Now Drake was worried. At any minute the Brittney Pig might emerge. She could call for help, run to Sam, something, anything.

Drake had Jamal’s gun. He ran his whip hand over it, loving the feel of it, loving the weight of it in his hand. With this gun and his whip he was unstoppable.

Except that he wasn’t just himself, he was Brittney, too.

His mind raced feverishly. What could he do?

Jamal groaned. He started to get up but leaned on an arm that gave way with a sickening crunch.

Jamal shrieked in pain. His left arm hung limp, the shoulder dislocated. There was blood running freely from his nose. Blood seeping out of his ears. Oh yeah, Drake thought, the boy had taken a hard fall.

Drake straddled Jamal. He wrapped his whip arm around Jamal’s throat, cutting off his cries of pain. He pressed the gun barrel against Jamal’s forehead.

“You have three seconds to make a decision,” Drake said, his voice silky. “Are you with me or against me?”

It didn’t take Jamal three seconds. “I’ll help you, I’ll help you!” he blurted as soon as Drake relaxed the pressure on his throat.

“Yeah? Well, listen good, jerkwad, because I don’t give second chances. Mess with me, disobey me, even hesitate, and I won’t kill you.”

Jamal’s brow creased in confusion.

“No, see, death, that’s the end of pain,” Drake said. “No, no killing. But I will whip you.”

With sudden gleeful ferocity Drake reared back and struck with his whip hand. It cut through Jamal’s pants and cut a stripe on his thigh.

Jamal bellowed.

Drake struck again, twice more while Jamal writhed and tried to cover himself with his one good arm.

“I wanted you to know what it will feel like,” Drake said. “Hurts, doesn’t it?”

Jamal was crying now, crying and too terrified to answer.

“I said: it hurts, doesn’t it?”

“Yes! Yes!” Jamal sobbed.

“No matter what you do, Jamal, no matter how smart or how tough you think you are, if you betray me, if you even look like you might betray me, I’ll whip you. And I’ll make it last. For hours. And I’ll leave you where the Healer can’t find you. Do you believe I’ll do that, Jamal?”

Jamal nodded frantically. “Yes! I believe it!”

“I can’t be killed, Jamal,” Drake said.

“I know!”

Drake handed him the gun. He watched closely to see whether Jamal truly did understand. He could see the moment when Jamal thought, “I can shoot him and run away.”

But he also saw the wheels spin in Jamal’s head as the boy worked it through to the inevitable conclusion.

He saw Jamal’s resistance evaporate.

“Smart boy,” Drake said. “Now, here’s what you do.”

Chapter Ten

52 HOURS, 37 MINUTES

“WHY DID WE have to sneak out of town in the nighttime?” Jack grumbled. “I’m tripping over everything.”

Jack, Sam, Dekka, and Taylor were across the highway, past the gas station, and climbing uphill. Moonlight touched the tall, dry grass with silver. But it didn’t reveal the smaller rocks that poked up through the dust-dry ground and stubbed toes or tripped you so you landed on your hands and knees and looked like an idiot.

Jack was not interested in going on some long, dangerous walk. Especially at night. Or in the daytime, for that matter. What he wanted to do was just lie in his bed. Just lie in his bed and read.

He had a pile of books. They were the only thing to do. No internet. No computers. Not even electricity.

Of course that was his fault. His fault for being tricked by Caine and especially that witch, Diana.

He had a hard time saying no to girls. Especially Brianna, who seemed to be able to get him to do anything she wanted.

Brianna kind of lived with him. They were kind of going together, he guessed. Although they didn’t actually do anything. Like make out or anything. That didn’t happen.

Jack had thought seriously about asking Brianna if she would make out with him. She was cute. He liked her. He guessed she liked him. They had taken care of each other when the flu was going around.

But . . . It occurred to Jack that Sam had not answered.

“Why are we sneaking out in the night?” Jack repeated.

“I already explained,” Sam snapped. “If you don’t listen—”

Taylor jumped in to say, “Because otherwise Astrid would find some way to stop him.” She mimicked Astrid’s voice, injecting it with steel and a tense, condescending tone. “Sam. I am the smartest, hottest girl in the world. So do what I tell you. Good boy. Down, boy. Down!”

Sam remained silent, walking steadily just a few feet ahead.

Taylor continued, “Oh, Sam, if only you could be as smart plus as totally goody-goody as I am. If only you could realize that you will never be good enough to have me, me, wonderful me, Astrid the Blond Genius.”

“Sam, can I shoot her now?” Dekka asked. “Or is it too soon?”

“Wait until we’re over the ridge,” Sam said. “It’ll muffle the sound.”

“Sorry, Dekka,” Taylor said. “I know you don’t like talking about boy-girl things.”

“Taylor,” Sam warned.

“Yes, Sam?”

“You might want to think about how hard it would be to walk if someone were to turn off gravity under your feet every now and then.”

“I wonder who would do that?” Dekka said.