Tell us about the death of E.Z., Mr. Temple.

Tell us what you did to save the kids at the power plant.

Tell us how you failed to find a way out of the FAYZ.

Tell us why, when the FAYZ wall came down, we found kids dead in the dark.

They were down to eating rats, Mr. Temple.

We have evidence of cannibalism.

Explain that to us, Mr. Temple.

Sam heard soft footsteps in the family room. Of course. There was one person who would know where he was hiding.

The bedroom door opened with a squeak. A flashlight found his face. He closed his eyes to block the light.

The flashlight snapped off. Without a word she came and sat beside him.

For the longest time neither of them spoke. They sat side by side. Her leg was against his.

“I’m feeling sorry for myself,” he said at last.

“Why?”

It took him a few beats to realize she was kidding. She knew the list in his head as well as he did.

“Whatever vitally important thing you came here to tell me?” he said. “Just don’t, okay? I’m sure it’s absolutely life or death. But just don’t.”

He could sense her hesitation. With sinking heart he realized he had guessed correctly. There was some new crisis. Some new thing that absolutely demanded Sam Temple’s attention, his decisiveness, his leadership.

He didn’t care.

Astrid remained silent. Silent for too long. But she seemed to be rocking back and forth, just slightly. And he almost thought he heard her whispering.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“I’m praying.”

“What for?”

“A miracle. A clue. Food.”

Sam sighed. “What food?”

“A Quiznos. Turkey, bacon, and guacamole.”

“Yeah? If God gives you a Quiznos, can I have a bite?”

“No way. You have to pray for your own food.”

“Three hundred kids are praying for food. And yet, we have no food. Three hundred kids praying for their parents. Praying for this all to be over.”

“Yeah,” she admitted. “Sometimes it’s hard having faith.”

“If there’s a God, I wonder if he’s sitting in the dark on the end of his bed wondering how he managed to screw everything up.”

“Maybe,” Astrid said with just a little bit of a laugh.

Sam was not in a laughing mood. “Yeah? Well to hell with your God.”

He heard a sharp intake of breath. It gratified him. Good. Let her be shocked. Let her be so shocked, she went away and left him to sit here alone in the dark.

Neither of them spoke for a long while. Then Astrid stood up, breaking the slight physical contact between them.

“You don’t want to hear this,” Astrid said, “but they couldn’t find you, so they found me. And now I’ve found you.”

“I really don’t care,” Sam warned.

But Astrid would not stop. “Bug has come over to our side. He was on a mission for Caine. They have a freak who can see dreams and Caine wanted Bug to get her, take her to some mine in the hills. Some monster.”

“Yeah?” Sam said. Not like he cared. Like he was just being polite.

“And Cookie showed up. He had to walk all the way back to town. He walked through the night. He had a note from Lana.”

Nothing. Sam had nothing to say to that.

Astrid sat quiet for a second then added, “Bug says they call it the gaiaphage. Lana calls it the Darkness.”

Sam covered his face with his hands. “I don’t care, Astrid. Handle it yourself. Pray to Jesus and maybe He’ll handle it.”

“You know, Sam, I’ve never thought you were perfect. I know you have a temper. But I’ve never known you to be mean.”

“I’m mean?” He laughed bitterly.

“Mean. Yes, that was mean.”

Their voices were rising swiftly. “I’m mean? That’s the worst you can throw at me?”

“Mean and self-pitying. Does that make it better?”

“And what are you, Astrid?” he shouted. “A smug know-it-all! You point your finger at me and say, ‘Hey, Sam, you make the decisions, and you take all the heat.’”

“Oh, it’s my fault? No way. I didn’t anoint you.”

“Yeah, you did, Astrid. You guilted me into it. You think I don’t know what you’re all about? You used me to protect Little Pete. You use me to get your way. You manipulate me anytime you feel like it.”

“You really are a jerk, you know that?”

“No, I’m not a jerk, Astrid. You know what I am? I’m the guy getting people killed,” Sam said quietly.

Then, “My head is exploding from it. I can’t get my brain around it. I can’t do this. I can’t be that guy, Astrid, I’m a kid, I should be studying algebra or whatever. I should be hanging out. I should be watching TV.”

His voice rose, higher and louder till he was screaming. “What do you want from me? I’m not Little Pete’s father. I’m not everybody’s father. Do you ever stop to think what people are asking me to do? You know what they want me to do? Do you? They want me to kill my brother so the lights will come back on. They want me to kill kids! Kill Drake. Kill Diana. Get our own kids killed.

“That’s what they ask. Why not, Sam? Why aren’t you doing what you have to do, Sam? Tell kids to get eaten alive by zekes, Sam. Tell Edilio to dig some more holes in the square, Sam.”