his food. But Mary was the one asking, and as far as Albert was concerned, Mary was a saint just like the ones in the church. He shrugged and said, “I’m just trying to do my thing here.”

“Can we grow food?” Mary wondered aloud.

“I guess that’s up to Caine or . . . whoever,” Albert said cautiously.

Mary nodded. “You know what, Albert? I don’t really care who is running things, but I have to look out for my kids.”

“And I have this place,” Albert agreed.

“And Dahra has the hospital,” Mary added. “And Sam used to have the fire station.”

“Yeah.”

It was a weird moment for Albert. He admired Mary, he thought she was the most beautiful person he’d ever known aside from his mom, and he wanted to trust Mary. But he didn’t know for sure that he could. He was troubled by what was going on in Perdido Beach. But what if Mary felt differently? What if she told Drake that Albert was complaining, maybe without even meaning to?

Drake could order him to shut down. And Albert didn’t know what he would do with himself if he lost the restaurant. The work had kept him from thinking much about what had happened. And for the first time in his life, Albert was an important person. At school he was just another kid. Now he was Albert Hillsborough: businessman.

All things considered, Albert would want Caine and Drake gone. But the only other person who might step up and run things was off somewhere, a hunted person.

“How’s the burger?” he asked Mary.

“You know what?” She smiled and licked ketchup from her finger. “I think I actually like it better with the bagel bun.”

THIRTY-ONE

100
HOURS
, 13
MINUTES

THEY DROVE
WITH
maddening slowness from Perdido Beach to Coates. Panda at the wheel, even more nervous than usual, terrified, it seemed to Jack. It was dark, and Panda kept saying he had never driven in the dark. It had taken him five fumbling minutes just to find the lights and figure them out.

Caine sat beside him chewing on his thumb, quiet, but preoccupied. He had cross-examined Jack repeatedly on the procedure for recording Andrew’s big exit. Somehow what had started out as Caine’s brainstorm had become Jack’s responsibility. If it worked then Caine would reclaim it as his own. But if it failed, Jack would no doubt take the blame.

Diana, who sat beside Jack, for once had little to say. Jack wondered if she dreaded the return to Coates as much as he did.

Jack was wedged in between Diana and Drake. Drake was holding a handgun, an automatic, more gray than black, in his lap.

Jack had never seen a gun up close. He had certainly never seen a gun in the hands of a boy he thought was probably crazy.

Drake could not leave the gun alone. He kept thumbing the safety on and off. He rolled down the window and aimed it at stop signs as they passed, but did not fire it.

“You know how to shoot that thing? Or are you going to shoot yourself in the foot?” Diana finally asked.

“He’s not going to shoot it,” Caine snapped before Drake could answer. “It’s just a prop. We want Andrew to behave. And you know how difficult he can be. The gun keeps people calmed down.”

“Yeah, I know, it makes me feel really calm,” Diana said.

“Shut up, Diana,” Drake said.

Diana laughed in her drawly way and fell silent again.

Jack was sweating, although it was a cool evening and Caine had the windows down. Jack felt like he might throw up. He’d considered saying he was too sick to go, but he knew Caine wouldn’t let him stay home. He’d felt worse and worse all day as he raced to assemble the equipment they would need. He had spent the day with Drake, searching homes for cameras and tripods. Jack had already had enough of Drake Merwin to last him forever.

They neared the gate. It was an impressive thing, two sides of filigreed wrought iron, twenty feet high and hanging from pillars of stone that were even taller. The Coates motto,
Ad augusta, per angusta
, was on two gold-tinged plaques that came together when the gates were closed.

“Honk the horn. Whoever’s on gate must be asleep,” Caine ordered.

Panda tapped the horn. When there was no response, he leaned on it. The sound was flat, swallowed up by the trees.

“Drake,” Caine said.

Drake climbed out, gun in hand, and advanced to the gate. He swung it open and stepped through to the stone guardhouse. He emerged a few seconds later and climbed back into the car.

“No one in the guardhouse.”

Caine frowned in the rearview mirror. “That’s not like Benno. Benno follows orders.”

Benno was the thug Caine had left in charge at Coates. Jack had never liked the boy—no one did—but Caine was right: Benno was the kind of bully who did what the bigger bullies told him to do. He didn’t make his own judgments. And he wasn’t stupid enough to think he could override Caine’s orders.

“Something isn’t right,” Panda said.

“Everything isn’t right, Panda,” Diana said.

Panda pulled through the gate. It was another quarter mile to the school. They drove in silence. Panda pulled the car up to the end of the driveway, to the turnaround in front of the main building.

Lights were on in every window. One of the second-floor windows had been blown out so that an entire classroom could be clearly seen.

Desks were piled against one wall. The chalkboard was cracked and scarred. All the drawings and posters and exhortations that had once adorned the classroom walls were charred, curled by heat. A massive slab of brick and lathe wall lay on the lawn.

“Well, that’s not good,” Diana drawled.

“Who has the power to do that?” Caine demanded angrily.

“The kid we’re here to see,” Diana said. “Although that’s a lot of damage for a three bar.”

“Benno’s lost control up here,” Drake commented. “I told you Benno was a wimp.”

“Come on,” Caine said and stepped out onto gravel, followed by the rest of them. “Go up the stairs, Panda, open the door. Let’s see what’s waiting for us.”

“No way,” Panda said, his voice shaky.

“Coward,” Caine said. He raised his hands, palms out, and suddenly Panda was flying through the air. He slammed into the door and fell in a heap. Panda rose slowly, then he fell down again. “My leg is hurt. I can’t move it.”

At that moment the front door opened, smacking Panda where he lay. Light spilled out from inside and Jack saw half a dozen shapes, shapes like apes walking on all fours, pushing their way out, crying, howling, terrified.

They tumbled down the steps. Each carrying a rough-hewn cement block that they dragged as they ran. But of course Jack knew they weren’t carrying the blocks. Their hands were encased in cement.

Jack had tried not to think about it. He had tried to put it out of his mind, this crude, cruel solution to the problem of disloyal kids with powers. But since discovering his own power he had thought of little else.

They had discovered early on that the supernatural powers seemed to be focused through the hands.

No, Jack corrected himself harshly,
they
hadn’t discovered it,
he
had discovered it. He had observed it. And he had told Caine about it. And Caine had ordered Drake to do this horrible thing.

“Remember who owns you,” Diana whispered in Jack’s ear.

“Feed us! Feed us! We need food!” the concrete-blocked victims cried.

It was a chorus of weak, desperate voices, so raw with need that Jack panicked. He couldn’t be here. He couldn’t be with these people. He turned away, but Drake grabbed his shoulder and yanked him forward.

No escape.

The freaks cried for food.

A girl named Taylor, her arms red and raw above the block, face streaked with filth, stinking of her own bodily fluids, collapsed at Jack’s feet. “Jack,” she croaked. “They’re starving us. Benno was feeding us, but he disappeared. We haven’t eaten. . . . Please, Jack.”

Jack doubled over and threw up in the gravel.