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“You’re saying those . . . those are actually . . .”
“What do you think happened here?” Albert asked in a soft voice. “What do you think this was?” Absurdly, embarrassingly, he had started to cry. “Those are kids buried there. Some of them were torn apart, you know. By coyotes. By . . . by bad people. Shot. Crushed. Like that. Some of those kids in the ground there couldn’t take it, the hunger and the fear . . . some of those kids out there had to be cut down from the ropes they used to hang themselves. Early on, when we still had any animals? I had a crew go out and hunt down cats. Cats and dogs and rats. Kill them. Other kids to skin them . . . cook them up.”
There were a dozen crew people in the McDonald’s. None spoke or moved.
Albert brushed away tears and sighed. “Yeah. So don’t mess with the graves. Okay? Other than that, we’re good to go.”
AFTERMATH 2
THERE WERE POLICE guards outside Sam’s hospital room. They stepped in occasionally to make sure Sam hadn’t disappeared. For the most part they were nice enough. And the check-ins were less and less frequent.
Police and prosecutors were not allowed to talk to Sam without either his mother or a lawyer present. His mother, Connie Temple, was also on TV fairly frequently, talking up the just-formed FAYZ Legal Defense Fund. So he had long stretches of time when he was not being questioned by police, prosecutors, or parent.
He spent those free hours trying not to think too much. And yet thinking too much. There was a tsunami of memories waiting to drown him.
Video of the final hours of the FAYZ had done a lot to change attitudes about the survivors. People had seen the entire dome glow red with fire. They had video, lots of video, of Gaia. They had confirmed that the murderous teen they’d seen at the end was the same person as the child who had ripped a man’s arm off. And eaten it.
Something about watching video of a murderous girl using lasers to slaughter children—and to kill three adults on the outside—had made people wonder whether the kids in the FAYZ deserved just a little slack.
Prosecutors did not believe in slack. They wanted an arrest and a trial. They had one target above all others.
At the moment that target was eating tacos his mother had brought in despite hospital orders against outside food.
“Oh, God, this is good,” Sam said as juicy beef and crisp lettuce dribbled out onto the tray on his lap.
“Still not tired of eating?” Connie asked him.
“I will never be tired of eating. I’m going to eat until I’m huge. Food, hot water, clean sheets. At least I’ll get those three in prison.”
Connie pushed herself up out of the chair, angry. “Sam, don’t talk that way.”
He bit into a second taco. Chicken this time. “Mmm. They want someone to put away. They need a scapegoat. It’s me.”
“You’re not being serious with me. I’m trying to treat you like an adult.”
Sam put the taco down. “Are you? You’re trying to treat me like an adult? Okay. Let’s have an adult conversation, Mom. Tell me how I had a brother, but you kind of forgot to mention it. Tell me how that happened. A lot of bad things happened because of that.”
“This isn’t something—”
“He gave his life in the end. Caine. Your son. He’s dead. You’ve seen the video.”
“Yes. And I feel terrible—”
“Don’t get me wrong: he was a bad person. Your son Caine. He was a very bad guy. You want a murderer? Well . . .” He stopped himself. “In the end, he gave himself up to Little Pete. He took the hit. Atonement, I guess. Redemption. Whatever.”
“Then tell that to the district attorneys. Tell them it was Caine. There are plenty of other kids out there talking, putting it on Caine.”
Sam pushed the food away angrily. He slid his legs over the side. His mother moved to help him, but he waved her off. “No. Don’t. I’m fine.”
He stood up. His legs were fine, at least. It was just the burns from the red-hot chain. It took so much longer to heal when you didn’t have Lana. Half his body was covered in bandages and a webbing that held them in place.
“I want to see Astrid,” he said.
“You know they won’t let you talk to anyone, Sam.”
“As soon as I’m better. They’re not keeping us apart.”
“Sam, you have more important things to worry about than your girlfriend.”
