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“Yes, you did,” Caine said. “Good work, Drake. Very good work. And I see Sam’s little friends are likewise caught.”
“Why don’t you give Drake a little scratch behind the ears, Caine, he’s been such a good dog,” Diana said.
The mixers had dug Astrid’s hands out of the dirt. She was crying hysterically, unable to stand all the way up. Little Pete went to her, walking like he was in a dream, head down over his Game Boy.
Astrid bumped her concrete block into Little Pete.
And suddenly Sam knew what she was doing. He had to provide distraction. He had to keep the focus away from Astrid and Little Pete.
“You don’t want to mess with this girl, her name is Lana,” Sam said, jerking his chin toward her. “She’s a healer.”
Caine’s eyebrows shot up. “A what? A
healer?”
“She can heal anything, any kind of injury,” Sam said. Astrid, barely able to move, was slowly, rhythmically swinging her block back and forth in a narrow arc, bumping it against Little Pete’s Game Boy.
“She healed me,” Sam said. “Coyote bit me. Want to see?”
Caine said, “I have a better idea. Drake: give the girl something to heal.”
Drake laughed out loud, a gleeful sound. He pressed the muzzle of his pistol against Sam’s knee.
“No,” Diana yelled.
The explosion was shocking. The pain, at first, didn’t register, but Sam collapsed. He fell on his side like a felled tree. The leg, blown half off, buckled and twisted beneath him.
And then came the pain.
Drake smiled hugely and yelled an exultant, “Yeah!”
Astrid, startled, slammed the concrete block so hard against Little Pete that she knocked the Game Boy from his hands and knocked him back a step.
Diana frowned, alarmed. For the first time she really registered Little Pete’s presence.
Through a red mist of pain Sam saw her eyes fly open, her finger stab toward Little Pete.
“Drake, you idiot, the kid. The kid.”
Astrid dropped to her knees, slammed the concrete block down on the Game Boy.
There was no flash of light. No sound.
But suddenly the concrete encasing Astrid’s hands was gone. Simply gone.
So was the concrete block on Sam’s hands.
And every one of the other children.
Astrid was on her hands and knees, knuckles pressed into the soft dirt.
The concrete blocks were gone like they had never existed, though the hands of those who had been trapped longest were masses of pale, dead, sloughing skin.
Caine was quick. He backed away, turned, and ran for the building. Diana seemed torn, uncertain; then she bolted after Caine.
Little Pete picked up his game. The block had disappeared a split second before smashing down on the game. It was dirty and had a piece of grass sticking out of it now, but it still worked.
Drake stood rooted. The gun was still in his hand, smoking from the bullet he had fired into Sam’s knee.
