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Mary was lying in bed, in the dark, running her hands over her belly, feeling the fat there. Thinking, just a few more weeks of dieting
, maybe. And then she’d be there. Wherever “there” was.
The water bottle beside her bed was empty. Mary climbed wearily from her bed. She opened the bathroom door and flipped on the light. For a moment she saw someone she did not recognize, someone with sunken cheeks and hollow eyes.
Then sudden, total darkness.
In the basement of town hall, in the gloomy space kids called the hospital, Dahra Baidoo held Josh’s hand.
He wouldn’t stop crying.
They’d brought him from the battle at the power plant. One of Edilio’s soldiers had dropped him off.
“I want my mom, I want my mom.” Josh was rocking back and forth, deaf to any words Dahra had, lost and ashamed.
“I want my mom,” he cried.
“I just want my mom.”
“I’ll put on a DVD,” Dahra said. She had no other solution. She’d seen kids like this before, too many to keep track of. Sometimes it was all just too much for some kids. They broke, like a stick bent too far. Snapped.
Dahra wondered how long it would be before she was one of them.
How long until she was holding herself and rocking and weeping for her mother?
Suddenly, the lights went out.
“I want my mom,” Josh wept in the dark.
At the day care John Terrafino lay zoned out, one eye half open, watching a muted TV while he fed a bottle to a cranky ten-month-old. The bottle wasn’t filled with milk or formula. It was filled with water mixed with oatmeal juice and a small amount of puréed fish.
None of the baby care books had recommended this. The baby was sick. Getting weaker every day. John doubted the baby, whose name was also John, would live very long.
“It’s okay,” he whispered.
The TV blinked off.
Astrid had gotten Little Pete to bed, finally. She was exhausted and worried. Her eye hurt where the baseball bat had caught her. She had a gruesome bruise in yellow and black. Ice had helped, but not much.
She needed to sleep; it was one in the morning, but it wasn’t going to happen. Not yet. Not until she knew Sam was okay. She wished she could have gone to the power plant with him. Not that she would have been much help, but she would at least have known.
Strange how, in just three short months, Sam had come to feel like a necessary part of her life. More than that, even. A necessary part of her. An arm, a leg. A heart.
She heard a noise from the street. Running. She tensed, expecting to hear the pounding of feet on her porch. But no one approached.
Was it Hunter coming back? Or was Zil still running around looking for trouble? There wasn’t anything she could do about it. She had no powers, or none that mattered, anyway. All she could do was threaten and cajole.
By the time she reached the window, the street was empty and quiet.
She hoped Hunter was hiding somewhere. They’d have to figure out what to do about that situation and it would be very tricky. Explosive, maybe. But it wasn’t going to be solved tonight.
What was happening with Sam? Had he managed to stop Caine?
Was he hurt?
Was he dead?
God forbid, she prayed.
