“I’ll get Lana!” Sanjit raced back inside, down the hallway to the room he shared with Lana. He burst inside yelling, “Lana! Lana!”
He found himself staring at the bad end of her pistol. “Sanjit, how many times do I have to tell you not to surprise me!” Lana raged.
He said nothing, just took her hand and drew her along with him.
“She’s definitely breathing,” Virtue said as they ran up. “And I found a pulse in her neck.”
Sanjit looked at Lana as though she might understand what this meant. A girl with golden skin suddenly minus a hand and both legs. But Lana was just staring with the same horror he felt.
Then he saw the flash of suspicion, the hard, angry look she got when she felt the distant touch of the gaiaphage. Followed, as it usually was, by her jaw tightening, muscles clenching.
Moved by a grim instinct, Sanjit peered through the dirty windows of the car. “I found her legs.”
“Get them,” Lana said. “Virtue? You and I can carry her inside.”
“We’re still going out? After what they did to Cigar?” Phil was outraged. He wasn’t the only one.
Quinn said nothing. He didn’t trust himself to say anything. There was a volcano inside him. His head was buzzing from lack of sleep. The sight of Cigar, with those creepy, frightening marble-size eyeballs hanging from snakelike tendrils of nerve inside black crater eye sockets…
He had clawed his own eyes out.
He’s one of mine, Quinn thought, and the phrase went over and over in his head. One of mine.
Cigar had done wrong—a terrible wrong. He deserved punishment. But not to be tortured. Not to be driven insane. Not to be made into a monstrous creature that no one would be able to look at without stifling a scream.
Quinn climbed into his boat. His three crew members hesitated, looked at one another, and climbed in after him. The other three boats all did likewise.
They cast off and shipped oars and began to make their way out to sea.
Two hundred yards out, a distance where people onshore could still easily see them, Quinn gave a quiet order.
“Oars in,” he said.
“But there’s no fish this close in,” Phil objected.
Quinn said nothing. The oars came in. The boats rocked almost imperceptibly on the faint swell.
Quinn watched the dock and the beach. It wouldn’t be long before someone reported to Albert and/or Caine to tell them the fishing fleet was not fishing.
He wondered who would react first.
Would it be Albert or Caine?
He closed his eyes and pulled his hat down low. “I’m going to get some sleep,” he said. “Use the oars only to keep us in position if needed. Let me know if anyone comes.”
“You got it, boss.”
Albert heard about Quinn first. Both Caine and Albert had spies—sometimes the same kids—but Albert paid better.
Albert had around-the-clock bodyguards now. He had come very, very close to dying after the remains of the Human Crew had broken into his house, robbed and shot him.
Caine had executed one of the villains, a kid named Lance. Another one, Turk, had been reprieved and now worked for Caine. It was a message from Caine to Albert, his keeping Turk around. It was a threat.
Albert’s previous bodyguard had been killed by Drake.
Now he hired a total of four. They each worked an eight-hour shift, seven days a week. The fourth guard was on call, living at Albert’s new compound. Whenever Albert stepped outside of the gate he would have whichever guard was on duty, plus the on-call guard. Two tough kids, both heavily armed.
But even that wasn’t enough for Albert’s security. He had taken to carrying a gun himself. Just a pistol, not a long gun, but it was a nine-millimeter in a brown leather holster, a serious, dangerous gun. He had learned how to shoot it, too.
And as a final line of security Albert had made sure that everyone knew he would pay whoever brought proof of a plot against him. It would always pay better to side with Albert.
Unfortunately that still left Caine. The self-anointed king.
Albert knew he could never take Caine on in a fight. So he made sure he knew exactly what Caine was up to. Someone very close to Caine worked secretly for Albert.
And yet, despite all this preparation, Albert had let this new problem sneak up on him.
It was a good long walk from Albert’s edge-of-town compound to the marina. He hurried. He had to resolve this before Caine did. Caine had a temper. People with tempers were bad for business.
What Albert saw from the end of the dock was not good. Four boats and fifteen kids doing nothing. In his head Albert ran the numbers: maybe three days’ worth of food, just two days’ worth of blue bats. If the bat supply stopped, then there was no safe way to harvest the worm-infested fields.
“Quinn!” Albert shouted.
He was furious to see that three kids were on the beach, eavesdropping. Didn’t they have anything better to do?
“Hi, Albert,” Quinn called back. He seemed distracted. And Albert was sure that he’d seen Quinn motion for someone to stay down.
“How long is this supposed to go on?” Albert asked.
“Until we get justice,” Quinn said.
“Justice? People have been waiting for justice since the dinosaurs.”
Quinn said nothing and Albert cursed himself for indulging in sarcasm. “What is it you want, Quinn? I mean in practical terms.”
“We want Penny gone,” Quinn said.
“I can’t afford to pay you any more,” Albert shouted back.