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“The lights are out!”
“Where have you been?”
“We’re out of food!”
“I can’t even turn on the TV!”
“I’m scared of the dark!”
“There’s a mutant freak murderer running loose!”
“The water isn’t working!”
Those that weren’t shouting accusations were asking plaintive questions.
“What are we supposed to do?”
“Why didn’t you stop Caine?”
“Where’s the Healer?”
“Are we all going to die?”
Sam pushed Astrid gently, reluctantly away and stood alone to face them. Each question hit home. Each was an arrow aimed at his heart. They were the same accusations he had thrown at himself. The same questions he had asked himself. He knew he should put an end to it. He knew he should call for quiet. He knew that the longer he went without answering, the more scared the kids would get.
But he had no answers.
The assault of anger and fear was deafening. A seething wall of angry faces pressed all around. It left him numb. He knew what he should do, but he couldn’t. Somehow he had convinced himself that kids would understand. That they would cut him some slack. Give him some time.
But they were terrified. They were on the edge of panic.
Astrid was turned to face the crowd, back against the hood, pressed from all sides. She was yelling for quiet, ignored.
Edilio had reached into the backseat of the Jeep to slide his gun forward onto his lap. Like he thought he might have to use it to save Sam or Astrid or both.
Zil appeared, pushing his way through the crowd, five other kids acting like a star’s bodyguard, shoving people out of the way. He was cheered by some, booed by others. But when he raised his hand the crowd quieted, at least a little, and leaned forward in anticipation.
Zil stuck one fist on his hip and pointed at Sam with his other hand. “You’re supposed to be the big boss.”
Sam said nothing. The crowd hushed, ready to watch this one-on-one confrontation.
“You’re the big boss of the freaks,” Zil yelled. “But you can’t do anything. You can shoot laser beams out of your hands, but you can’t get enough food, and you can’t keep the power on, and you won’t do anything about that murderer Hunter, who killed my best friend.” He paused to fill his lungs for a final, furious cry. “You shouldn’t be in charge.”
Suddenly, there was silence. Zil had laid the challenge out there.
Sam nodded, as if to himself. Like he was agreeing. But then, moving as slowly as an old man, he climbed up onto the passenger seat of the Jeep, and stood where everyone could see him.
Sam felt anger building inside him. Resentment. Rage.
It wouldn’t be good to let it out. He knew that. He kept his voice calm, kept his expression blank. He now towered over Zil. “You want to be in charge, Zil? Last night you were running around trying to get a lynch mob together. And let’s not even pretend that wasn’t you responsible for graffiti I saw driving into town just now.”
“So what?” Zil demanded. “So what? So I said what everyone who isn’t a freak is thinking.”
He spit the word “freak,” making it an insult, making it an accusation.
“You really think what we need right now is to divide up between freaks and normals?” Sam asked. “You figure that will get the lights turned back on? That will put food on people’s tables?”
“What about Hunter?” Zil said. “Hunter murders Harry with his mutant freak powers and you don’t do anything.”
