Free Generation M by Scott Cramer Page B

canned fruits and vegetables, fresh beets and turnips, and plastic bottles filled with gasoline.
    Abby shook her head. “Once I start eating, I won’t be able to stop.”
    Toby cursed and said, “I hope you killed Doctor Droznin.”
    “Don’t say that!”
    The scientist had surprised Abby while she was searching Doctor Droznin’s lab, looking for pills, and she had shot her by accident. Abby had meant to fire the gun to frighten Doctor Droznin so she wouldn’t call for help.
    “She infected you with the bacteria, like some kind of lab rat,” Toby said.
    Abby lowered her eyes. It was hard to argue against the truth.
    Toby kept cursing, directing his wrath at adults everywhere for conceiving of the colonies. When his venom ran out, he covered the can of pears with a piece of cloth cut from the tarp, secured it in place with fishing line, and dashed to the back of the car where he returned the can to the trunk.
    Abby folded over. It felt like a hand with sharp claws had tunneled into her stomach, slicing and squeezing her insides.
    “Abby. Abby,” Toby called out and rubbed her back, but she could only grit her teeth.
    The pain finally lessened, and she took several deep breaths.
    “I’ve gone without food before, perhaps a week or longer,” she said in a shaky voice. “After a few days, I stopped feeling hungry. This time is different. I’ve had the Pig for five days, and the cramps keep on getting worse. I think about food constantly.”
    Frowning, Toby said, “That’s what Touk went through.”
    “Toby, we need to get her.”
    He placed his hand on the top of hers. “Jonzy will bring us pills. I’m sure of that. We’ll find Jordan in Mystic, and then we’ll go to Atlanta and get Toucan.”
    Abby’s heart melted. She had always noticed Toby’s eyes. Even when she had hated him in the seventh grade, she felt his eyes revealed his real character. He would act like a jerk, but his eyes showed flashes of compassion. Now, they were swirling with kindness.
    She rested her head on his shoulder. “Thank you.”
    “I have to make one more trade,” he said. “The price of food is sky high, and we need a little more gas to make it to Mystic.”
    “You’re leaving?” she asked with dread.
    His shaved head magnified his sheepish expression. “I have to. Lexi will be back soon.”
    “I don’t trust her,” Abby said.
    Toby chuckled. “I never thought I’d hear you say that about anybody.”
    Abby winced. “There’s something about her I don’t like. I just feel it.”
    “Lexi introduced me to her friends. She shaved my head so I’d fit in with the local kids. And she brought you here. You can trust her.”
    Lexi had apparently tricked Toby, which meant Abby would have to keep a close eye on the girl. “Hurry back,” she said.

1.18
PORTLAND TRADING ZONE, MAINE
    Jordan navigated Mary Queen of Scots around the overturned hull of a fishing trawler in Portland Harbor, one of many boats damaged or sunk by the storm. The graveyard of sailboats blown from their moorings that stretched along the seawall dashed his hopes of finding a bigger, better boat to sail to Mystic.
    At the bow, Eddie spliced a piece of line he’d been working on for the past hour. He’d splice the strands together, sort them apart, and then start over. Jordan thought Eddie kept busy to focus on something other than his ravenous hunger.
    Jordan called out when they were close to the pier. Eddie shifted to the port side and grabbed the ladder as Jordan let go of the mainsheet and the boat glided to a stop. Eddie dragged himself up the ladder and secured the bowline to a cleat.
    The boys left the boat rigged because they were in a hurry. Jordan caught a last look at Mary Queen of Scots. She’d done her job well, safely delivering them to the mainland.
    They headed straight to the fuel depot, which was two miles to the north. Huge fuel tanks rose above the houses and trees. The depot seemed the most likely place to find the fuel king,