Sam flopped into the chair last occupied by Caine. Astrid was struck by how alike the two boys looked superficially. And by how different a reaction she had to their similar features. Where Caine hid his arrogance and cruelty beneath a smooth, controlled surface, Sam let his emotions play out on his face. Right now he was sad and weary and concerned.
“I wonder if L. P. could sit with Edilio in the other room.”
“That sounds ominous,” Astrid said. The expression on Sam’s face did not contradict her.
She managed to get Little Pete to move, though not without a struggle. Edilio stayed with him.
Sam had a DVD in his hand. He said, “Yesterday I sent Edilio to the power plant to get two things. First, a cache of automatic weapons from the guardhouse.”
“Machine guns?”
“Yeah. Not just for us to have, but to make sure the other side doesn’t get them.”
“Now we have an arms race,” Astrid said.
Her tone seemed to irritate Sam. “You want me to leave them for Caine?”
“I wasn’t criticizing, just…you know. Ninth graders with machine guns: it’s hard to make that a happy story.”
Sam relented. He even grinned. “Yeah. The phrase ‘ninth graders with machine guns’ isn’t exactly followed by ‘have a nice day.’”
“No wonder you looked so grim.” As soon as she said it, she knew she was wrong. He had something else to tell her. Something worse. The DVD.
“I’ve been wondering, like you, why the FAYZ seems to be centered on the power plant. Ten miles in every direction. Why? So Edilio went through some of the security video at the plant.”
Astrid stood up so suddenly, she surprised herself. “I really shouldn’t leave Petey alone.”
“You know what this DVD will show, don’t you?” It wasn’t a question. “You guessed it that first night. I remember, we were looking at the video map. You put your arm around Little Pete and you gave me a very weird look. At the time, I didn’t know what to make of that look.”
“I didn’t know you then,” Astrid said. “I didn’t know if I could trust you.”
Sam slid the DVD into the player and switched on the TV. “The sound quality is pretty bad.”
Astrid saw the control room of the power plant from a high vantage point with a wide angle.
The camera showed the control room. Five adults, three men and two women. One of them was Astrid’s father. The image brought a lump to her throat. There he was, her father, rocking in his chair, joking with the woman at the next station, leaning forward to fill out some paperwork.
And sitting in a chair against the far wall, his face lit by the glow of his omnipresent Game Boy, was Little Pete.
The only sound was muddy, unintelligible conversation.
“Here it comes,” Sam said.
Suddenly a Klaxon sounded, harsh and distorted on the audio.
Everyone in the control room jumped. People rushed to the monitors, to the instrument readouts. Astrid’s father shot a worried glance at his son, but then leaned into his monitor, staring.
Other people swept into the room and moved with practiced efficiency to the untended monitors.
Panicky instructions were shouted back and forth.
A second alarm went off, more shrill than the first.
A strobe warning light was flashing.
Fear on every face.
And Little Pete was rocking frantically, his hands pressed over his ears. He had a look of pain on his innocent face.