Gone (Gone 1)

Patrick bounded up excitedly, and with him, Lana. “Sam, let me see that arm,” she said.

“No,” Sam said. “I’m fine. Go to the others. Save them, Lana. I couldn’t. Maybe you can. Start with Little Pete. He’s…he’s very important.”

Astrid had gone back into the church to find her brother. She reappeared, holding him under the arms, dragging him. “Help me,” Astrid begged, and Lana ran to her.

Sam wanted to go to Astrid. He needed to. But utter weariness rooted him to the spot. He leaned his good hand on Edilio’s strong shoulder.

“I guess we won,” Sam said.

“Yeah,” Edilio agreed. “I’ll get the backhoe. Got a lot of holes to dig.”

FINAL

THE FOOD SEEMED almost to crush the tables. Turkey and dressing, cranberry sauce, and the biggest collection of pies Sam had ever seen.

The tables were set up first at the south end of the plaza. But then Albert realized that people didn’t want to be away from the rows of graves at the north end, they wanted to stay near them. The dead were to be included in this Thanksgiving.

They ate off paper plates and used plastic forks, sat on the few chairs or on the grass.

There was laughter.

There were sniffles, and tears as well, as people remembered Thanksgivings past.

There was music from a stereo system rigged up by Computer Jack.

Lana had worked around the clock for days to heal everyone who could be healed. Dahra had been at her side, organizing, prioritizing the worst cases, handing out support and pain pills to those who had to wait. Cookie had missed the fight entirely, but had become Dahra’s faithful nurse, using his size and strength to lift the injured.

Mary brought the prees out for the big feast. She and her brother, John, prepared plates for them, spoon-fed some of them, and changed diapers on blankets spread on the grass.

Orc sat with Howard in a corner by themselves. Orc had fought Drake to a standstill. But no one—least of all Orc—had forgotten Bette.

The plaza was a disaster. The burned apartment building was a wreck. The church had only three walls now, and the steeple would probably topple over if there was ever a storm.

They had burned the dead coyotes. Their ashes and bones filled several large trash cans.

Sam watched it all, standing a little apart, balancing a plate of food and trying not to spill the dressing.

“Astrid, tell me if this is crazy: I’m thinking if there are any leftovers, we could send them up to Coates,” Sam said. “You know, a peace offering.”

“No. Not crazy,” she said. Astrid put her arm around his waist.

“You know, I’ve had this plan in mind for a while,” Sam said.

“What plan?”

“It involved you and me just sitting on the beach.”

“Just sitting?”

“Well…”

“He says, allowing his elliptical tone to imply any number of things.”

Sam smiled. “I’m all about elliptical implications.”

“Are you going to tell me what happened during the big blink?”

“I am. I will. Maybe not today.” He nodded toward Little Pete, who hunched over a plate of food and rocked back and forth. “I’m glad he’s okay.”