All easy to take, if we had to.

"Christ on a cracker," the one closest to me muttered, shaking his mop of red hair. "I told you we should have checked the van first."

Liam's blond head popped up from the wreckage.

"What the hell are you fools trying to pull?" he snarled. There was another sound, too, like the mewling of a kitten. Or a little girl crying.

I climbed over a bin of bargain DVDs to get to them. Zu sat on the floor, her pink palm facing up toward Chubs's squinting eyes. Without the glasses perched on his nose, he looked like a different person. "She's all right," he said. "No burns."

Liam was suddenly standing beside me, using my shoulder for balance as he climbed over one of the overturned shelves.

"You okay?" he asked.

"Fine," I said. "Pissed. You?"

"Fine. Pissed."

I thought for sure I was going to have to hold him back as we came closer to the cluster of boys, but his fury seemed to fall away from him with each step. The other kids had regrouped beside an overturned display of neon-colored pool noodles. The tallest one, his cloud of frizzy brown hair hovering around a pencil-thin neck, stepped in front of the others-the ginger kid who had spoken before, and two big-shouldered blonds that looked like brothers.

"Look, man, I'm sorry," he said.

"Do you always do crap like this?" Liam said. "Attacking folks without even checking to see if they're armed-if they're like you?"

The leader bristled. "You could have been skip tracers."

"And it was your Yellow that did all of-this." The ginger kid gestured toward the shelves. "The girl needs a leash."

"Watch your mouth," Liam snapped. The blond brothers took a step forward, their eyes lighting at the challenge. "She wouldn't have panicked if you hadn't pulled guns on us."

"We wouldn't have had to use them if you'd paid attention to our warning back there and just left."

"Because you gave us so much time to get away-" Liam snapped.

"Look, we could go back and forth forever and it won't solve a damn thing," I interrupted. "We were hoping to spend the night here, but if you've claimed it or whatever, then we'll go. That's the only reason we came-for shelter."

"For shelter," the leader repeated.

"I'm sorry, did I stutter?"

"No, but my ears are still bleeding from your Yellow's meltdown," he snarled. "Maybe you should say it again, baby, for good measure."

Liam shot out an arm, cutting off my warpath before it could start.

"We just want to stay here a night. We're not looking for any trouble," he said flatly.

The leader gave me the once-over, his eyes drifting to a stop where my hands were fisted at my side, bunching up my dress.

"Looks like you already found it."

The leader's name was Greg, and he hailed from Mechanicsville, Virginia. The nervous ginger-haired kid refused to introduce himself but was called Collins by the others. I caught that he was from some town in Pennsylvania, but that was as much as he was willing to share with anyone. The blonds-who were, as I guessed, brothers-were Kyle and Kevin. The only thing the ramshackle group had in common, outside of their pool of food and an alarming pile of firearms and knives, was their camp in New York, which they lovingly referred to only as "Satan's Ass Crack."

They told the incredibly dramatic-and highly improbable-tale of their escape from PSF custody over our shared meal of fruit snacks, stale Pringles, and Twinkies.

"Let me get this straight," said Chubs, his face etched with disbelief. "You were being moved from one camp to another?"

Greg leaned back against one of the glass freezer doors. "They weren't taking us to another camp. They packed up as many guys as they could and said we were being brought to a testing facility in Maryland."

"Only guys?" Chubs asked.

"We didn't have girls there." Greg's voice was heavy with disappointment. That explained a lot-particularly why he still seemed to be inching toward me, no matter how far I scooted away. "Otherwise I'm sure they would have been loaded up, too."

"I'm surprised they even told you that much," I said, trying to steer the conversation back on track. "Do you think that's actually where they were bringing you?"

"No," Collins cut in. "It was pretty clear that they had orders to get rid of us."

"And a storm flooded the road, flipping the bus and allowing you to escape?"

That was the part of the story I had problems with, too. It was that easy for them? A simple intervention of Mother Nature, and they were saved, washed out to freedom and a new life Biblical-style? Where was the detail of PSFs traveling with them?

"We've been holed up ever since. It took something like six months to get word to my dad that I was out and safe, and another three to get some kind of response from him."

Chubs leaned forward. "How, exactly, did you get in touch with them? The Internet?"

"Nah, man," Greg said. "After that terrorist business, you can't even search for recipes online without the PSFs snooping and breaking down your door. All they need is one whiff of trouble."

"What terrorists?" I interrupted.

"The League," Chubs said. "Don't you remember-ah." He seemed to realize his mistake a second late, and, with more patience than I thought he possessed, explained, "Three years ago, the League hacked into the government's Psi databases and tried posting information about the camps online for everyone to see. Other groups took that as their cue to hack into banks, the stock exchange, the State Department..."

"So they cracked down on it?"

"Right. Most of the social networking sites are gone, and all of the e-mail services are required to monitor the e-mails being sent on their servers." He turned to the other boys, who were staring at me with varying degrees of interest and curiosity. I don't think Kevin-or was it Kyle?-had stopped staring at me the entire time I had sat there.

"How, then?"

"Easy," Greg said, with a highly unnecessary wink in my direction. "We used what was left. I put an ad in my hometown paper with a message only my brother would get."

I didn't need to look to know that Chubs had narrowed his eyes. He tensed beside me. "And who paid for this ad? The editors didn't just let you put that in there for free, did they?"

"No, the Slip Kid paid," Greg said. "He set everything up for me."

I sat up straight, kicking aside some of the empty foil wrappers. "You've actually been in contact with the Slip Kid?"

"Oh yes. He's like...a god," Collins said, his breath rushing out. "He gathered all of us together. Kids from all over New England and the South. Every color. Older kids, young ones, too. They say that the PSFs stay away from his court in the woods because they're afraid of him. That he set his camp on fire and killed all the PSFs sent to bring him back."

"Who is he?" I asked.

The four of them grinned at one another, the jumping shadows from the emergency lights making them look even smugger.

"What else?" Chubs said, sucking all of this down eagerly. "How was he able to send the money for the ad? What's East River like-where is it?"

I glanced back over my shoulder to Liam, who stood behind me, leaning against what used to be a TV dinner freezer. He'd been strangely quiet the entire time, his lips pressed tight together, but his face otherwise perfectly devoid of emotion.

"They have a sweet setup at East River," Collins said. "But if you want to get to East River, you have to find it for yourself."

"Sounds that way," Liam said, finally. "Are there a lot of kids there?"

The four of them had to think about this. "More than a hundred, but not, like, in the thousands," Greg said. "Why?"

Liam shook his head, but I was surprised to see a hint of disappointment there. "Just wondering. Most never were in camps, I take it?"

"Some." Greg shrugged. "And some found it after dodging skip tracer or PSF custody."

"And the Slip Kid-he doesn't have..." Liam seemed to struggle to figure out how to ask his question. "He doesn't have plans for them, does he? What's his endgame?"

The others seemed to find the question as strange as I did. It wasn't until Greg said, "No endgame. Just livin', I guess," that I realized I hadn't once thought about the reason why Liam would be looking for the Slip Kid. I'd just assumed that he and the others wanted to find him to get home and to deliver Jack's letter-but if that really was the case, what had sparked the fire in Liam's eyes? His hands were stuffed in his jacket pockets, but I could see the outline of them curling into fists.

"What about directions?" I asked.

"Well, now." Something changed in Greg's expression; a slick smile took over his face as his free hand landed on my foot. The brothers, Kyle and Kevin, hadn't said a word since we'd sat down in their makeshift encampment in the freezer aisles, but now looked at each other with identical expressions of knowing. I tried to gulp back the revulsion rising in me.

"I'm sure they'd be happy to have you," Greg said, his fingers sliding up from my shoe to stroke my ankle. I started to push away but stopped when he added, "It's in a really great location near the coast, but there just aren't a whole lot of girls. They could use something so...nice to look at."

His fingers moved again, tracing a line up my calf. "You should go. It's safer than getting caught by one of the tribes. There's a group of Blue kids that hangs out around Norfolk-they're nasty. Steal the clothes right off your back. There was a tribe of Yellows around here for a while, but a kid we were in camp with claims they were all taken in by PSFs."

All of this tribe stuff was new to me. Kids banding together and roving the countryside, trying to avoid getting caught, taking care of one another? Amazing.

Greg's warm, fleshy palm continued its ascent until it swallowed up my knee and squeezed-and that was as far as he was ever going to get. I felt the trickle at the back of my mind, the buzz that pushed past even my anger, and had to close my eyes at the flash of images that followed. A glimpse of a shining yellow shell of a school bus coming down a dirt road. A woman's blurry face, her mouth moving in silent song. A campfire flaring up into the night sky. The faces of Kevin and Kyle leaning close to what looked like a clock radio, in the middle of a trashed electronics store; the numbers on the clock's face were climbing, but not counting time. They lit an electric green glow in the dark-310, 400, 460, 500, until it finally stopped on- My hand clenched into a fist as I started to detach from both Greg and his silky swarm of memories, but Chubs was already there. He reached across my lap and began to peel Greg's fingers off, one by one, with a look of pure disdain. For his part, Greg only looked slightly dazed, his eyes glassy, unaware of what I had just done. I glanced around wildly, my heart lodged somewhere between my mouth and chest, but no one seemed to have noticed my slip. The only one who moved was Chubs, and it was just to scoot closer to me.

Damn it, I thought, squeezing my eyes shut again. One hand drifted up to press against my forehead, as if I could hold back the invisible fingers there by force. Too close. That was way too close.

"What was that kid's name again? The Yellow who worked with us in the kitchen? Fred? Frank?" Collins lay back on his sleeping bag, folding his hands over his chest.

"Felipe-Felipe Marino?" Greg's eyes came back into full focus and continued up my legs, past where his hand had been allowed.

"Felipe?" Liam interrupted, as if coming out of a trance. "Did you say Felipe Marco?"

"You know him?"

Liam nodded. "We traveled together for a while."

"Must have been before he got his ass caught here," Greg said. "He was the one that told us about this place. Said he was here with his friend-that you?"

"Yeah. What happened to him?" Liam knelt, wedging himself between Greg and me. "They brought us to separate camps."

Greg shrugged. "He was in one of the earlier buses they were taking to Maryland. Who knows?"

So the Yellows at their camp had been removed, too. They must have only been taken from the bigger camps, not the smaller ones that had been cobbled together farther west.

"I miss that kid. He was smart. Knew how to use his powers-better than your pet, at least. Might as well send her back for all the good she's going to do for you." Greg nodded toward Zu, who was sitting with her back to us, working through the pages of multiplication problems Liam had made for her.

And that was about as much as I could take.

"You have two seconds to tell me you're kidding," I said, "or I'm punching you in the face."

"Do it," Chubs hissed beside me.

But Liam put a firm hand on my shoulder, effectively shutting down any chance I had of making good on my threat. He kept his face passive, easygoing, but his breath hitched in his throat. He stretched his fingers out, brushing them against mine on the floor. I jolted at the touch but couldn't bring myself to pull away.

Greg held up his hands. "All I'm saying is there's something off about her. She's not like the others, is she?" He leaned closer. "Is she retarded? Did they do testing on her?"

"She's mute, not deaf," Liam cut in smoothly. "And I promise you, she's probably five times smarter than the seven of us put together."

"I'm not so sure about that," Chubs began. "I'm-"

Liam silenced him with a look and brought his lips down next to my ear. "Take Zu?"

I nodded, my fingers tapping his to show that I understood. I pushed myself up off the ground, feeling calmer now.

When I reached Zu, I held out my hand to her. She raised hers without looking up, blindly reaching for mine. I stared at the yellow glove in front of me, streaked with dirt and black grime, and, despite what had happened a few minutes before, pulled it right off her little fingers.

I couldn't say why I had done it; maybe being so close to Liam and not losing control had made me stupidly brave, or maybe I was just sick of the reality that forced her into them. All I knew for sure was that if I never saw Zu wear those gloves again, it would be too soon.

Zu jerked when she felt the warm skin of my hand against hers, and tried to tug away. Her eyes went wide, but I couldn't tell if it was from worry or wonder.

"Come on," I said, squeezing her hand. "Girl time."

Her face brightened, but she didn't smile.

"Don't go too far," Liam called after us.

"Don't go too far," the other boys echoed, then burst out into laughter.

Zu's nose wrinkled in disgust.

"I know what you mean," I said, and took her as far away from them as I could.

For the first ten or so minutes we spent walking around the store, Zu kept turning to look at our linked hands, as if she couldn't believe what she was seeing. Every now and then, some bin of unwanted DVDs or an aisle endcap of pointless knickknacks would catch her attention, but her dark eyes would always wander back to where our hands swung between us. We had just turned down one of many ravaged cleaning supply aisles when she gave my arm a tug.

"What's wrong?" I asked, kicking aside a stray mop.

Zu pointed at the glove I was twirling around with my free hand.

I lifted our hands between us. "What's so bad about this?"

She blew out the breath she had been holding, and it was evident I had missed the point. I was dragged all the way to the other end of the aisle, where she let go of my hand to snatch a white box from the shelf. Zu went to work tearing the box open, tossing aside the foam and plastic stuffing to get the old-fashioned silver toaster inside.

"I'm not sure we're going to need that," I started slowly.