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“Doing what?” Zil answered.
“Hunter. How we doing it?”
Hunter had recovered a little from the hit to the head. He had tried to free his hands, but Hank had smacked him good. Cheers had risen from some of the crowd. Others had looked queasy.
“Yank,” Turk said, and made a comic hanging motion.
“Where? Is what I mean, man,” Antoine said. He was slurring badly, almost to the point of not being intelligible. Drunk.
“There.” Lance pointed to the tumbled-down church.
“Where the door used to be? It makes an arch. You can pass a rope up through that hole. One end around Hunter’s neck, right? The other end can be really long. You can extend it all the way down through the square, so you could have, like, a hundred kids pulling on it.”
He frowned and glanced back and forth. “Pull him up, then you can tie the rope off to one of the trees, around the base.”
Zil considered Lance curiously. It seemed strange to find this popular kid getting involved, actually coming up with a plan for an execution. Weird. Lance had none of Hank’s seething, crazy rage. None of Turk’s desperate toadying. He wasn’t a pathetic burn-out like Antoine.
“That’s a good plan, Lance,” Zil said.
Hank’s eyes glittered dangerously.
“If we’re going to do this, we better get on with it,” Turk said. “Astrid’s a freak-lover. And that Brianna. She could be bringing Sam.?
??
“Sam’s busy. Besides, I’m not afraid of Sam. We have all these kids with us,” Zil said, sounding far more confident than he felt. “But yeah, let’s get this thing going. Hank. Lance. Start stringing the rope.”
Zil climbed up onto the trunk of the convertible. “Everybody! Everybody!”
He had everyone’s attention almost instantly. The crowd was hungry, desperate, and very impatient. Several kids had tried to rush at the meat and grab some right from the flames. They’d had to be beaten back by Hank and a group of kids he’d enlisted as bodyguards.
“The food is ready,” Zil announced to loud cheers.
“But we have something more important to do, first, before we can eat.”
Groans.
“We have to carry out some justice.”
That earned a silent stare until Turk and Hank started raising their hands and yelling, showing the crowd how to act.
“This mutant, this nonhuman scum here, this freak Hunter…” Zil pointed, arm stretched out, at his captive. “This chud deliberately murdered my best friend, Harry.”
“Na troo,” Hunter said. His mouth still didn’t work right. Brain damage, Zil supposed, from the little knock on his head. Half of Hunter’s face drooped like it wasn’t quite attached right. It made it easier for the crowd of kids to sneer at him, and Hunter, yelling in his drooling retard voice, wasn’t helping his case.
“He’s a killer!” Zil cried suddenly, smacking his fist into his palm.
“A freak! A mutant!” he cried. “And we know what they’re like, right? They always have enough food. They run everything. They’re in charge and we’re all starving. Is that some kind of coincidence? No way.”
“Na troo,” Hunter moaned again.
“Take him!” Zil cried to Antoine and Hank. “Take him, the murdering mutant scum!”
They seized Hunter by the arms. He could walk, but only by dragging one leg. They half carried, half marched him across the plaza. They dragged him up the church steps.
“Now,” Zil said, “here is how we’re going to do this.” He waved his hand toward the rope that Lance was unspooling back through the plaza.
An expectant pause. A dangerous, giddy feeling. The smell of the meat had them all crazy. Zil could feel it.
