Michael Grant - Lies

“It’s the helicopter or nothing,” Virtue said. He was not a touchy-feely kid, Virtue, but he squeezed Sanjit’s thin bicep and said, “Man, I know it scares you. It scares me, too. But you’re Sanjit, invincible, right? You’re not that smart, but you have amazing luck.”

“ I’m not that smart?” Sanjit said. “You’d be flying with me. So how smart are you?”

Astrid settled Little Pete in a corner of her office at town hall. He kept his eyes focused on the long-dead handheld and continued pushing buttons, as if the game were still on. And maybe in Little Pete’s head, it still was.

It was the office the mayor had used back in the old pre-FAYZ days. The office Sam had used for a while.

She was still seething from the fight with Sam. They had argued before. They were both strong-willed people. Arguments were inevitable, she supposed.

Plus, they were supposedly in love and sometimes that brought its own set of disagreements.

And they were roommates, and sometimes that caused problems.

But they had never, either of them, fought like this.

Sam had taken his few things and moved out. She supposed he would find an unoccupied house-there were plenty of those.

“I shouldn’t have said that to him,” she muttered under her breath as she scanned the giant list of things to do. The things that needed doing to keep Perdido Beach functioning.

The door opened. Astrid looked up, hoping and fearing that it was Sam.

It wasn’t. It was Taylor.

“I didn’t think you walked through doorways, Taylor,” Astrid said. She regretted the edgy tone in her voice. By now the news that Sam had moved out would have spread throughout the town. Juicy personal gossip moved at the speed of light in Perdido Beach. And there was no bigger item of gossip than a breakup between the first couple of the FAYZ.

“I know how cranky you get when I pop in,” Taylor said.

“It is a little unsettling,” Astrid said.

Taylor spread her hands placatingly. “See? That’s why I walked in.”

“Next you could work on knocking.”

Astrid and Taylor didn’t like each other much. But Taylor was an extremely valuable person to have around. She had the ability to instantly transport herself from place to place. To “bounce,” as she called it.

The enmity between them went back to Astrid’s belief that Taylor had a crush of major proportions on Sam. No doubt Taylor would figure she had a golden opportunity now.

Not Sam’s type , Astrid told herself. Taylor was pretty but a bit younger, and not nearly tough enough for Sam, who, despite what he might be thinking right now, liked strong, independent girls.

Brianna would be more Sam’s style, probably. Or maybe Dekka, if she were straight.

Astrid shoved the list away irritably. Why was she torturing herself like this? Sam was a jerk. But he would come around. He would realize sooner or later that Astrid was right. He would apologize. And he’d move back in.

“What is it you want, Taylor?”

“Is Sam here?”

“I’m head of the council, and you’ve just come bursting in and interrupting my work, so if you have something to say, why don’t you just say it to me?”

“Meeooow,” Taylor mocked her. “Cranky much?”

“Taylor.”

“Kid says he saw Whip Hand.”

Astrid’s eyes narrowed. “What?”

“You know Frankie?”

“Which one?”

“The one who’s a boy. He says he saw Drake Merwin walking along the beach.”

Astrid stared at her. The mere mention of Drake Merwin gave Astrid chills. Drake was-had been-a boy who proved all by himself that you didn’t have to be an adult to be evil. Drake had been Caine’s number one henchman. He had kidnapped Astrid. Forced her with threats, with sheer terror, to ridicule her own brother to his face.

He had burned down Astrid’s house.

He had also whipped Sam so badly that Sam had almost died.

Astrid did not believe in hate. She believed in forgiveness. But she had not forgiven Drake. Even with him dead, she had not forgiven him.

She hoped there was a hell. A real hell, not some metaphorical one, so that Drake could be there now, burning for all eternity.

“Drake’s dead,” Astrid said evenly.

“Yeah,” Taylor agreed. “I’m just telling you what Frankie is saying. He’s saying he saw him, whip hand and all, walking down the beach, covered with mud and dirt and wearing clothes that didn’t fit.”

Astrid sighed. “This is what happens when little kids get into the alcohol.”

“He seemed sober,” Taylor said. She shrugged. “I don’t know if he was drunk or crazy or just making trouble, Astrid, so don’t blame me. This is supposed to be my job, right? I keep my eyes open and come tell Sam-or you-what’s up.”

“Well, thanks,” Astrid said.

“I’ll tell Sam when I see him,” Taylor said.

Asrid knew Taylor was trying to provoke her, and yet it worked: she was provoked. “Tell him anything you want, it’s still a free…” She had started to say country . “You’re free to say whatever you like to Sam.”

But Taylor had already bounced away, and Astrid was talking to air.

ELEVEN

47 HOURS, 53 MINUTES

THE PERDIDO BEACHAnomaly, that’s what they called it on the news. The Anomaly. Or the Dome.

Not the FAYZ. Although they knew that’s what the kids inside the Anomaly called it.

The parents, the family members, all the other pilgrims who gathered in a special “viewing area” at the southern end of the Dome tended to call it the fishbowl. Sometimes just the bowl. That’s what it was to the ones who camped out there in tents and sleeping bags and “dreamed” of their children on the other side: a fishbowl. They knew a little of what was in the bowl, but the little fish, their children, did not know what was outside in the great big world beyond.

Construction was going on in the area. The state of California was rushing through a bypass for the highway. The old road disappeared into the bowl and reappeared on the other side, twenty miles away. It made a mess for the businesses on the coastal route.

And other businesses were springing up on the south side of the bowl. The tourists had to be fed, after all. Carl’s Jr. was building a restaurant. So was Del Taco.

A Courtyard by Marriott was being thrown together at startling speed. Next to it a Holiday Inn Express had broken ground.

In her more cynical moments Connie Temple thought every construction company in the state of California saw the bowl as nothing but a huge opportunity to make money.

The politicians were enjoying it all a bit too much, too. The governor had been there half a dozen times, accompanied by hundreds of reporters. Satellite trucks were packed like sardines all up the beach.

But each day Connie noticed the number of reporters and satellite trucks was just a bit smaller than the day before. The world had gone from stunned disbelief to giddy exploitation to the mundane grind of turning a tragedy into a tourist trap.

Connie Temple-Nurse Temple, as she was inevitably called by the media-had become one of two spokespersons for the families.

That was the shorthand for all those who had children locked inside the bowl: the families .

Connie Temple and Abana Baidoo.

It was easier before they could know what was happening inside the bowl. At first all anyone had known was that a terrifying thing had happened. An impenetrable energy field had created a dome twenty miles across. They figured out very quickly that the nuclear power plant was at the epicenter.

There were dozens of theories about what it was, that dome. Every scientist in the world, it seemed, had made a pilgrimage to the site. Tests had been conducted, measurements taken.