Orc lowered the weight. The bar rested on Sam’s bound wrists, which pressed down against his Adam’s apple. He pushed upward with all his strength, but on his best day he couldn’t lift two hundred pounds. All he could do was keep up enough upward pressure to keep breathing.
Orc laughed and said, “Come on, man, we better get back to Caine before we miss more fun.”
Howard followed Orc but paused at the door. “It’s kind of weird, Sam. That first night, man, I thought, ‘old School Bus Sam, he’s going to be running things soon if we don’t look out.’ Everyone was looking to you. You know that. But no, you were too cool to play it that way. Off you go without a word to anyone, off with Astrid.” He laughed. “Of course, she is hot, isn’t she? And now Caine’s running the FAYZ and Drake’s going to take out your girlfriend.”
Sam struggled against the weight, but there was no way to lift it. Even if he’d had a good angle on it, he could not have hefted it.
But Howard, for all his cleverness, had overlooked one thing: in this position, Sam could reach the Mylar with his teeth.
He tried to rip at the fabric, but it was slow work and he had no time. He had no doubt that Little Pete had teleported himself and Astrid to their home. Drake would find them there.
Sam tried to get the Mylar between his teeth, but it was slippery and tough. And when he focused on that, he lost focus on keeping the weight off his neck.
The bar pressed his knuckles into his throat. He pushed upward, but already his arms were cramping. His muscles were weakening.
He could tear at the Mylar and free his hands, or he could keep the bar from choking him. It was impossible to do both.
And even if he did free his hands, so what? He wasn’t like Caine. He didn’t have control of his powers. He might tear the Mylar and then be unable to do anything.
The bar slipped lower.
He had the Mylar between his teeth.
He chewed it, trying to make a small hole he could enlarge.
By now, Drake would be out of the school and on the move. Would he have to stop somewhere first to retrieve the gun?
Astrid would know they were going to come after her. She would know it would be dangerous to stay in her house. Would she move fast enough?
And where could she go?
Sam felt the grind of tooth on tooth. He had made a hole.
But he was gasping for breath.
He barely noticed the door opening.
Quick steps on the carpet and the sound and feel of one of the weight plates sliding off the bar. Sam took a breath.
“Hang on, brah.”
Quinn slid the rest of the weights from the bar.
With quaking arms, Sam pushed the bar up off his neck.
“I didn’t know they would do this, brah, I didn’t know, man,” Quinn said. He was pale. Like he’d never ever seen the sun. “You gotta believe me, Sam.” He was working at the ropes. Sam sat up.
Quinn was a wreck. He had been crying, and his eyes were red and puffy.
“Honest to God, I didn’t know.”
“I have to get to Astrid before Drake does,” Sam said.
“I know. I know. This is messed up.”
With his legs free, Sam stood. “Is this another trick? Are they going to follow me to Astrid?”
“No, man. They’ll beat me up if they find out I let you go.” Quinn spread his hands, pleading. “You have to take me with you.”
“How am I supposed to trust you, Quinn?”
“If you leave me here, what do you think Caine is going to do to me?”
Sam had no time for argument. He decided quickly. “You’d better pray Astrid doesn’t get hurt, Quinn. If you’re doing this to sell me out, you better make sure I’m dead, too.”
Quinn licked his lips nervously. “You don’t have to threaten me, brah.”
“Don’t call me brah,” Sam said. “I’m not your brother.”
TWENTY-THREE
128 HOURS, 22 MINUTES
ASTRID FELT A wave of relief followed by a far stronger wave of self-loathing. She had let Drake terrorize her. She had called Little Pete a retard.
Her hands were trembling. She had betrayed her brother. She hated him for being what he was, for being so needy, and she had betrayed him to spare herself. And now she was far more angry at herself than she had ever been at him.
But now she had to think. Quick. What to do?
Drake would catch her again. Surely Caine or that wicked creature Diana would figure out what had happened.
It would take only a few seconds for Drake to run to report to them. A few seconds more for Caine to realize what had happened. If Diana really could read the power in people, she would know it wasn’t Astrid who had teleported them. She would know it was Little Pete.
She and Little Pete had to go. Now. But where?
Somewhere Drake wouldn’t look. Somewhere Sam might look.
If he escaped.
If he was even alive.
Her brain was moving in slow motion, spinning in circles, unable to focus. She kept seeing that terrible, sick face, feeling the sharp sting of his hand, the way the heat of it lingered and joined with the hot blush of shame.
“Think, you idiot,” she berated herself. “Think. It’s all you’re good at.”
They couldn’t go through town. They couldn’t take a car—it was too late to start teaching herself to drive.
Her mind was an out-of-focus camera, turning and swirling and coming back again and again to the moment when the fear took over, when she couldn’t resist anymore, when she betrayed her brother. Over and over a loop in her head played the words “My brother is a retard.”