Gone (Gone #1)(65)

He could tear at the Mylar and free his hands, or he could keep the bar from choking him. I! 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 gcing 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 loci 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 ihey 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 notime for argument. He decided quickly, "You'd better pray Astrid doesn't get hun, Quinn. If you're doing this to sell me out, you better make sure Pm dead, too"

Quinn licked his lips nervously. "You don't have to threaten me, brah"

"Don't call me brah," Sam said-"Km 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 lo focus. She kepi seeing thai 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 tear took over, when die 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 "

Cliffiop,

The room they had shared there that first night.

Yes. Sam would figure it out. But Quinn had been there* too. He might reach the same conclusion.

Astrid hesitated. No time for hesitation. Drake wouldn't hesitate. By now, he was already after them. He was already on his way

She couldn't face him again.

"Petcy, we have to go." Astrid grabbed his hand and drew him after her. Down the stairs. No time to stop for anything. No time at all.

To the front door. No. Back door was better.

They walked—Little Pete cojld seldom be induced to run—across the backyard. The natural wood fence was fairly low, but still it was exhausting and time-consuming getting Little Pete to scale it. They ran through the neighbor's backyard.

"Stay off the streets." she told herself.

They went as far as they could, backyard to backyard, then dodged into the street when their way was blocked, and then back to yards and alleyways again.

They saw no one. But there was no way to know if they were being watched.

They reached the hill that marked the edge of town and the beginning of the Clifftop grounds. They scrambled up through shrubbery clinging to sand. Astrid pulled Little Pete along, desperate to move quickly, but afraid to do anything to set him off.

Clifftop had not changed. The barrier was still there. The lobby was still clean, still bright, still empty.