Light (Gone, #6)

by Michael Grant

Edilio got right to it. “We can’t have this. We need to get food production back up. We need to think through how to deal with the lookers. We need rules and organization.” “Yeah, brilliant,” Caine said. “I wish I’d thought of that. Choo, make a note: need people to get back to work. That’s genius. That’s what you came to say? Are you asking me to go down there and start smacking kids around?” Edilio pretended not to notice the sarcasm. “No. In fact, I don’t think you can help, Caine. No one trusts you. No one will follow you.” “That’s the truth,” Toto said. Then, in response to Caine’s withering glare, he added, “Spidey.” “Oh, I see,” Caine said. “No one trusts me, but they will follow Saint Sammy here. Well, not to be impolite but—” Caine’s hand came up fast, and the telekinetic punch hit Sam right in the chest. Sam went flying. In fact he flew straight backward through the air. Ten feet. At least—maybe even a dozen feet. And when he hit, he landed on his butt, and the momentum carried him into a backward roll. Caine laughed delightedly. This was so much better than just sitting around and— Sam was up faster than Caine expected, and he managed to leap aside and dodge Caine’s next blow. Sam’s hands were up, palms out. Not ten feet away. And the real problem was that Caine was still seated. It’s not easy to move quickly when you’re sitting and your feet are up on a desk. “I’d actually rather not have to kill you,” Sam said. “But if your hand so much as twitches . . .” Cain...