The Institute Page 44
How?
Not a spoken word but one that briefly lit up in his mind and then faded away. Luke was getting a little better at catching these thoughts now, but he could only do it when Avery was close, and sometimes still couldn’t do it at all. The dots—what Avery said were the Stasi Lights—had given him some TP, but not much. Just like his TK had never been much. His IQ might be over the moon, but in terms of psychic ability, he was a dope. I could use some more, he thought, and one of his grandfather’s old sayings occurred to him: wish in one hand, shit in the other, see which one fills up first.
“I don’t know,” Luke said. What he did know was that he had been here a long time—longer than Helen, and she was gone. They would come for him soon.
7
In the middle of the night, Avery shook Luke out of a dream about Greta Wilcox—Greta lying against the wall with her head all wrong on her neck. This was not a dream he was sorry to leave. The Avester was huddled up against him, all knees and sharp elbows, shivering like a dog caught in a thunderstorm. Luke turned on the bedside lamp. Avery’s eyes were swimming with tears.
“What’s wrong?” Luke asked. “Bad dream?”
“No. They woke me up.”
“Who?” Luke looked around, but the room was empty and the door was shut.
“Sha. And Iris.”
“You can hear Iris as well as Kalisha?” This was new.
“I couldn’t before, but . . . they had the movies, then they had the dots, then they had the sparkler, then they had their group hug with their heads together, I told you about that—”
“Yes.”
“Usually it’s better afterward, the headaches go away for awhile, but Iris’s came back as soon as the hug was over and it was so bad she started screaming and wouldn’t stop.” Avery’s voice rose beyond its usual treble, wavering in a way that made Luke feel cold all over. “?‘My head, my head, it’s splitting open, oh my poor head, make it stop, somebody make it st—’?”
Luke gave Avery a hard shake. “Lower your voice. They might be listening.”
Avery took several deep breaths. “I wish you could hear me inside your head, like Sha. I could tell you everything then. Telling out loud is hard for me.”
“Try.”
“Sha and Nicky tried to comfort her, but they couldn’t. She scratched at Sha and tried to punch Nicky. Then Dr. Hendricks came—he was still in his pajamas—and he called for the red guys. They were going to take Iris away.”
“To the back half of Back Half?”
“I think so. But then she started to get better.”
“Maybe they gave her a painkiller. Or a sedative.”
“I don’t think so. I think she just got better. Maybe Kalisha helped her?”
“Don’t ask me,” Luke said. “How would I know?”
But Avery wasn’t listening. “There’s a way to help, maybe. A way they can . . .” He trailed off. Luke thought he was going back to sleep. Then Avery stirred and said, “There’s something really bad over there.”
“It’s all bad over there,” Luke said. “The movies, the shots, the dots . . . all bad.”
“Yeah, but it’s something else. Something worse. Like . . . I dunno . . .”
Luke put his forehead against Avery’s and listened as hard as he could. What he picked up was the sound of an airplane passing far overhead. “A sound? Kind of a droning sound?”
“Yes! But not like an airplane. More like a hive of bees. It’s the hum. I think it comes from the back half of Back Half.”
Avery shifted in the bed. In the light of the lamp, he no longer looked like a child; he looked like a worried old man. “The headaches get worse and worse and last longer and longer, because they won’t stop making them look at the dots . . . you know, the lights . . . and they won’t stop giving them the shots and making them watch the movies.”
“And the sparkler,” Luke said. “They have to look at that, because it’s the trigger.”
“What do you mean?”
“Nothing. Go to sleep.”
“I don’t think I can.”
“Try.”
Luke put his arms around Avery, and looked up at the ceiling. He was thinking of a bluesy old song his mother sometimes used to sing: I was yours from the start, you took my heart. You got the best, so what the hell, come on, baby, take the rest.
Luke was increasingly sure that was exactly what they were there for: To have the best taken away. They were weaponized here, and used there until they were emptied out. Then they went to the back half of Back Half, where they joined the drone . . . whatever that was.
Things like that don’t happen, he told himself. Except people would say things like the Institute didn’t happen, either, certainly not in America, and if they did, word would get out because you couldn’t keep anything a secret these days; everyone blabbed. Yet here he was. Here they were. The thought of Harry Cross seizing and foaming at the mouth on the cafeteria floor was awful, the sight of that harmless little girl with her head on crooked and her glazed eyes staring at nothing was worse, but nothing he could think of was as terrible as minds subjected to constant assault until they finally became part of a hive drone. According to the Avester that had almost happened to Iris tonight, and it would soon happen to Nicky, heartthrob of all the girls, and wisecracking George.
And Kalisha.
Luke finally slept. When he woke, breakfast was long over and he was alone in the bed. Luke ran down the hall and burst into Avery’s room, sure of what he would find, but the Avester’s posters were still on the walls and his G.I. Joes were still on the bureau, this morning in a skirmish line.
Luke breathed a sigh of relief, then cringed when he was slapped across the back of the head. He turned and saw Winona (last name: Briggs). “Put on some clothes, young man. I’m not interested in seeing any male in his undies unless he’s at least twenty-two and buffed out. You’re not either one.”
She waited for him to get going. Luke gave her the finger (okay, so he held it hidden against his chest instead of flashing it, but it still felt good) and returned to his room to dress. Far down the hall, where it met the next corridor, he saw a Dandux laundry basket. It could have belonged to Jolene or one of the other housekeepers who had appeared to help deal with the current influx of “guests,” but he knew it was Maureen’s. He could feel her. She was back.
8
When he saw her fifteen minutes later, Luke thought, This woman is sicker than ever.
She was cleaning out the twins’ room, taking down the posters of Disney princes and princesses and putting them carefully in a cardboard box. The little Gs’ beds had already been stripped, the sheets piled in Maureen’s basket with the other dirty laundry she had collected.
“Where’s Gerda?” Luke asked. He also wondered where Greta and Harry were, not to mention any others who might have died as a result of their bullshit experiments. Was there perhaps a crematorium somewhere in this hole of hell? Maybe way down on F-Level? If so, it must have state-of-the-art filters, or he would have smelled the smoke of burning children.
“Ask me no questions and I’ll tell you no lies. Get out of here, boy, and go about your business.” Her voice was brisk and dry, dismissive, but all that was show. Even low-grade telepathy could be useful.
Luke got an apple from the bowl of fruit in the caff, and a pack of Round-Ups (SMOKE JUST LIKE DADDY) from one of the vending machines. The pack of candy cigarettes made him miss Kalisha, but it also made him feel close to her. He peeked out at the playground, where eight or ten kids were using the equipment—a full house, compared to when Luke himself had come in. Avery was sitting on one of the pads surrounding the trampoline, his head on his chest, his eyes closed, fast asleep. Luke wasn’t surprised. Little shit had had a tough night.
Someone thumped his shoulder, hard but not in an unfriendly way. Luke turned and saw Stevie Whipple—one of the new kids. “Man, that was bad last night,” Stevie said. “You know, the big redhead and that little girl.”
“Tell me about it.”
“Then this morning those guys in the red unis came and took that punk-rock girl to Back Half.”
Luke looked at Stevie in silent dismay. “Helen?”
“Yeah, her. This place sucks,” Stevie said, staring out at the playground. “I wish I had, like, jet-boots. I’d be gone so fast it’d make your head spin.”
“Jet-boots and a bomb,” Luke said.
“Huh?”
“Bomb the motherfucker, then fly away.”
Stevie considered this, his moon face going slack, then laughed. “That’s good. Yeah, bomb it flat and then jet-boot the hell outta here. Hey, you ain’t got an extra token, do you? I get hungry this time of day and I ain’t much on apples. I’m more of a Twix man. Or Funyuns. Funyuns are good.”
Luke, who’d gotten many tokens while burnishing his good-boy image, gave Stevie Whipple three and told him to knock himself out.
9