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Gone

Michael Grant


  Sam grabbed a cart and Astrid lifted Little Pete into the seat.

  The flowers in the little florist’s corner were all looking tired. A dozen Mylar balloons with “Happy Birthday” or Thanksgiving messages on them still floated but were losing altitude.

  “Maybe I should look for a turkey,” Astrid said, looking at the display of Thanksgiving-related food: pumpkin pie mix, mincemeat, cranberry sauce, turkey basters, stuffing.

  “You know how to cook a turkey?”

  “I can find instructions online.” She sighed. “Or, not. Maybe they have a cookbook around.”

  “I guess no cranberry sauce.”

  “Nothing canned.”

  Sam walked ahead into the produce section, then stopped, realizing Astrid was still staring at the seasonal display. She was crying.

  “Hey, what’s the matter?”

  Astrid brushed at her tears, but more came. “Grocery shopping was always something the three of us did, my mom and Petey and me. It was a time every week when we could talk. You know, we’d shop kind of slowly and discuss what to eat and talk about other stuff, too. Just casually. I’ve never been in here without my mom before.”

  “Me neither.”

  “It feels weird. It looks the same, but it’s not.”

  “Nothing’s the same anymore,” Sam said. “But people still need to eat.”

  That earned a reluctant smile from Astrid. “Okay. Let’s shop.”

  They picked up lettuce and carrots and potatoes. Sam went behind the counter to lift a pair of steaks and wrap them up in paper. Flies were thick on some cuts of meat that had been left out when the butchers disappeared. But the meat from inside the case seemed untouched.

  “Anything else, ma’am?” he asked.

  “Well, since no one else is taking them, I might as well take that roast.”

  Sam leaned down to look in the display. “Okay, I give up. Which one is a roast?”

  “The big thing there.” She tapped the glass. “I can put it in the freezer.”

  “Of course. The roast.” Sam lifted it out and slapped it down on a sheet of waxed butcher’s paper. “You realize it’s, like, twelve dollars a pound or whatever?”

  “Put it on my tab.”

  They moved on to the dairy case. And there was Panda, standing nervously and holding his bat at the ready.

  “You again?” Sam snapped.

  Panda didn’t answer.

  Astrid screamed.

  Sam turned, saw just a flash of Drake Merwin before something hit the side of his head. He staggered into a shelf of Parmesan cheese, knocking the green bottles everywhere.

  He saw a bat swinging, tried to block it, but his head was swimming and his eyes would not focus.

  His knees collapsed and he hit the floor.

  As if from far off he saw kids moving quickly, four or five, maybe. Two grabbed Astrid and held her hands behind her.

  There was a girl’s voice, one Sam didn’t recognize until he heard Panda say, “Diana.”

  “Bag his hands,” Diana said.

  Sam resisted but he didn’t have control of his muscles. Something went over his left hand, then his right. Strong fingers held him securely.

  When he could focus at last he stared stupidly at what had been done. His wrists were lashed together with a plastic tie. And around each hand was a deflated Mylar balloon, duct-taped in place.

  Diana Ladris knelt down, bringing her face to his level. “It’s Mylar. It’s a reflective surface. So I wouldn’t try to turn on your mojo, Sam: you’d fry your own hands.”

  “What are you doing?” Sam slurred.

  “Your brother wants to have a nice conversation with you.”

  That made no sense and Sam wasn’t sure he’d heard right. The only person he ever called “brother” was Quinn. “Let Astrid go,” Sam said.

  Drake moved past Diana and kicked Sam onto his back, legs twisted beneath him. Drake stood over him and pushed the end of his bat down against Sam’s Adam’s apple. The same move he had used on Orc the night before. “If you’re a good little boy, we’ll be nice to your girlfriend and her retarded brother. If you cause trouble, I’ll mess her up.”

  Little Pete had begun his windup to a full howl.

  “Shut that kid up or I’ll shut him up for you,” Drake snapped at Astrid. Then, to Howard, Panda, and the others, he said, “Grab the big hero here and throw him in a grocery cart.”

  Sam was lifted and dropped into a cart.

  Howard was the one pushing. “Sammy, Sammy, Sammy. School Bus Sam is Grocery Cart Sam now, huh?”

  Drake leaned over and the last thing Sam saw was a strip of duct tape coming down over his eyes.

  They pushed him down the highway in the grocery cart. They pushed him through town. He couldn’t see but he could feel the bumps. And he could hear the laughter and taunts of Howard and Panda.

  Sam tried to make sense of the route, tried to figure out where they were going. After what seemed like a long time he could feel that they were going uphill.

  Howard began to complain. “Man, somebody help me push this thing. Yo, Freddie, man, help me out.”

  The cart accelerated for a while, then slowed again. Sam could hear heavy breathing.

  “Get some of these people just standing around,” Freddie demanded.

  “Yeah. Hey, you: come here and help me push this cart.”

  “No, man. No way.”

  Quinn. Sam’s heart leaped. Quinn would help.

  The cart came to a stop.

  Howard said, “What, you afraid your boy here will find out what you’ve been up to?”

  “Shut up, man,” Quinn said.

  “Sammy, who do you think gave us the heads-up you were going shopping with Astrid? Huh?”

  “Shut up, Howard,” Quinn said, sounding desperate.

  “Who do you think told us about your powers, Sam?”

  “I didn’t know they were going to do this,” Quinn said. “I didn’t know, brah.”

  Sam found he wasn’t even surprised. But still, Quinn’s betrayal hurt more than anything Drake had done to him. He wanted to yell at Quinn. He wanted to call him a Judas. But yelling, shouting, crying would make him seem weak.

  “I didn’t know, brother, I’m telling you the truth,” Quinn said.

  “Yeah. You thought maybe we just wanted to hold a meeting of the Sam Temple fan club,” Howard said, and laughed at his own wit. “Now grab on and push.”

  The cart started moving again.

  Sam felt sick inside. Quinn had betrayed him. Astrid was with Drake and Diana. And there was nothing he could do.

  It seemed to take forever. But finally they stopped.

  Without warning the cart tipped over and Sam landed on pavement. He rolled over onto his hands and knees and tried to surreptitiously scrape the Mylar against the concrete.

  The kick to his ribs knocked the wind out of him.

  “Hey,” Quinn yelled. “You don’t have to be kicking him.”

  Hands grabbed Sam by the arms and then he heard Orc’s voice. “You make any trouble, I’ll beat you down.”

  They marched him, stumbling, up a set of steps. There was a door, large from the sound of it. Then their feet echoed on polished linoleum.

  They paused. Another door opened. Sam was marched through. Orc kicked him in the back of the knees and he fell facedown.

  Orc straddled his back, grabbed his hair, and pulled his head back sharply.

  “Take the tape off,” a voice commanded.

  Howard picked at the edge of the tape, got a hold, and ripped it off, taking part of Sam’s eyebrows with it.

  Sam recognized his surroundings immediately. The school gym.

  He was on the polished wood floor with Caine standing calmly before him, arms crossed, gloating.

  “Hey, Sam,” Caine said.

  Sam swiveled his head to left and right. Orc, Panda, Howard, Freddie, and Chaz all armed with baseball bats. Quinn tried to shrink out of sight.

  �
��You have a lot of guys, Caine. I must be dangerous.”

  Caine nodded thoughtfully. “I like to be careful. Of course, Drake has your girlfriend. So if I was you, I wouldn’t try to cause any trouble. Drake is a violent, disturbed boy.”

  Howard laughed.

  “Let him up,” Caine ordered.

  Orc climbed off Sam’s back but not without digging a knee into his ribs first. Sam stood, shaky, but glad to be off the floor.

  He studied Caine closely. They’d met at the plaza when Caine had first arrived. Since then, Sam had seen Caine only in passing.

  Caine studied him just as closely.

  “What is it you want with me?” Sam asked.

  Caine started to chew at his thumb, then put his hands down by his side so that he looked almost as if he were standing at attention. “I wish there was some way we could be friends, Sam.”

  “I can see you’re dying to be my new homey.”

  Caine laughed. “See? You have a sense of humor. That wouldn’t have come from your mother. She never seemed very funny to me. Maybe it came from your father?”

  “I wouldn’t know.”

  “No? Why not?”

  “You have my mother’s laptop. You have all her personal papers. And you have Quinn answering questions about me. So I’m guessing you already know the answer.”

  Caine nodded. “Yes. Your father disappeared soon after you were born. I guess he wasn’t too impressed with you, huh?” Caine laughed at his own joke, and some of his toadies joined in halfheartedly, not really getting it. “Well, don’t feel bad. As it happens, my biological father disappeared, too. And my mother.”

  Sam didn’t answer. His hands were numb from the plastic tie. He was scared but determined not to show it.

  “You’re not supposed to wear street shoes on the gym floor,” Sam said.

  “So, your father disappears and you don’t even want to know why?” Caine asked. “Interesting. Me, I’ve always wanted to know who my real parents were.”

  “Let me guess: you’re secretly a wizard who was raised by muggles.”

  Caine’s smile was cold. He raised his hand, palm out. An invisible fist hit Sam in the face. He staggered back. He barely stopped himself from falling, but his head was reeling. Blood leaked from his nose.

  “Yeah. Kind of,” Caine said.

  He extended both hands and Sam felt himself rising off the floor.

  Caine raised him about three feet, then laced his fingers together and Sam fell hard.

  Sam picked himself up slowly. His left leg was wobbly. His ankle felt sprained.

  “We have a system for measuring the power,” Caine said. “Diana came up with it, actually. She can read people if she holds their hands, she can tell how much they have. She describes it as being like a cell phone signal. One bar, two bars, three bars. You know what I am?”

  “Crazy?” Sam spit out the blood that ran down into his mouth.

  “Four bars, Sam. I’m the only one she’s ever read who has four bars. I could pick you up, fly you into the ceiling, or slam you against a wall.” He illustrated his point with hand motions that made it look as if he were doing a hula dance.

  “You could get work with a circus,” Sam said brightly.

  “Oooh, tough guy.” Caine seemed annoyed that Sam hadn’t responded with awe.

  “Look, Caine, my hands are tied, you’ve got five of your thugs standing around me with baseball bats, and I’m supposed to be terrified because you can do magic tricks?” Sam made the count “five” rather than “six.” He wasn’t about to count Quinn as anything.

  Caine registered the omission and shot a suspicious glance at Quinn. Quinn still looked like a kid who didn’t know where to stand or what to do with himself.

  “And one of those five,” Sam said, “is a murderer. A murderer and a bunch of cowards. That’s your posse, Caine.”

  Caine’s eyes went wide. He bared his teeth, furious, and suddenly Sam was flying across the room.

  Flying like he’d been shot out of a catapult.

  The gym spun around him.

  He hit the basketball hoop hard, head smashing into the glass. He hung for a moment from the hoop and then fell onto his back.

  He was dragged by unseen hands of terrifying strength, like he’d been swept back by a tornado. He came to rest at Caine’s feet.

  He was slow getting back up this time. The flow from his nose had been joined by a trickle of blood from his forehead.

  “Several of us developed strange powers, starting a few months ago,” Caine said conversationally. “We were like a secret club. Frederico, Andrew, Dekka, Brianna, some others. We worked together to develop them. Encouraged each other. See, that’s the difference between Coates people and you townies. In a boarding school it’s hard to keep secrets. But soon it became clear that my powers were of a whole different order. What I just did to you? No one else could do that.”

  “Yeah, that was cool,” Sam said with shaky defiance. “Can you do it again?”

  “He’s baiting you.” It was Diana coming into the room and obviously not happy with what she was seeing.

  “He’s trying to prove he’s tough,” Caine snapped.

  “Yes. And he’s proved it. Move on.”

  “Watch how you talk to me, Diana,” Caine grated.

  Diana sauntered over to stand beside Caine. She crossed her arms over her chest and shook her head at Sam in mock dismay. “Well, you look pretty bad, Sam.”

  “He’ll look worse,” Caine threatened.

  Diana sighed. “Here’s the deal, Sam. Caine wants some answers from you.”

  “Why not ask Quinn?”

  “Because he doesn’t know the answers, but you do, so here’s the thing: if you don’t answer Fearless Leader’s questions, Drake is going to start beating on Astrid. And just so you know: Drake is sick in the head. I’m not saying that to scare you, I’m saying it because it’s true. I’m a bad girl, Caine has delusions of grandeur, but Drake is flat-out sick in the head. He could kill her, Sam. And he’s going to start up in five minutes unless I go back and tell him not to. So, tick-tock.”

  Sam swallowed blood and bile. “What questions?”

  Diana rolled her eyes and turned to Caine. “See how easy that was?”

  Amazingly, Caine took it from Diana. No threats, no attack on her, just seething and resentment and acceptance.

  He’s in love with her, Sam realized with a shock. The times he had seen them together there had never been any outward sign of affection, but there was no other possible answer.

  Caine said, “Tell me about your father.”

  Sam shrugged, a painful move that made him wince. “He wasn’t a part of my life. All I know is, my mom didn’t like talking about him.”

  “Your mother. Nurse Temple.”

  “Yeah.”

  “The name on your birth certificate, where it has father’s name? It says ‘Taegan Smith.’”

  “Okay.”

  “Taegan. A very unusual name. Very rare.”

  “So what?”

  “Whereas ‘Smith’ is really common. It’s a name a man might use who wanted to hide his real name.”

  “Look, I’m answering your questions, let Astrid go.”

  “Taegan,” Caine repeated. “Right there on the birth certificate. Mother: Constance Temple. Father: Taegan Smith. Date of birth: November the twenty-second. Time of birth: ten twelve P.M. Sierra Vista Regional Medical.”

  “So now you can do my horoscope.”

  “You’re not interested in any of this?”

  Sam sighed. “I’m interested in what’s going on. Why the FAYZ happened. How we make it stop, or else how we escape from it. On the big list of things to worry about, my biological father, who I never knew, who wasn’t anything to me, is way down that list.”

  “You bug out in five days, Sam. Interested in that?”

  “Let Astrid go.”

  Diana said, “Come on, Caine. Get on with it.”

  Caine smirk
ed. “I’m very interested in the question of disappearing. You know why? Because I don’t want to die. And I don’t want to suddenly find myself back in the world. I like it here in the FAYZ.”

  “Is that what you think happens? We jump back into the world?”

  “I’m asking the questions,” Caine snapped.

  “Let Astrid go.”

  “The point is,” Caine continued, “you and I share something in common, Sam. We were born just three minutes apart.”

  Sam felt a tingle go up his spine.

  “Three minutes,” Caine said, moving closer. “You go first. And then me.”

  “No,” Sam said. “It can’t be.”

  “It can,” Caine said. “It is. And you are…brother.”

  The door burst open. Drake Merwin barreled into the room. He was looking for something. “Is she here?”

  “Who?” Diana demanded.

  “Who do you think? The blonde and her retard brother.”

  “You let her get away?” Caine demanded, forgetting Sam for the moment.

  “I didn’t let her get away. They were in the room with me. The girl was pissing me off so I smacked her. Then they disappeared. Gone.”

  Caine shot a murderous look at Diana. Diana said, “No. She was months away from turning fifteen. And, anyway, her little brother is four.”

  “Then how?” Caine furrowed his brow. “Can it be the power?”

  Diana shook her head. “I read Astrid again on the way here. She’s barely at two bars. No way. Two people teleporting?”

  The color drained from Caine’s face. “The retard?”

  “He’s autistic, he’s like in his own world,” Diana protested.

  “Did you read him?”

  “He’s a little autistic kid, why would I read him?”

  Caine turned to Sam. “What do you know about this?” He raised his hand, a threat. His face inches from Sam’s, he screamed, “What do you know?”

  “Well. I know that I enjoy seeing you scared, Caine.”

  The invisible fist sent Sam sprawling on his back.

  Diana, for the first time, looked worried. Her usual smirk was gone. “The only time we saw teleporting was Taylor up at Coates. And she could only go across a room. She was a three. If this kid can teleport himself and his sister through walls…”