Scar Island(14)

“So, like … what should we do?” Miguel asked.

“Thould we get them out of the rain?” Colin asked.

Jonathan’s brain was working. He was looking at all the dead grown-ups and frowning and thinking of home and family and everything that had happened to bring him here to the island of Slabhenge. A small, ugly, beautiful idea was wiggling in his mind. His stomach rumbled, wanting more than a meager bowl of oatmeal. It was hard to hatch a dark and dastardly scheme on an empty stomach.

“I think we should eat,” he said, just loud enough for everyone to hear. “I’m starving.”

Sebastian’s brow was still creased with dark, thoughtful lines.

“Yeah,” he said. “I’m with the new kid. Let’s go eat.” Then his face smoothed into a grinning smile and he cocked an eyebrow back at the huddled boys. “Whatever we want.”

One kid clapped. But just one. Most of the boys had probably lost their appetites when they watched all the adults get struck and killed by lightning.

But Sebastian started off across the rain-drenched courtyard toward the kitchen door.

Jonathan stepped out after him.

All the rest slowly followed close behind.

The straggly line of somber, soaked boys snaked right past the lifeless bodies staring up at the storm.



The kitchen was noisy with cooking, but there was not much talking. Mouths were too full for talking most of the time.

Tony stirred a pan of ten scrambled eggs. Jonathan didn’t think he planned on sharing. Benny was eating jelly out of the jar with a spoon. Sebastian was shoving a banana in his mouth while frying up six pieces of bacon. The two big brutes—Gregory and Roger, Jonathan remembered—were eating pepperoni slices by the handful, greasy grins on their faces. The little black-haired kid named Jason sat on the floor in the walk-in fridge and gnawed on a brick-size block of cheddar cheese.

Most of the boys just stood around, eating in the kitchen, but some got what they wanted and picked a spot at a table. No one sat at the Admiral’s table. Jonathan made himself two gooey peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and joined them, sitting across from Colin and Walter. Another kid sat down next to him, a little taller than him, with glasses and short, curly brown hair.

“Francis, right?” Jonathan asked through a mouthful of peanut butter and jelly.

“Yes. And you’re Jonathan. Our newest arrival.” Francis held out his hand and Jonathan blinked at him for a second before reaching out and shaking it. Francis had a slight accent, but not a foreign one. He pronounced all of his syllables very precisely. To Jonathan, he sounded like the rich people on TV. “Looks like your stay here has been cut quite short.”

“Yeah,” Jonathan said, chewing. “Guess so.”

“And what terrible wrong did you commit to deserve being sent here?” Francis asked. He was being sarcastic, Jonathan could tell, but he still flinched. He swallowed his bite.

“What did you do?” he asked back. Across the table, Colin frowned and took another bite of his apple.

“Oh, hardly anything, really,” Francis answered in a bored voice. “I pushed our gardener off the ladder. Honestly, if he hadn’t broken his hip, there wouldn’t even have been charges.”

“Was it an accident?”

Francis shrugged. “No.”

“Why did you do it?”

Francis rolled his eyes. “Does it really matter?”

“I guess not.”

Francis sighed. “Yes. Well, my father got a top-notch attorney, really quite expensive, but the whole thing happened at our summer house and all the local townspeople were quite up in arms about it. Really screaming for blood. Tried to make it all into some ridiculous wealth-class issue. So … here I am. Eating white bread. The damned country judge sent me here.”

“That’th a terrible thing to do,” Colin said.

“Yes, well, the judge’s hands were really quite tied, I’m afraid. It’s an elected office. He had to give the people what they wanted.”

“I meant it wath a terrible thing to do to the gardener.”

“Oh,” Francis sniffed. “Well. It didn’t end well for me, either, as you see.”

They all chewed in silence for a while.

“How does the refrigerator work?” Jonathan asked. Everyone stopped chewing and looked at him. “I mean, there doesn’t seem to be electricity here. It’s all torches and candles. What’s running the fridge and freezer?”

Walter scraped a piece of jelly bean out from between his teeth and looked at it stuck to his finger.

“Oh, there’s electricity. There’s a coal generator downstairs that we all get to take turns shoveling coal into. Makes just enough juice to run the fridge, freezer, and the Admiral’s TV.”

“Oh.” Jonathan swallowed the last bite of his second sandwich and considered going to make another one. “And the freezer’s big, too, like the fridge?”

Walter nodded. “Yeah. A little smaller, I guess, but still a walk-in. Why, man?”

Jonathan shook his head. “No reason. Just wondering.”

But Jonathan’s head was still buzzing with dark dreams. And he did have a reason for asking about the freezer.

Eight reasons, in fact.



The sixteen students of the Slabhenge Reformatory School for Troubled Boys stood at the gate, looking out at the white-capped waves of the ocean. Somewhere out there across the sea was the mainland and home. Home. With meals, parents, beds. A happy place. For most of them.