killed the call, which answered that particular foolish question, and filled in Mrs. Sigsby. “With any luck, the little bastard drowned and someone will find his body tonight or tomorrow, but we can’t count on being that lucky. I want to get Rafe and John—all I’ve got for security, and that’s going to change when this is over—to downtown Presque Isle, ASAP. If Ellis is on foot, that’s where he’ll go first. If he hitches a ride, either the State Police or some townie cop will pick him up and hold him. He’s the crazy kid who killed his parents, after all, then ran all the way to Maine.”
“Are you as hopeful as you sound?” She was honestly curious.
“No.”
16
The residents were allowed out of their rooms for dinner. It was, by and large, an outwardly silent meal. There were several caretakers and techs present, circling like sharks. They were clearly on edge, more than ready to strike or zap anyone who gave them lip. Yet in that quiet, running secretly behind it, was a nervous elation so strong that it made Frieda Brown feel slightly drunk. There had been an escape. All of the kids were glad and none of them wanted to show it. Was she glad? Frieda wasn’t so sure. Part of her was, but . . .
Avery was sitting beside her, burying his two hotdogs in baked beans, then digging them up. Interring them and exhuming them. Frieda wasn’t as bright as Luke Ellis, but she was plenty smart, and knew what interring and exhuming meant. What she didn’t know was what would happen if Luke tattled about what was going on here to someone who believed him. Specifically, what would happen to them. Would they be freed? Sent home to their parents? She was sure it was what these kids wanted to believe—hence that secret current—but Frieda had her doubts. She was only fourteen, but she was already a hardened cynic. Her cartoon people smiled; she rarely did. Also, she knew something the rest of them didn’t. Avery had been taken to Mrs. Sigsby’s office, and there he had undoubtedly spilled his guts.
Which meant Luke wasn’t going to get away.
“Are you going to eat that shizzle, or just play with it?”
Avery pushed the plate away and stood up. Ever since coming back from Mrs. Sigsby’s office, he had looked like a boy who had seen a ghost.
“There’s apple pie à la mode and chocolate pudding for dessert on the menu,” Frieda said. “And it’s not like home—mine, anyway—where you have to eat everything on your plate to get it.”
“Not hungry,” Avery said, and left the cafeteria.
But two hours later, after the kids had been sent back to their rooms (the lounge and canteen had both been declared off-limits this evening, and the door to the playground was locked), he padded down to Frieda’s room in his jammies, said he was hungry, and asked if she had any tokens.
“Are you kidding?” Frieda asked. “I just barely got here.” She actually had three, but she wasn’t giving them to Avery. She liked him, but not that much.
“Oh. Okay.”
“Go to bed. You won’t be hungry while you’re asleep, and when you wake up it’ll be breakfast.”
“Can I sleep with you, Frieda? Since Luke’s gone?”
“You should be in your room. You could get us in trouble.”
“I don’t want to sleep alone. They hurt me. They gave me lectric shocks. What if they come back and hurt me some more? They might, if they find out—”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
She considered. She considered many things, actually. An ace considerer was Frieda Brown of Springfield, Missouri. “Well . . . okay. Get into bed. I’m going to stay up awhile longer. There’s a show on TV about wild animals I want to see. Did you know some wild animals eat their babies?”
“Do they?” Avery looked stricken. “That’s awful sad.”
She patted his shoulder. “Mostly they don’t.”
“Oh. Oh, good.”
“Yes. Now get into bed, and don’t talk. I hate people talking when I’m trying to watch a show.”
Avery got into bed. Frieda watched the wild animal show. An alligator fought with a lion. Or maybe it was a crocodile. Either way, it was interesting. And Avery was interesting. Because Avery had a secret. If she had been a TP as strong as he was, she would have known it already. As it was, she only knew it was there.
When she was sure he was asleep (he snored—polite little-boy snores), she turned out the lights, got into bed with him,