Barren Cove by Ariel S. Winter Page B

teeth and averted his eyes.
    â€œCan you pull me apart with your bare hands? Because I could you.”
    â€œShut up,” Beachstone said.
    Kent noticed some blood soaking through Beachstone’s pants. He grabbed the boy’s leg—
    â€œHey! Stop!”
    â€”straightened it, knocking the boy into a lying position, and pulled up the leg of Beachstone’s pants.
    The boy was hitting at him, jerking away.
    â€œOoo,” Kent said. “That doesn’t look good.” Part of the scalpel cut seemed to have healed, but the skin around the top was bright candy-apple red.
    â€œKent!”
    Kent jerked. Mary was half running, half walking toward them from the cliff stairs. As much as he wanted to hurt Mary, to make her pay for leaving him, he felt panic at her finding him laying hands on Beachstone again. He let go of the boy, who remained lying down. “Ah, Mary,” Kent said, grinning. “Our hero.”
    She was walking now, watching him with suspicion. She stopped a few feet away.
    â€œOr, no,” Kent said, backing away from the boy, “what was it? Our ‘sidekick.’ ”
    For each step Kent took back, Mary took a step closer.
    â€œShut up,” Beachstone said, sitting up.
    â€œYou hear how he talks?” Kent said. “Does he order you around too?”
    Mary was beside Beachstone now, but she never took her eyes off her brother.
    â€œYour human is sick,” Kent said. Beachstone was pale and sweating profusely, his breathing coming in short gasps.
    â€œWhat’s wrong with you?” Mary said.
    At that, Kent’s rage blossomed, his eyes growing wide. “What’s wrong with m e ?” he said. “With m e ? What happened to you and to Father? What’s wrong with the two of you, losing yourselves to this . . .” He kicked sand at Beachstone, who turned his head away. “This anachronism.”
    â€œHaven’t you noticed how happy Father is?” Mary said.
    â€œWhen would I have noticed? He doesn’t have time for us anymore.”
    â€œYou’re the one off playing with your bikes,” Mary said.
    â€œNo, you’re right,” Beachstone said suddenly, managing a sly smile. “He doesn’t care about you anymore. Now he’s got me.”
    Kent moved toward Beachstone, and Mary took a step forward, and then Kent yelled at the sky, a groan of angry frustration. “He’s an arrogant, self-serving pissant. You know he doesn’t think of us as anything more than machines.”
    â€œNo,” Mary said. “That’s what he makes you feel.”
    Beachstone rolled over and vomited a goopy yellow liquid. Mary bent down to him.
    â€œWeak,” Kent said. “All of us. Weak.”
    Beachstone wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and sat back up.
    â€œGo away, Kent,” Mary said, squatting beside the boy. “You’ve had your fun.”
    And that’s it, Kent thought. A dismissal. I’m no more than an annoyance. Me! Her own brother. But she loves this animal more. “We’ll see if you’re saying that in eighty years, when your beloved here is a corpse, and you’re all alone.” He went to his bike and righted it. It had stalled out. He straddled it and restarted its engine. “And all of this,” Kent said, gesturing with his head to indicate their sand constructions. He gunned the bike, passing only inches from Beachstone and Mary, plowing into the sand buildings and mounds, when suddenly his bike flipped up and he flew over the handlebars.
    Mary wanted to rush to her brother, the way she had to Beachstone when the boy had been sick only moments before, but for some reason she stayed still. Beachstone was on his feet, all his weight on his good leg, his face flushed.
    Kent got up and stomped to his bike. The tunnels under ahuge section of the city had collapsed under his weight, forming the pothole that had flipped the bike. Kent