Lies (Gone #3)(71)

The island was almost impregnable, which was why his adopted parents had bought it. It was one place the paparazzi couldn’t reach. In the interior of the island was a short airstrip large enough to accommodate private jets. And at the compound was the helipad.

“They’re going east,” Sanjit commented.

“How did he do that?” Virtue asked.

Sanjit had noticed about Virtue that he was not quick to adapt to new and unexpected circumstances. Sanjit had grown up on the streets with con men, pickpockets, magicians and others who specialized in illusion. He didn’t think what he had just witnessed was an illusion, he believed it was real. But he was ready to accept that and move on.

“It’s impossible,” Virtue said.

The boat was definitely under way again, heading east, which was good. It was the long way around the island. It would take hours and hours for them to get to where the beached yacht lay.

“It’s not possible,” Virtue said again, and now it was starting to get on Sanjit’s nerves.

“Choo. Every single adult disappears in a heartbeat, there’s no TV or radio, no planes in the sky, no boats sailing by. Have you not figured out we’re not exactly in the land of possible? We have been picked up, kidnapped, and adopted all over again. Except this time it wasn’t to America. I don’t know where we are or what’s going on. But brother, we’ve been through this before, you know? New world, new rules.”

Virtue blinked once. Twice. He nodded. “Kind of, we have, huh? So, what do we do?”

“Whatever we have to do to survive,” Sanjit said.

And then the old familiar Virtue was back. “That’s a nice line, Wisdom. Like something out of a movie. Unfortunately it’s kind of meaningless.”

“Yes. Yes, it is,” Sanjit admitted with a grin. He slapped Virtue on the shoulder. “Coming up with something more meaningful is your thing.”



“Can you guys handle things for a few minutes?” Mary asked. John glanced at the three helpers, three kids who had either been scheduled or, in the case of one, was a homeless fugitive who had come to the day care looking for shelter and been put to work.

During the night and morning the population of the day care more than doubled. Now the numbers were starting to decline a little as kids drifted off in ones or twos, looking for siblings or friends. Or homes that, from all that Mary had heard, might no longer exist.

Mary knew she probably should not let anyone leave. Not until they were sure it was safe.

“But when would that be?” she muttered. She blinked a couple of times, trying to focus. Her vision was weird. More than just sleepiness. A blur that turned edges to neon when she moved her head too fast.

She searched for and found her pill bottle. When she shook it, it made no sound. “No, no way.” She opened it and looked inside. She upended it. Still empty.

When had she finished it off? She couldn’t remember. The depression beast must have come for her and she must have fought it off with the last of the meds.

At some point. Before. Must have.

“Yeah,” she said aloud, voice slurred.

“What?” John asked, frowning like it was all he could do to pay attention.

“Nothing. Talking to myself. I have to go find Sam or Astrid or someone, whoever is in charge. We’re out of water. We need twice the usual amount of food. And I need someone to…you know…” She lost her train of thought, but John didn’t seem to notice.

“Use some of the emergency food to feed them until I get back,” Mary said. She walked away before John could ask how he was supposed to stretch four cans of mixed vegetables and a vacuum-pack of spicy dried peas to cover thirty or forty hungry kids.

Near the plaza things didn’t look much different than usual. They smelled different—smoke and the acrid stench of melted plastic. But the only evidence of the disaster at first was the pall of brown haze that hovered above the town. That and a pile of debris peeking out from behind the McDonald’s.

Mary stopped at town hall, thinking maybe she would find the council hard at work making decisions, organizing, planning. John had gone on a tour with them earlier, but if he was back they should be, too.

She needed to talk to Dahra. See what meds she had available. Get something before the depression swallowed her up again. Before she…something.

No one was home in the offices, but Mary could hear moans of pain coming from the basement infirmary. She didn’t want to think about what was going on down there. No, not now, Dahra would kick her out.

Even though it would really only take Dahra a few seconds to grab a Prozac or whatever she had.

Mary almost ran smack into Lana who was sitting outside on the town hall steps smoking a cigarette.

Her hands were stained red. No one had water to waste on washing off blood.

Lana glanced up at her. “So. How was your night?”

“Me? Oh, not great.”

Lana nodded. “Burns. They take a long time to heal. Bad night. Bad, bad night.”

“Where’s Patrick?” Mary asked.

“Inside. He helps kids stay calm,” Lana said. “You should get a dog for the day care. Helps kids…Helps them, you know, not notice that their fingers are burned off.”

Something she was supposed to check on. No, not meds. Something else. Oh, of course. “I hate to ask, I know you’ve had a hard night,” Mary said. “But one of my kids, Justin, came in crying about his friend Roger.”