sleeping bag were doing in the alley. He walked slowly toward Main Street, taking deep breaths, pausing once to bend over and grip his knees.
“Any better?” Tim asked.
“My friends are going to let them out,” Luke said, still bent over.
“Let who out?” Wendy asked. “Those . . .” She didn’t know how to finish. It didn’t matter, because Luke didn’t seem to hear her.
“I can’t see them, but I know. I don’t understand how I can, but I do. I think it’s the Avester. Avery, I mean. Kalisha is with him. And Nicky. George. God, they’re so strong! So strong together!”
Luke straightened up and began walking again. As he stopped at the mouth of the alley, Main Street’s six streetlights came on. He looked at Tim and Wendy, amazed. “Did I do that?”
“No, honey,” Wendy said, laughing a little. “It’s just their regular time. Let’s go back inside, now. You need to drink one of Sheriff John’s Cokes.”
She touched his shoulder. Luke shook her off. “Wait.”
A hand-holding couple was crossing the deserted street. The man had short blond hair. The woman was wearing a dress with flowers on it.
26
The power the kids generated dropped when Nicky let go of Kalisha’s and George’s hands, but only a little. Because the others were gathered behind the Ward A door now, and they were providing most of the power.
It’s like a seesaw, Nick thought. As the ability to think goes down, TP and TK goes up. And the ones behind that door have almost no minds left.
That’s right, Avery said. That’s how it works. They’re the battery.
Nicky’s head was clear—absolutely no pain. Looking at the others, he guessed they were the same. Whether the headaches would come back—or when—was impossible to say. For now he was only grateful.
No more need for the sparkler; they were past that now. They were riding the hum.
Nicky bent over the caretakers who had Tased themselves into unconsciousness and started going through their pockets. He found what he was looking for and handed it to Kalisha, who handed it to Avery. “You do it,” she said.
Avery Dixon—who should have been home eating supper with his parents after another hard day of being the smallest boy in his fifth-grade class—took the orange key card and pressed it to the sensor panel. The lock thumped, and the door opened. The residents of Gorky Park were clustered on the other side like sheep huddled together in a storm. They were dirty, mostly undressed, dazed. Several of them were drooling. Petey Littlejohn was going “ya-ya-ya-ya-ya-ya” as he thumped his head.
They are never coming back, Avery thought. Their gears are too stripped to recover. Maybe Iris, too.
George: But the rest of us might have a chance.
Yes.
Kalisha, knowing it was cold, also knowing it was necessary: In the meantime, we can use them.
“What now?” Katie asked. “What now what now?”
For a moment none of them answered, because none of them knew. Then Avery spoke up.
Front Half. Let’s get the rest of the kids and get out of here.
Helen: And go where?
An alarm began to blare, whoop-whoop-whooping in rising and falling cycles. None of them paid any attention.
“We’ll worry about where later,” Nicky said. He joined hands with Kalisha and George again. “First, let’s get some payback. Let’s do some damage. Anyone got a problem with that?”
No one did. Hands once more linked, the eleven who had begun the revolt started back down the hall toward the Back Half lounge, and the elevator lobby beyond. The residents of Ward A followed in a kind of zombie shuffle, perhaps drawn by the magnetism of children who could still think. The hum had dropped to a drone, but it was there.
Avery Dixon reached out, searching for Luke, hoping to find him in a place too far away to be of any help to them. Because that would mean at least one of the Institute’s child slaves was safe. There was a good chance the rest of them were going to die, because the staff of this hellhole would do anything to keep them from escaping.
Anything.
27
Trevor Stackhouse was in his office down the hall from Mrs. Sigsby’s, pacing up and down because he was too wired to sit, and would remain that way until he heard from Julia. Her news might be good or bad, but any news would be better than this waiting.
A telephone rang, but it was neither the traditional jingle of the landline or the brrt-brrt of his box phone; it was the imperative double-honk