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Page 14
“We have visitors,” Virtue said. Caine heard it, too: a car’s engine. With gas as rare as food it was very unusual to hear an engine running.
A white van drove slowly—as slowly as only an inexperienced and frightened driver could go—down San Pablo Avenue. It came to a stop at a distance, and Caine found himself hoping it was trouble. Trouble he could handle. A fight would be a wonderful relief from the tedium.
Out stepped Edilio, and a second later, Sam.
So. Maybe it was a fight. Hah!
But Edilio was walking ahead with Sam hanging back and looking unusually reticent, even a bit abashed. Then Toto, the weird kid with the Spider-Man fixation, climbed out.
“We’re not here for trouble,” Edilio said, holding up his hand and crushing Caine’s hopes.
“True,” Toto affirmed.
Caine sighed. “Well, that’s just great. Okay. Choo, go grab a couple of chairs.”
“Caine,” Sam said, and nodded.
“Sam. What do you want here? Is the surf up?”
Sam nodded to Edilio. “This is his party.”
When the chairs came, they sat down around the large but rather forlorn desk. There was no chair for Toto. Caine didn’t care.
“I’d offer you milk and cookies, but we seem to be out,” Caine said. He put his feet up on the desk just to remind them who was boss here.
“It’s true. He has no milk. Or cookies.” Toto.
Edilio got right to it. “We can’t have this. We need to get food production back up. We need to think through how to deal with the lookers. We need rules and organization.”
“Yeah, brilliant,” Caine said. “I wish I’d thought of that. Choo, make a note: need people to get back to work. That’s genius. That’s what you came to say? Are you asking me to go down there and start smacking kids around?”
Edilio pretended not to notice the sarcasm. “No. In fact, I don’t think you can help, Caine. No one trusts you. No one will follow you.”
“That’s the truth,” Toto said. Then, in response to Caine’s withering glare, he added, “Spidey.”
“Oh, I see,” Caine said. “No one trusts me, but they will follow Saint Sammy here. Well, not to be impolite but—”
Caine’s hand came up fast, and the telekinetic punch hit Sam right in the chest. Sam went flying. In fact he flew straight backward through the air. Ten feet. At least—maybe even a dozen feet. And when he hit, he landed on his butt, and the momentum carried him into a backward roll.
Caine laughed delightedly. This was so much better than just sitting around and—
Sam was up faster than Caine expected, and he managed to leap aside and dodge Caine’s next blow. Sam’s hands were up, palms out. Not ten feet away. And the real problem was that Caine was still seated.
It’s not easy to move quickly when you’re sitting and your feet are up on a desk.
“I’d actually rather not have to kill you,” Sam said. “But if your hand so much as twitches . . .”
Caine let his hands hang in the air, carefully aimed just a bit off target.
He looked at Sam’s face. His brother’s eyes were focused narrowly on his own. Smart boy. Sam had gained experience since the old days when they were an even match. An inexperienced fighter watches the opponent’s hands; a smart fighter watches the other guy’s face.
Caine had to carefully control his eyes, not shift, not look toward—
Sam’s right hand was still aimed directly on Caine’s body. But from his left came the air-sizzling green light. It burned in a flash through the leg of Caine’s chair.
The chair tipped; Caine slipped, landed on his side, rolled fast, and as Sam rushed him pulled one of his newer tricks: he blasted the concrete directly below himself, throwing his own body back with the recoil.
It worked! Sam rushed past, grabbing air. Unfortunately, Caine’s new tactic was not a precision technique. It knocked the wind from him, and he banged the back of his head hard on a stair and saw stars.
“Ow.”
Caine tried to roll to his feet, but something was jabbing him in the crotch. He shook off the stars and saw Edilio standing over him. Edilio had the business end of his automatic rifle in a very sensitive place.
“If you move, Caine, I will shoot your balls off,” Edilio said. “Toto?”
“He will,” Toto said. “Although he’s not sure it will be just your balls.”
Caine glared up at Edilio, murder in his eyes. “You’d get off one round—maybe—and then I’d knock your head right off your shoulders.”
“He believes he could knock your head right off—” Toto began.
“No doubt,” Edilio said. “I guess you have to decide whether one more killing will compensate for your . . . loss.”
“What’s the matter, Sam? You can’t fight your own battles? You have to have your boy here cover for you?” Caine said.
Sam started to respond, then seemed to think better of it and remained silent. He even took a step back.
Edilio said, “Toto. I’m going to say some things to King Caine. You evaluate.”
“I will, Spidey.”
“One: I’m my own man,” Edilio said.
“He believes it.”
“Two: I am sick to death of this tired-ass sibling nonsense between you two.”
“He believes it is tired-ass,” Toto said.
“Three: the gaiaphage and Drake—your daughter and your former partner—”
A white van drove slowly—as slowly as only an inexperienced and frightened driver could go—down San Pablo Avenue. It came to a stop at a distance, and Caine found himself hoping it was trouble. Trouble he could handle. A fight would be a wonderful relief from the tedium.
Out stepped Edilio, and a second later, Sam.
So. Maybe it was a fight. Hah!
But Edilio was walking ahead with Sam hanging back and looking unusually reticent, even a bit abashed. Then Toto, the weird kid with the Spider-Man fixation, climbed out.
“We’re not here for trouble,” Edilio said, holding up his hand and crushing Caine’s hopes.
“True,” Toto affirmed.
Caine sighed. “Well, that’s just great. Okay. Choo, go grab a couple of chairs.”
“Caine,” Sam said, and nodded.
“Sam. What do you want here? Is the surf up?”
Sam nodded to Edilio. “This is his party.”
When the chairs came, they sat down around the large but rather forlorn desk. There was no chair for Toto. Caine didn’t care.
“I’d offer you milk and cookies, but we seem to be out,” Caine said. He put his feet up on the desk just to remind them who was boss here.
“It’s true. He has no milk. Or cookies.” Toto.
Edilio got right to it. “We can’t have this. We need to get food production back up. We need to think through how to deal with the lookers. We need rules and organization.”
“Yeah, brilliant,” Caine said. “I wish I’d thought of that. Choo, make a note: need people to get back to work. That’s genius. That’s what you came to say? Are you asking me to go down there and start smacking kids around?”
Edilio pretended not to notice the sarcasm. “No. In fact, I don’t think you can help, Caine. No one trusts you. No one will follow you.”
“That’s the truth,” Toto said. Then, in response to Caine’s withering glare, he added, “Spidey.”
“Oh, I see,” Caine said. “No one trusts me, but they will follow Saint Sammy here. Well, not to be impolite but—”
Caine’s hand came up fast, and the telekinetic punch hit Sam right in the chest. Sam went flying. In fact he flew straight backward through the air. Ten feet. At least—maybe even a dozen feet. And when he hit, he landed on his butt, and the momentum carried him into a backward roll.
Caine laughed delightedly. This was so much better than just sitting around and—
Sam was up faster than Caine expected, and he managed to leap aside and dodge Caine’s next blow. Sam’s hands were up, palms out. Not ten feet away. And the real problem was that Caine was still seated.
It’s not easy to move quickly when you’re sitting and your feet are up on a desk.
“I’d actually rather not have to kill you,” Sam said. “But if your hand so much as twitches . . .”
Caine let his hands hang in the air, carefully aimed just a bit off target.
He looked at Sam’s face. His brother’s eyes were focused narrowly on his own. Smart boy. Sam had gained experience since the old days when they were an even match. An inexperienced fighter watches the opponent’s hands; a smart fighter watches the other guy’s face.
Caine had to carefully control his eyes, not shift, not look toward—
Sam’s right hand was still aimed directly on Caine’s body. But from his left came the air-sizzling green light. It burned in a flash through the leg of Caine’s chair.
The chair tipped; Caine slipped, landed on his side, rolled fast, and as Sam rushed him pulled one of his newer tricks: he blasted the concrete directly below himself, throwing his own body back with the recoil.
It worked! Sam rushed past, grabbing air. Unfortunately, Caine’s new tactic was not a precision technique. It knocked the wind from him, and he banged the back of his head hard on a stair and saw stars.
“Ow.”
Caine tried to roll to his feet, but something was jabbing him in the crotch. He shook off the stars and saw Edilio standing over him. Edilio had the business end of his automatic rifle in a very sensitive place.
“If you move, Caine, I will shoot your balls off,” Edilio said. “Toto?”
“He will,” Toto said. “Although he’s not sure it will be just your balls.”
Caine glared up at Edilio, murder in his eyes. “You’d get off one round—maybe—and then I’d knock your head right off your shoulders.”
“He believes he could knock your head right off—” Toto began.
“No doubt,” Edilio said. “I guess you have to decide whether one more killing will compensate for your . . . loss.”
“What’s the matter, Sam? You can’t fight your own battles? You have to have your boy here cover for you?” Caine said.
Sam started to respond, then seemed to think better of it and remained silent. He even took a step back.
Edilio said, “Toto. I’m going to say some things to King Caine. You evaluate.”
“I will, Spidey.”
“One: I’m my own man,” Edilio said.
“He believes it.”
“Two: I am sick to death of this tired-ass sibling nonsense between you two.”
“He believes it is tired-ass,” Toto said.
“Three: the gaiaphage and Drake—your daughter and your former partner—”
