Gone

Caine had moved in and taken over.
    The second day since Sam had kissed Astrid beside a freshly dug grave.
    Caine had organized ten search teams to move through the town, each covering a square block to start. The idea was to go into each house on each of the four streets that formed the block. They were to make sure the stove was off, the air-conditioning was off, the TV was off, interior lights were off, and the porch lights lit. They were to turn off automatic irrigation systems and turn off hot water heaters.
    If they couldn’t figure any of that out, they would add it toa list for Edilio to follow up on. Edilio always seemed able to figure out mechanical things. He was running around Perdido Beach with a tool belt and two Coates kids as “helpers.”
    The search teams were also to search for lost kids, babies who might have been abandoned, might be trapped in cribs. And pets, too.
    In each house they made a list of anything useful, like computers, and anything dangerous, like guns or drugs. They were to note how much food there was and collect all the medicines so they could be sent to Dahra. Diapers and formula went to the day care.
    It was a good plan. It was a good idea.
    Caine had some good ideas, no question. Caine had tasked Computer Jack to come up with an emergency communication system. Computer Jack had the idea of going old school: he’d set up short-wave radios in the town hall, the fire station, the day care, and the abandoned house Drake used for himself and some of his sheriffs.
    But Caine had taken no action against Orc.
    Sam had gone to him to demand action.
    “What am I supposed to do?” Caine had asked reasonably. “Bette was breaking the rules, and Orc is a sheriff. It was a tragedy for everyone involved. Orc feels very bad.”
    So Orc still prowled the streets of Perdido Beach. For all Sam knew, Bette’s blood was still on the bully’s bat. And now the fear of the so-called sheriffs was magnified ten times over.
    “Let’s just get this over with,” Sam said. He wasn’t going toget into a discussion of Caine in front of Brooke. He assumed the ten-year-old was a spy. In any case, he was in a foul mood because one of the houses they were to visit later was his own.
    Quinn knocked. He rang the bell. “Nada.” He tried the door. It was locked. “Bring on the hammer,” Quinn said.
    Each search team had a wagon, either taken from the hardware store or borrowed from someone’s yard. They carried a heavy sledgehammer in the wagon.
    It had taken them two hours to deal with the first two houses. It was going to be a while before every home in Perdido Beach had been searched and rendered safe.
    “You want to do the hammer?” Sam asked, deferring to Quinn.
    “I live for the hammer, brah.”
    Quinn hefted the hammer and swung it against the door, just below the doorknob. The wood splintered, and Quinn pushed the door back.
    The smell hit them hard.
    “Oh, man, what died in here?” Quinn said, like it was a joke.
    The joke fell flat.
    Just inside the door, on the hardwood floor lay a baby’s pacifier. The three of them stared at it.
    “No, no, no. I can’t do this,” Brooke said.
    The three of them stayed on the porch, no one willing to go in. But no one was willing to close the door and just walk away, either.
    Brooke’s hands were shaking so badly, Sam reached forthem and held them in his. “It’s okay,” he said. “You don’t have to go in.”
    She was chubby, freckled, with straw-dry reddish hair. She wore the Coates uniform and had seemed, up until this moment, almost a cipher. She never joked or played around, just did what she was supposed to do, following Sam’s lead.
    “It’s just, after Coates…,” Brooke said.
    “What about Coates?” Sam asked.
    Brooke flushed. “Nothing. Just, you know, all the adults disappearing.” Then, feeling like she had to explain some more, she said, “It’s, like, I don’t want to see any more creepy stuff, okay?”
    Sam shot a significant look at Quinn, but Quinn just shrugged and said, “There’s, like, a dead little kid in there. We don’t have to go inside to know that.”
    Sam yelled, “Is there anyone in there?” as loud as he could. Then to Quinn, “We can’t just ignore this.”
    “Maybe we should just report it to Caine,” Quinn said.
    “I don’t see him going house-to-house,” Sam snapped. “He’s sitting on his butt acting like he’s the emperor of Perdido Beach.”
    When no one took the bait, Sam