“Okay, stop goofing and just read the thing.”
“Just trying to keep a sense of humor while the world’s falling apart around us,” Sam said. “Six: we all have to help out on jobs like searching homes or whatever. Seven: we’re all supposed to pass information on any bad behavior to Drake.”
“So we’re all supposed to be informers,” Edilio said.
“Don’t worry, there’s no immigration cops, no Migra,” Quinn said. “And, anyway, if someone can figure out how to send you back to Mexico, I’ll go with you.”
“Honduras,” Edilio said. “Not Mexico. For, like, the tenth time.”
“Number eight, here it is. I’ll read it like it’s written,” Sam said. “‘People will not perform magic tricks or any other action that causes fear or worry.’”
“What’s that mean?” Quinn asked.
“It means Caine obviously knows about the power.”
“Big surprise.” Edilio nodded over his bowl of cereal. “Kids talking like it was an act of God. I always said Caine had the power. People saying Caine’s like a mago. You know, like a magician.”
Quinn said, “Nah, man, if he had the power, he wouldn’t be having Orc and Drake trying to stop people using it.”
“Sure he would, Quinn,” Sam said. “If he wanted to be the only one who had it.”
“Paranoid much, brah?”
“Number nine,” Sam continued reading. “‘We are in a state of emergency. During this crisis no one should criticize, ridicule, or hinder any of the people performing their official duties.’”
Quinn shrugged. “Well, we are having a crisis, right? If this isn’t a crisis, I don’t know what would be.”
“So we’re suddenly not allowed to say anything?” Sam was shaking his head in disbelief. The moment of attempted reconciliation was over. Sam was back to being disappointed in Quinn.
“Look, it’s like school, right?” Quinn argued. “You can’t diss the teachers. Not to their faces, anyway.”
“Then you’ll really like number ten, Quinn: ‘The sheriff may decide that the above rules are insufficient to cover some emergency situations. In those cases, the sheriff may formulate whatever rules are needed to keep order and keep people safe.’”
“‘Formulate,’” Quinn snorted. “Sounds like Astrid helped them write it.”
Sam pushed the paper away. “No. Not Astrid’s style.” He folded his hands together, placed them on the table, and announced, “This is wrong.”
Edilio’s worried look mirrored Sam’s. “Yeah, man, this ain’t right. That’s saying Caine and Drake can do whatever they want, anytime they want.”
“That’s what it comes down to,” Sam agreed. “And he’s getting people to start suspecting each other, turn against each other.”
Quinn laughed. “You don’t get it, brah. People are already suspicious. This isn’t normal times, okay? We’re cut off, we have no adults of any kind, no police or teachers or parents, and no offense, but we have some of us, like, mutating or whatever. You act like you expect everything to just go along like normal, like there is no FAYZ.”
Sam was done with his patient act. “And you’re acting like you think Bette deserved that beating. Why are you not pissed off, Quinn? Why are you okay with the idea that a girl we know, a girl who never hurt anyone, gets beat down by Orc?”
“Oh, that’s where you’re going? Like it’s my fault?” Quinn stood up and shoved his chair back. “Look, Sam, I’m not saying it’s right for her to get beat on, all right? But what do you expect? I mean, kids get picked on for wearing the wrong clothes or sucking at sports or whatever. And that’s when there are teachers and parents around. That’s just everyday life. You think now, as messed up as everything is, kids are going to be thinking, ‘Oh, Sam can shoot firebolts out of his eyeballs or whatever, okay, that’s cool?’ No, brah, that’s not the way it is.”
To Quinn’s surprise, and even more, to Sam’s, Edilio said, “He’s right. If there’s more people with, you know, like you and Bette, there’s going to be trouble. Some folks with the power, some folks without. Me, I’m used to being a second-class citizen.” He shot a dark look at Quinn, which Quinn ignored. “But other people are going to be jealous and they’re going to get scared and, anyway, they’re all weirded out, so they are going to be looking for someone to blame. In Spanish, we say cabeza de turco. It means someone you blame for all your problems.”
“Scapegoat,” Quinn translated.
Edilio nodded. “Yeah, that’s it. A scapegoat.”
Quinn spread his hands wide in an expression of aggrieved innocence. “What have I been saying? That’s the way it is: you’re different, you get to be a victim. You try and act all superior, Sam, all righteous, but you haven’t even figured it out yet. Worst that happened to us back then was we get in trouble, get suspended, get an ‘F’ or whatever. Screw up now and it’s a baseball bat up alongside your head. There were always bullies, but the adults were still in charge. Now? Now the bullies rule. Different game, brother, a whole different game. We play by the bully rules now.”
SEVENTEEN
169 HOURS, 18 MINUTES
“I NEED MORE pills,” Cookie cried in a voice that to Dahra Baidoo’s dismay never seemed to weaken or grow hoarse.