“He’s not a bonus, he’s a liability,” Helen said, and waved at a cloud of minges surrounding her.
“What’s a liability?” Avery asked.
“If you want to know, read my mind,” Helen said. “Besides, badminton’s for pussies who can’t play tennis.”
“Aren’t you cheerful company,” Kalisha said.
Helen, walking toward the picnic tables and games cabinet, hoisted a middle finger over her shoulder without looking back. And pumped it. Iris said it could be Nicky and George against Luke and Kalisha; she, Iris, would ump the sidelines. Avery said he would help. All finding this agreeable, the game began. The score was ten-all when the door to the lounge banged open and the new boy walked out, almost managing a straight line. He looked dazed from whatever drug had been in his system. He also looked pissed off. Luke put him at six feet and maybe sixteen years of age. He was carrying a considerable belly in front—a food gut that might become a beer gut in adulthood—but his sunburned arms were slabbed with muscle, and he had an awesome set of traps, maybe from lifting. His cheeks were spattered with freckles and acne. His eyes looked pink and irritated. His red hair was standing up in sleep-scruffy patches. They all stopped what they were doing to check him out.
Whispering without moving her lips, like a con in a prison yard, Kalisha said, “It’s the Incredible Bulk.”
The new kid stopped by the trampoline and surveyed the others. He spoke slowly, in spaced bursts, as if suspecting those he addressed were primitives with little grasp of English. His accent was southern. “What… the fuck… is this?”
Avery trotted over. “It’s the Institute. Hi, I’m Avery. What’s your n—”
The new kid put the heel of his hand against Avery’s chin and shoved. It wasn’t particularly hard, almost absent-minded, but Avery went sprawling on one of the cushions surrounding the trampoline, staring up at the new kid with an expression of shocked surprise. The new kid took no notice of him, or the badminton players, or Iris, or Helen, who had paused in the act of dealing herself a hand of solitaire. He seemed to be talking to himself.
“What… the fuck… is this?” He waved irritably at the bugs. Like Luke on his first visit to the playground, New Kid hadn’t slathered on any repellent. The minges weren’t just swarming; they were lighting on him and sampling his sweat.
“Aw, man,” Nicky said. “You shouldn’t have knocked the Avester over like that. He was trying to be nice.”
New Kid at last paid some attention. He turned to Nick. “Who… the fuck… are you?”
“Nick Wilholm. Help Avery up.”
“What?”
Nick looked patient. “You knocked him over, you help him up.”
“I’ll do it,” Kalisha said, and hurried to the trampoline. She bent to take Avery’s arm, and New Kid pushed her. She missed the springy stuff and sprawled on the gravel, scraping one knee.
Nick dropped his badminton racquet and walked over to New Kid. He put his hands on his hips. “Now you can help them both up. I’m sure you’re disoriented as hell, but that’s no excuse.”
“What if I don’t?”
Nicky smiled. “Then I’ll fuck you up, fat boy.”
Helen Simms was looking on with interest from the picnic table. George apparently decided to head for safer territory. He strolled toward the door to the lounge, giving New Kid a wide berth as he did so.
“Don’t bother with him if he wants to be an asshole,” Kalisha said to Nicky. “We’re okay, Avery, aren’t we?” She helped him to his feet and started backing away.
“Sure we are,” Avery said, but tears were once more spilling down his chubby cheeks.
“Who you callin a asshole, bitch?”
Nick said, “Must be you, since you’re the only asshole here.” He took a step closer to New Kid. Luke was fascinated by the contrast. New Kid was a mallet; Nicky was a blade. “You need to apologize.”
“Fuck you and fuck your apology,” New Kid said. “I don’t know what this place is, but I know I’m not staying. Now get out my face.”
“You’re not going anywhere,” Nicky said. “You’re here for the long haul, just like the rest of us.” He smiled without showing his teeth.
“Stop it, both of you,” Kalisha said. She had her arm around Avery’s shoulders, and Luke didn’t have to be a mind reader to know what she was thinking, because he was thinking the same thing: New Kid outweighed Nicky by sixty pounds at least, probably more like eighty, and although New Kid was carrying plenty of table muscle in front, those arms were slabs.
“Last warning,” New Kid said. “Move or I’ll lay you t’fuck out.”
George seemed to have changed his mind about going inside. Now he was strolling back toward New Kid, not behind him but to one side. It was Helen who was coming up behind him, not fast but with that nice little hip-sway Luke so admired. And a small smile of her own.
George’s face contracted in a frown of concentration, lips pressing together and forehead furrowing. The minges that had been circling both boys suddenly drew together and gusted at New Kid’s face as if on an invisible breath of wind. He raised a hand to his eyes, waving at them. Helen dropped to her knees behind him, and Nicky gave the redhead a shove. New Kid went sprawling, half on gravel and half on asphalt.
Helen leaped to her feet and pranced away, laughing and pointing. “Nookies on you, big boy, nookies on you, nookies all over you!”
With a roar of fury, New Kid began getting up. Before he could accomplish that, Nick stepped forward and kicked him in the thigh. Hard. New Kid screamed, clutched at his leg, and pulled his knees up to his chest.
“Jesus, stop it!” Iris cried. “Haven’t we got enough trouble without this?”
The old Luke might have agreed; the new Luke—the Institute Luke—did not. “He started it. And maybe he needed it.”
“I’ll get you!” New Kid sobbed. “I’ll get all of you fucking dirty fighters!” His face had gone an alarming red-purple. Luke found himself wondering if an overweight sixteen-year-old could have a stroke, and found—appalling but true—that he did not care.
Nicky dropped to one knee. “You won’t get shit,” he said. “Right now you need to listen to me, fatso. We’re not your problem. They’re your problem.”
Luke looked around and saw three caretakers standing shoulder to shoulder just outside the door of the lounge: Joe, Hadad, and Gladys. Hadad no longer looked friendly, and Gladys’s plastic smile was gone. All three were holding black gadgets with wires sticking out of them. They weren’t moving in yet, but they were ready to. Because you don’t let the test animals hurt each other, Luke thought. That’s one thing you don’t do. The test animals are valuable.
Nicky said, “Help me with this bastard, Luke.”
Luke took one of New Kid’s arms and got it around his neck. Nick did the same with the other. The kid’s skin was hot and oily with sweat. He was gasping for breath between clenched teeth. Together, Luke and Nicky hauled him to his feet.
“Nicky?” Joe called. “Everything all right? Shit-storm over?”
“All over,” Nicky said.
“It better be,” Hadad said. He and Gladys went back inside. Joe stood where he was, still holding his black gadget.
“We’re totally okay,” Kalisha said. “It wasn’t a real shit-storm, just a little…”