Gone

way along, jumping into each likely looking boat, looking for keys, trying to figure out how to check the gas as time ticked away.
    In his mind’s eye Sam saw Drake searching Astrid’s house. A gun in his hand. He would be slowed down a little by fear that Astrid and Little Pete would simply teleport again. Drake wouldn’t know that Little Pete was not really in control of his powers, so he would try to be stealthy, he would be patient.
    That was good. The more uncertainty Drake had, the slower he’d go.
    Suddenly an engine roared to life. Sam jumped back onto the dock from the boat he’d been exploring. He raced back along the dock and found Quinn sitting proudly in a Boston Whaler, an open motorboat.
    “She’s gassed up,” Quinn said over the sluggish chugging of the engine.
    “Good job, man,” Sam said. He jumped into the boat beside Quinn. “Edilio, cast off.”
    Edilio whipped the ropes off the cleats and jumped in. “I gotta warn you, man: I get seasick.”
    “Not our biggest problem, huh?” Sam said.
    “I started it, but I don’t know how to drive it,” Quinn said.
    “Neither do I,” Sam admitted. “But I guess I’m going to learn.”
    “Hey. Hey.” It was Orc’s booming voice. “Don’t you pull away.”
    Orc, Howard, and Panda were at the end of the dock.
    “Mallet,” Sam said. “He saw us. He must have told them.”
    The three bullies started running.
    Sam looked frantically at the controls. The engine was chugging, the boat, unmoored, was drifting away from the dock, but too slowly. Even Orc could easily jump the gap.
    “Throttle,” Edilio said, pointing at a red-tipped lever. “That makes it go.”
    “Yeah. Hang on.”
    Sam moved the throttle up a notch. The boat surged forward and slammed into a piling. Sam was knocked almost but not quite off his feet. Edilio snatched at the railing and held on tight. Quinn sat down hard in the bow.
    The bow scraped past the piling and almost by accident ended up aimed toward open water.
    “You might want to take it slow at first,” Edilio said.
    “Stop! Stop that boat,” Orc yelled breathlessly, pounding down the dock. “I’ll beat your stupid head in.”
    Sam steered—he hoped—in the right direction and chugged slowly away. There was no way Orc could clear the distance now.
    “Caine will kill you,” Panda shouted.
    “Quinn, you traitor,” Howard yelled.
    “Tell them I made you do it,” Sam said.
    “What?”
    “Do it,” Sam hissed.
    Quinn stood up, cupped his hands, and yelled, “He made me do it.”
    “Now tell them we’re going to the power plant.”
    “Dude.”
    “Do it,” Sam insisted. “And point.”
    “We’re heading to the power plant,” Quinn yelled. He pointed north.
    Sam released the wheel, spun, and landed a hard left hook into Quinn’s face. Quinn sat down hard again.
    “What the—”
    “Had to make it look good,” Sam said. It was not an apology.
    The boat was in the clear now. Sam raised his hand, middle finger extended, high above his head, moved the throttle up another notch, and turned north toward the power plant.
    “What’s the game?” Edilio asked, mystified. He stood well back from Sam, just in case Sam decided to punch him next.
    “She won’t be at the plant,” Sam said. “She’ll be at Clifftop. We’re just going north as long as Orc is watching us.”
    “You lied to me,” Quinn accused. He was playing with his chin, making sure his jaw was still attached.
    “Yeah.”
    “You didn’t trust me.”
    Orc, Howard, and Panda disappeared from view, presumably running back to town to report to Caine. As soon as he was sure they were gone, Sam spun the wheel, pushed the throttle all the way up, and headed south.

    Drake lived in an empty house just off the plaza. It was less than a minute’s walk away from town hall. It once had belonged to a guy who lived alone. It was small, just two bedrooms, very neat, very organized, the way Drake liked things.
    The guy, the homeowner, Drake forgot his name, had been a gun owner. Three guns in all, a twenty-gauge over-under shotgun, a thirty-ought-six hunting rifle with a scope, and a nine-millimeter Glock semiautomatic pistol.
    Drake kept all three guns loaded all the time. They were set out on the dining room table, a display, something to be gazed at lovingly.
    Now he hefted the rifle. The stock was as smooth as glass, polished to a high shine. It smelled of steel and oil. He was hesitant about taking the rifle because he’d never