Zil sighed. That was Turk’s latest idea: to rename the town Sperry Beach. Make it clear for everyone that Perdido Beach now belonged to the Human Crew.
“Humans only. Freaks out,” Turk said. “We’re going to rule. Can you believe Sam didn’t come after us? They’re all scared.”
Turk could carry on like this forever, talking to himself. It was like he had to go over everything ten times. Like he was arguing with someone who wasn’t answering back.
The last part of the trip was the long trudge across the rutted fields. When they reached it there would be nice, clear, clean water, at least, even if there wasn’t any food. Emily and Brother had their own well. Not enough water to take a shower or anything because the power was off to the pump, so everything had to be pumped up by hand. But you could drink all you wanted. That was rare in dry and hungry Perdido Beach.
Sperry Beach.
Maybe. Why not?
Zil led the way up the stairs. “Emily,” he called out. “It’s us.”
He knocked on the door. This was surprising because every other time Emily had seen them coming she’d pulled her usual pop-up-behind-you freak trick. Sometimes she played with them, disappearing the house and letting them wander around like fools.
Freak. She’d get hers eventually. When Zil was done with her.
Emily opened the door.
Zil’s instincts screamed danger.
He backed away, but something stopped him. Like some invisible giant had wrapped a hand around him.
The invisible hand lifted him slightly off his feet, just enough so that his toes dragged as he levitated inside, past Emily, who stepped aside with a rueful look.
“Let me go!” Zil cried. But now he could see who had him. He fell silent. Caine sat on the couch, barely moving his hand but utterly controlling Zil.
Zil’s heart pounded. If there was any freak as dangerous as Sam, it was Caine. More dangerous. There were things Sam wouldn’t do. There was nothing Caine wouldn’t do.
“Let me go!”
Caine set Zil down gently.
“Stop yelling, huh?” Caine said wearily. “I have a headache and I’m not here to hurt you.”
“Freak!” Zil spat.
“Why, yes. Yes, I am,” Caine said. “I’m the freak who can smack you against the ceiling until you’re nothing but a skin sack full of goo.”
Zil glared hatred. Freak. Filthy, mutant freak.
“Tell your boys to come on in,” Caine said.
“What do you want, freak?”
“A conversation,” Caine said. He spread his hands, placating. “Look, you little creep, if I wanted you dead, you’d be dead. You and your little crew of losers.”
Caine had changed since the first time Zil had seen him. Gone was the smart Coates blazer, the expensive haircut, the tan, and the gym-rat body. Caine looked like a scarecrow version of himself.
“Hank. Turk. Lance. ’Toine,” Zil yelled. “Come on in.”
“Have a seat.” Caine indicated the La-Z-Boy.
Zil sat.
“So,” Caine said conversationally, “I hear you’re not a big fan of my brother, Sam.”
“The FAYZ is for humans,” Zil muttered. “Not freaks.”
“Yeah, whatever,” Caine said. For a moment he seemed to fade, to draw in on himself. Weak from hunger. Or from something else. But then the freak pulled himself together and, with visible effort, plastered on his cocky expression.
“I have a plan,” Caine said. “It involves you.”
Turk, showing more nerve than Zil would have expected, said, “The Leader makes the plans.”
“Uh-huh. Well, Leader Zil,” Caine said with only minimal sarcasm. “You’re going to like this plan. It ends with you being in total control of Perdido Beach.”
Zil sat back in the recliner. He tried to recover some of his dignity. “Okay. I’m listening.”
“Good,” Caine said. “I need some boats.”
“Boats?” Zil repeated cautiously. “Why?”
“I kind of feel like taking an ocean cruise,” Caine said.
Sam went home for lunch. Home being Astrid’s house. He still thought of it that way, as hers not his.
Actually her own house had been burned to the ground by Drake Merwin. But she seemed to take ownership of whatever house she was in. This house was home to Astrid and her brother, Little Pete, Mary and her brother, John Terrafino, and Sam. But in everybody’s mind it was Astrid’s house.
Astrid was in the backyard when he got there. Little Pete sat on the deck steps playing with a dead handheld game player. Batteries were in very short supply. At first Astrid and Sam, both of whom knew the truth about Little Pete, were scared. No one knew what Little Pete might do if he went into a complete meltdown, and one of the few things that kept Little Pete pacified was his game.
But to Sam’s surprise, the strange little boy had adapted in the oddest way imaginable: he just kept playing. Sam had looked over his shoulder and seen a blank, black screen. But there was no knowing what Little Pete saw there.
Little Pete was severely autistic. He lived in a world of his own imagining, unresponsive, only rarely speaking.
He was also far and away the most powerful person in the FAYZ. This fact was a secret, more or less. Some suspected a part of the truth. But only a few—Sam, Astrid, Edilio—really grasped the fact that Little Pete had, to some degree, at least, created the FAYZ.
Astrid was stoking a small fire in a hibachi set atop a picnic table. She had a fire extinguisher close at hand. One of the very few that had survived—kids had found them a lot of fun to play with in the early weeks of the FAYZ.