Lies (Gone #3)(70)

It improved his mood, eating. Sitting by the water. Being alone with himself. No one demanding anything of him. No terrible threat to rush off and handle. No nagging details.

Suddenly, to his own amazement, he laughed out loud.

How long had it been since he’d sat by himself, no one in his face?

“I’m on vacation,” he said to no one.

“Yes, I’ll be taking some time off. No, no, I won’t be answering my phone or even checking my BlackBerry. Also, I won’t be burning holes in anyone. Or getting the crap beaten out of me.”

An outcropping hid Perdido Beach from view, which was just fine. He could make out the nearest of the small islands and looking north he could see the spit of land that jutted out from the power plant.

“Nice place,” Sam said, looking around at his rocky perch. “If only I had a cooler of sodas I’d be set.”

His mind drifted to Perdido Beach. How were they doing in the aftermath of the fire? How were they dealing with Zil?

What was Astrid doing right now? Probably bossing everyone around with her usual confidence.

Picturing Astrid was not helpful. There were two pictures in his mind, vying for dominance. Astrid in her nightgown, the one that was modest and sensible until she happened to step in front of a light source and then…

Sam shook that off. Not helpful.

He pictured the other Astrid with the haughty, cold, contemptuous expression she wore in the council meetings.

He loved the first Astrid. The Astrid who occupied his daydreams and sometimes his night dreams.

He couldn’t stand the other Astrid.

Both Astrids frustrated him, although in very different ways.

It wasn’t like there weren’t other pretty girls in the FAYZ, ready to more or less throw themselves at Sam. Girls who maybe wouldn’t be quite so moral, or quite so superior in their attitude.

It seemed to Sam that, if anything, Astrid was getting more and more that way. She was becoming less the Astrid of his daydreams and more the Astrid who had to control everything.

Well, she was head of the council. And Sam had agreed that he couldn’t run things all by himself. And he’d never wanted to run anything to begin with. He had resisted, in fact. It had been Astrid who manipulated him into taking on the responsibility.

And then she had taken it away from him.

He wasn’t being fair. He knew that. He was being self-pitying. He knew that, too.

But the bottom line with Astrid was that the answer from her was always “No.” No to any number of things. But when things went wrong, suddenly it was his responsibility.

Well, no more.

He was done being played. If Astrid and Albert wanted to keep Sam in some little box, where they could take him out and use him whenever they wanted, and then not even let him do his job—they could forget it.

And if Astrid wanted to think of herself and Little Pete and Sam as being some kind of family, only Sam never got to, well…she could forget that, too.

You didn’t run away because of any of that, a cruel voice in his head said. You didn’t run away because Astrid won’t sleep with you. Or because she is bossy. You ran away from Drake.

“Whatever,” Sam said aloud.

And then, a thought occurred to Sam that rocked him. He’d become a big hero because of Astrid. And when he seemed to have lost her, he stopped being that guy.

Was that possible? Was it possible that arrogant, frustrating, manipulative Astrid was the reason he could play Sam the Hero?

He had shown some courage before, the actions that earned him the nickname School Bus Sam. But he had immediately walked away from that image, done his best to disappear back into anonymity. He’d been allergic to responsibility. When the FAYZ came he’d been just another kid. And even after the FAYZ came he’d done his best to avoid the role that others wanted to force on him.

But then there had been Astrid. He had done it for her. For her he’d been the hero.

“Yeah, well,” he said to the rocks and the surf, “In that case, I’m fine being regular old Sam.”

He felt comforted by that thought. For a while. Until the image of Whip Hand bubbled to the surface again.

“It’s just an excuse,” Sam admitted to the ocean. “Whatever’s going on with Astrid, you still have to do it.”

He still, no matter what, had to face Drake.



“I’m glad you saw that, too, Choo,” Sanjit whispered. “Because otherwise I’d be sure I was crazy.”

“It was that kid, that boy. He did it. Somehow,” Virtue said.

The two of them were in the rocks atop the cliff. There was scarcely an inch of the island they hadn’t explored both before the big disappearance and after. Much of the island had been denuded of trees dating back to a time when someone had raised sheep and goats on the island. But at the fringes there was still virgin forest of scrub oak, mahogany and cypress trees, and dozens of flowering bushes. The island foxes still hunted in these woods.

In other places palm trees swayed high above tumbled rocks. But there were no beaches on San Francisco De Sales Island. No convenient inlets. In the days of sheep ranching the shepherds had lowered the animals in wicker baskets. Sanjit had seen the tumbled remains of that apparatus, had considered trying to swing out over the water for the sheer fun of it, had decided it was crazy when he noticed that the support beams were eaten by ants and termites.