“There are Hatchlings here in our town,” Patrick said. “Not just Hosts.”
Alex and I stood next to him on the bleachers, facing out at the crowd of kids and teenagers gathered on the basketball court below. Weak morning light filtered through the high windows. Dust danced in the yellow shafts. We’d made our way here without incident, slipping into the school before dawn broke.
Dezi piped up first. “You said they all went to Stark Peak.”
“We saw them headed there initially,” Alex said. “But looks like they’re spreading out.”
Ben lifted the stun gun from the waist of his pants. “We can handle a few stragglers.”
“No,” I said. “You can’t.”
“We’ve handled the Hosts, haven’t we?” Ben said.
“The Hatchlings are much, much worse.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because,” I said, “they’re hungry.”
A silence descended over the gym. One of the Mendez twins started sobbing. Mikey hushed her.
“They won’t get us in here,” Ben said. “The Hosts didn’t even manage to map this place. At least not the inside. So as far as the Harvesters know, the school doesn’t even exist.”
I thought about Grandpa Donovan going from house to house in the neighborhood across the street, vacuuming up all the floor plans with his blank eyes.
“The Mappers aren’t done,” I said. “Not yet. For all we know they still have this place on their list.”
“The Mappers—like the rest of the Hosts—are falling apart,” Ben said. “When I was on lookout yesterday, I saw Mr. Alessandri out there. He was decomposing. His shins literally fell apart. Just gave way. He was lying in the middle of the street, useless, until a coupla coyotes dragged him off.”
“It’s true,” Alex said. “The Hosts are in bad shape. But trust me. You don’t want to take any chances. With them or with the Hatchlings.”
“Because of that,” Patrick said, “we gotta buckle down security even more. We should limit all missions off school grounds.”
“We still need to make the occasional food run.” Ben looked across at Dr. Chatterjee. “At the discretion of our beloved leader, of course.”
“Besides,” Dezi said, “you guys are the ones who keep going off school grounds.”
“That’s because they’re risking their necks to tell us what’s going on out there,” Eve said. “We’d be in the dark if it wasn’t for them.”
“We’re working on a plan,” I said.
I regretted it the minute it came out of my mouth.
“Oh?” Ben’s glare sharpened. “What plan is that?”
“We’re not sure yet,” Patrick said, covering for me. He put one foot up on the bench in front of him and leaned his elbow across his knee. “That’s why we’ve been scouting.”
“So you’re out there making some secret plan with that alien helmet you got,” Ben said. He turned to the others. “That’s right. They’ve got info they’re keeping from us, and we’re supposed to sit around here, not ask questions, and starve.” He swiveled back to us. “Is that about the score?”
There were a few more grumbles of support than usual. This caught me, Patrick, and Alex off guard.
I said, “We’re still figuring out what the helmet does.”
I was drowned out by shouts. Just a handful of voices, but they were loud. I looked across the crowd at Dr. Chatterjee and noticed him looking nervous, too.
He took a few steps toward the front.
“The food is the real issue at hand,” he said. “As of now our food stores are still above the designated thresholds.” He removed his eyeglasses and polished them on the hem of his filthy shirt. “By my calculations we don’t need to go on the next foraging run for another three weeks.”
“My calculation’s simpler,” Ben said. “We get more food. We eat more food.”
“There are more variables than that,” Chatterjee said.
“Right,” Ben said. “Like, it’s to all your advantage to keep me and my boys well fed. We’re the ones who’re gonna have to fight when the Hosts come. It’s not like JoJo’s gonna save you.”
A few teenagers laughed.
“The supermarket’s right there,” Dezi said.
“Every time one of you steps out of this building,” Chatterjee said, “you are risking not just your own life but the lives of everyone in here.”
“That’s only if they follow us back here,” Ben said.
Several more voices rose in defense of Ben. I was surprised to see Jenny White and Kris Keuser nodding along.
Chatterjee held up his arms. His hands shuddered slightly from the tremor. “Okay,” he said. “We can certainly discuss whether we’d like to approve an early food run.”
“We don’t need to discuss it,” Ben said. “I want a vote. This is a democracy, right? That’s what you keep telling me.” He turned to the others. “Don’t you want a vote? Don’t you guys want more food? Better food?”
Several scattered cries of agreement came.
Chatterjee’s Adam’s apple lurched as he swallowed down whatever he was about to say. He held silent for a moment. When he spoke, his voice was calm. “Very well,” he said. “All those in favor of an earlier food run, raise your hands.”
About ten hands shot up immediately—Those of Ben and his lackeys. But slowly more and more hands went into the air. From high on the bleachers, Patrick, Alex, and I watched, stunned, as they continued to rise.
At last Chatterjee tallied the votes.
Thirty-eight for.
Fifty-seven against.
Ben and his crew had lost by a decent margin. But still—it was the closest he’d ever come to collecting a majority. From his expression I could see he understood the significance of that. He looked over at us, and something in his smile reminded me of a wolf.
Hungry. Biding his time.
As the crowd dispersed to get on with the day, JoJo ran over to me. I picked her up and carried her over to my cot. That’s when I noticed Bunny.
Or, to be precise, Bunny’s head.
“What happened?” I asked her.
I sat down on my cot, the cheap springs creaking beneath our weight. Across the gym I noticed Chatterjee pull Patrick aside and start talking to him. Chatterjee’s expression was very serious. I didn’t like it one bit.
“Ben tore her head off,” JoJo said.
I felt a ticking in my stomach, like a bomb. “What? When?”
“Right before he whipped Rocky.”
At first I didn’t register the words. I gazed at JoJo’s knitted brows. Her big brown eyes. There was a white-noise rush in my ears. I looked over at Chatterjee and Patrick across the gym.
I realized now what Chatterjee was telling Patrick. And I realized I wouldn’t be able to get there in time.
It seemed to happen in slow motion.
I started to dump JoJo off my lap.
Patrick’s spine went ramrod straight.
Chatterjee grabbed for his sleeve.
Patrick’s arm pulled free as if Chatterjee weren’t holding it at all.
JoJo slid onto the mattress.
I stood up.
Hurdled Alex’s bed.
Patrick sliced through the cots.
Ben stood clustered with Mikey and Dezi.
Ben turned around as Patrick approached.
Ben started to smile.
And Patrick decked him.
He knocked Ben into a 180, sending him crashing through two cots, racking them up like bowling pins. For an instant Mikey and Dezi were shocked, frozen in place. Ben got up and charged Patrick, hitting his gut in a football tackle, knocking him through a few bystanders and over the top of another cot.
The frame spun up on one leg. The pillow went flying.
“Enough of this. Quiet! You’re making too much noise.” Dr. Chatterjee tried to get at them, but his unsteady balance wouldn’t allow him to push through the crowd.
Ben and Patrick grappled and punched. It was brutal. I got there but couldn’t break through the ring of spectators either. The others were cheering, most of them for Patrick but a good number for Ben, too.
It was like that night behind Jack Kaner’s barn, the two of them going at it and going at it, two rabid dogs who wouldn’t quit. Ben landed an elbow to Patrick’s jaw, Patrick’s Stetson flying off. Patrick beat at Ben’s face. Ben drooled blood, but Patrick kept on.
I could hear my brother’s voice, a growl through clenched teeth: “—ever touch a smaller kid again—”
And then Ben snapped his head into Patrick’s chin, knocking him off his chest. Patrick landed propped up on the corner of an upended mattress. Ben rolled onto his side and tried to get up, but his hand slid out from under him and he just lay there on the slick floorboards.
They were five feet apart, both of them laid out, glaring at each other, panting.
At last I shouldered through the onlookers and headed for Patrick. Dezi and Mikey came into the cleared space, too, pulling Ben away, checking on his cuts and bruises.
“I’m fine.” Ben swung his arms roughly, pushing them away. “Don’t touch me.”
I picked up Patrick’s cowboy hat. Crouched over him. Held it out. “You seem to have misplaced this,” I said.
When my brother grinned, blood filled the gaps between his teeth. “Would you mind putting it on me? I’m a little worn out.”
Alex was next to me now, too, kneeling beside him, worried. “Patrick, what the hell were you think—”
Patrick cupped her face, pulled her down, and kissed her. Her long hair vined around his forearm. When he let go, he left a bloody lipstick stain on her cheek.
Alex pulled away and sat back on her heels. Truth be told, she looked a little breathless.
He regarded her. Then he said, “Are you gonna help me up or just keep gawking at me?”
Alex crossed her arms. “I haven’t decided yet.”