The Only Ones by Aaron Starmer

design, and the ice cream was three scoops of three different colors—red, white, and brown. Martin had seen pictures of ice cream cones in a cookbook before, but he had never realized that dogs had such an interest in them. Their noses were glued to the thing.
    “Git!” Henry commanded as he stepped out of somebushes, waving a stick. The dogs scattered, and Henry tossed the stick at the biggest one to make sure he didn’t contemplate turning back. Reaching into the bushes, he then pulled out a long nylon duffel bag, which he set next to the ice cream cone. He gave the scoops of ice cream a push from underneath. They detached from the cone and flopped backward on a hinge. It made sense to Martin now. This was a container.
    Henry bent down and unzipped the duffel. From inside, he started pulling body parts of an animal: legs, torso, head. It was a deer, a moderately sized doe. Unaware or unconcerned that he was being watched, Henry deposited each piece into the cone, and when the bag was empty, he circled around and pushed the scoops of ice cream up. The hinges creaked. The scoops fell back on the cone. The container was shut. Henry grabbed the duffel and slipped back through the bushes and headed toward the town square.
    Martin decided to avoid Henry and continue his explorations by turning down a narrow side street. It was quiet and pleasant, and the only other person around was a boy walking purposefully toward a narrow dirt trail that led into a thick patch of trees. Martin followed. It was easy to catch up, but he thought it best to keep his distance.
    About a quarter mile down the trail, the boy angled off through a thicket of bushes, then stopped next to a rocky ledge. In the side of the ledge was a dark rectangular hole, framed with wood. The boy set something down next to the hole and bowed his head. After a minute or so, he turned back around.
    “Oh, it’s you,” he said to Martin. “I thought I heard some sort of a ruckus.”
    “I’m so sorry.” Martin started to back away.
    “No, no, stay,” the boy yelled. “I want to yak it up for a sec.”
    Martin recognized him as he got closer. It was the olive-skinned boy named Felix, the one who had been jotting down notes in the church. The night before, in the dark, Martin hadn’t gotten a good look at most of the kids. For instance, he hadn’t noticed that Felix’s hair had been cut away in the front, and that he wore a dark band around his forehead where his bangs might have hung. Sticking out from that band were spools of string, screwdrivers, pens, and tiny lightbulbs.
    When Felix reached Martin, he grabbed him by the wrist and said, “Wanna see what I’ve been working on?”
    Martin shrugged.
    Felix started pulling him back toward town. “Yes, oh yes! You will most definitely want to see this. Let’s log on. What do you say? We’ll log on and I’ll show you the finest Internet the world knows.”

—— 6 ——
The Web
    T he door to Felix’s house was painted black. Near the top, there was a heavy iron knocker in the shape of a field mouse. Below the mouse, two words were written in green paint.
    Username
Password
    “You’ll need to choose a username first,” Felix explained. “It could be anything. Last name and first initial. Maybe people call you Scooter or something. Who am I to judge?”
    “Will Martin work?” Martin asked.
    “Well, it isn’t exactly original, but it also isn’t taken,” Felix said with a thumbs-up. “What about a password?”
    “Alarm clock,” Martin said without thinking.
    “Spell it so I get it right.”
    “A-L-A-R-M C-L-O-C-K.”
    “All as one word?”
    “Two words.”
    “Any capitals? Do you use a zero for the ‘o’? You can never be too careful.”
    “Just alarm clock,” Martin said. “As it’s spelled.”
    “Okeydoke. Can’t say I didn’t warn you.” Felix retrieved a nub of a pencil and a key from his headband and pulled a small block of wood from his pocket. He hurried off a few quick