Hokey Pokey Read Online Free PDF Page A

it. His weapon is fear. Destroyer understands fear. Understands it like he understands aloneness. He could never explain it in words. Perhaps his understanding began the day Daffy died. All he knows is, fear works. He believes that the source of fear lives in his pocket, in the yellow plastic clicker that he found one day in Stuff. He discovered that the clicker had power. He discovered that if he pointed it at a little kid and clicked it and said
“Bam!”
or
“Pow!”
or “You’re dead!” the little kid would believe it—not play it but
believe
it. He gave the clicker a name: Exploder.
    He’s crouching by the truck now, out of sight of the kids streaming back to their play. Many are in pairs or groups, but here comes a solo runt in a striped shirt. Destroyer shows himself, calls “Hey.” The kid turns, sees—and that’s all it takes. His bugged-out eyes freeze on Destroyer’s outstretched hand, on Exploder. He knows the drill. By now they all do. Three clicks and you’re dead. Exploded. Smithereens. Destroyer doesn’t even have to say
“Pow!”
anymore.
    Click
    Click
    Click
    The stiff yelps, lurches, falls backward, lies sputtering on the ground.
    Destroyer ambushes two more, a boy and a girl. Body count: three. Plus Henry. A good morning’s work. He climbs into the truck. Sooner or later it will occur to the dumb clucks that they’re not really dead. They’ll get up and walk away. And when he sees them again, they’ll
still
believe. Fear. It’s the best beauty of Destroyer’s weapon: it can kill you over and over.
    He was going to stop but it’s too much fun. He knows where to find more victims. Snuggle Stop. He rolls.

LAJO
    D USTY STOPS , points. “There she is!”
    She’s rounding Doll Farm, seems to be making a beeline for somewhere. Even at this distance LaJo can see that her legs are not moving. Already she knows what it took Jack months to learn: there is little need to pedal Scramjet. If
fast
is what you want, all you have to do is give a light heeltap to the chain, hold out your feet and pull down your hat.
    “C’mon!” Dusty takes off after her. Like he’s really going to catch her on foot.
    There’s an empty swing nearby. LaJo takes a seat.There’s something he’s been wanting to do since they met up with Jack at the tracks. Wanting but not wanting. Because he’s afraid of what he might see. Or not see. He stares at the faraway rider, her ponytail straight out, and Dusty’s stupid pursuit. A Sillynilly comes screaming down a sliding board.…
    Do it
.
    He does it. Doesn’t think, just does it. Pulls up his shirt and looks … and almost faints with relief. It’s there, plain, clear, sharp as always. The tattoo. The inky eye in the middle of his stomach. Same as everyone’s … everyone’s except …
    For the tenth time LaJo flashes to the moment back at the tracks. Jack lifting his shirt to wipe his face, LaJo seeing it, the sudden nameless chill between his shoulder blades:
Jack’s tattoo is fading!

JUBILEE
    S PINNING SPOKES DICE SUNBEAMS , spit diamonds: Jubilee rides.
    Along the way girls cheer:
    “Go, Jubilee!”
    “You da girl!”
    “Doin it—yeah!”
    Boys stare stunned, sullen.
    She ripples through the hoed rows of Doll Farm, little mothers pulling up their rubbery babies naked as turnips, shaking dirt loose from round, astonished eyes. She verves and swerves through ThousandPuddles for a bit, then thinks
Heck with it
and slices the rest of them down the middles. When she sees the DON’T sign coming up, she’s tempted—oh she’s tempted, because there’s nothing she can’t do today, nothing, and the sign is so flimsy, just posterboard on a stick and the hand-lettered word. So easy to snatch. She reaches, reaches … but at the last instant veers off with a laugh.
    Approaching Snuggle Stop, she slows down. Her memories of the candy-cane-striped red-and-white hut are still warm. Many days she stood in line with the other little kids, awaiting her turn