Hunger (Gone 2)

The water around him churned and boiled.

He screamed into bubbles.

Thousands of bats swam around and past him, spun him around in a waterspout, slapped wetly at him with wings that suddenly seemed far more like flippers.

He gagged on salt water, kicked and motored his arms in a panic crawl.

He ran out of air after fifteen seconds. But he still did not see a way out. Should he turn back?

He stopped. Froze in place. Enough air to make it back? And then what? Learn to live in a cave?

Duck kicked his feet and plowed ahead, no longer sure which way he was going. Forward or back?

Or just swimming in circles?

At last he came up. His head broke the surface as ten thousand bats erupted from the water all around him, wheeled overhead, then dove straight back into the sea a hundred yards off.

It wasn’t far to the beach. He just had to swim there. Before the water bats came back.

“Just don’t get mad,” Duck chattered. “This would be a bad time to sink.”

NINE

82 HOURS, 38 MINUTES

IT WAS MORNING. The buses were in the square. Edilio behind the wheel of one, yawning hugely. And Ellen, the fire marshal, behind the wheel of the other. Ellen was a small, dark, very serious girl. Sam had never seen her smile. She seemed to be a very capable girl, but she hadn’t really been put to the test much yet. But she was a good driver.

Unfortunately, neither Ellen nor Edilio had many kids to drive.

Astrid was standing there with Little Pete, offering moral support, Sam supposed.

“I guess we don’t really need two buses,” Sam said.

“You could just about go with a minivan,” Astrid agreed.

“What is the matter with people?” Sam fumed. “I said we needed a hundred kids and we get thirteen? Fifteen, maybe?”

“They’re just kids,” Astrid said.

“We’re all just kids. We’re all going to be very hungry kids.”

“They’re used to being told what to do by their parents or teachers. You need to be more direct. As in, Hey, kid, get to work. Now.” She thought for a moment then added, “Or else.”

“Or else what?” Sam asked.

“Or else…I don’t know. We’re not going to let anyone starve. If we can help it. I don’t know the ‘or else.’ All I know is you can’t expect kids to just automatically behave the right way. I mean, when I was little my mom would give me a gold star when I was good and take away a privilege when I wasn’t.”

“What am I supposed to do? Tell three hundred kids spread out in seventy or eighty different homes that they can’t watch DVDs? Confiscate iPods?”

“It’s not easy playing daddy to three hundred kids,” Astrid admitted.

“I’m not anyone’s daddy,” Sam practically snarled. Another sleepless night, in a long string of them, had left him in a foul mood. “I’m supposed to be the mayor, not the father.”

“These kids don’t know the difference,” Astrid pointed out. “They need parents. So they look to you. And Mother Mary. Me, even, to some extent.”

Little Pete chose that moment to begin floating in the air. Just lifted off a foot, eighteen inches, hovered there, his arms floating, toes pointed downward.

Sam noticed immediately. Astrid didn’t.