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Howard raced down San Pablo Avenue on his bike. It was a black 12 speed Schwinn with only a few small dents in the frame. He had taken it from some kid who couldn’t pay him a debt. Or, more accurately, Orc had taken it for him.
Howard knew that he would reach Orc’s house if he turned onto Golding Street.
It hadn’t been Orc’s house for very long. He had destroyed the front entrance to the last one in a fit of rage.
Howard wasn’t sure what Orc had been so mad about. He had learned not to ask. All asking did was stoke the anger back up. Like throwing a candy wrapper into a dying campfire.
Howard thought back to roasting S’mores in Orc’s old backyard the second night of the FAYZ. He could still picture Orc’s smile, backlit by glowing orange embers floating on the black smoke. In his mind’s eye, Howard couldn’t see the barrier shimmering behind Orc’s head. Even though it had taken place after the FAYZ wall appeared, that memory belonged to a different time.
Howard didn’t make the turn on Golding.
He parked his bike on the corner of San Pablo Avenue and Ocean Boulevard. He was keeping a few mason jars of Cabka in the pantry in the house on the corner. He liked to keep a couple of batches distilling in empty houses around town. Just in case someone messed up his main still at Coates.
Howard never brought Orc along when he picked up the scattered jars. Bringing security would have brought too much attention. Sometimes, it felt like people were less likely to fuck with Howard when he was out on his bike alone.
Orc had always been the kind of guy who looked like he was asking for a fight, just by walking down the street. Sometimes Howard got caught up in that.
But when Orc wasn’t around, nobody wanted to challenge him. People just knew to keep their hands off Howard Bassem. It was just like how you couldn’t bother Astrid without Sam coming after you. Or the way everyone knew not to look too long at Diana back when Caine was in charge of the town.
Howard tried not to think too much about what that said about him. He knew what he was to Orc. That didn’t make him anyone’s girlfriend.
Howard loaded the jars into his backpack and started biking back home. It was repetitive work, going back and forth from house to house. But it was a security measure Howard just couldn’t give up. The day he stopped doing it would be the day that someone smashed his still up. The one day that Orc wasn’t around to guard his shit.
That was something Astrid and Diana didn’t have to worry about. Sam or Caine getting too drunk to show up and protect their assets.
Howard had heard from some kid a couple of days ago that Caine and Diana had run off to some private island. And that it wasn’t even possible to get up there without a plane. Or telekinesis, apparently.
The kid had said it was just the two of them alone in a mansion worth more than all the gold in the Bertos.
“Nothing to do but each each other,” the idiot had said.
Wouldn’t mean much to me and Orc, Howard had thought to himself.
He didn’t even know what he would do on an island with Orc. Clean his sheets when he pissed the bed after drinking too much? No way.
Howard didn’t even know why he was still thinking about that kind of thing. Him and Orc, on their own. Nobody else around for them to worry about.
Would Orc still want to drink his shame away if everybody in Perdido Beach wasn’t judging him for killing Bette? And if he didn’t want to drink, then what would he need Howard for?
That kid must have been making shit up. There had been some Coates kids who had left with Caine when Sam kicked him out of Perdido Beach. Like that invisible twerp, Bug. What had happened to all of them?
Howard of all people knew they weren’t still up at Coates.
When he reached First Avenue, he decided to turn instead of biking home. home. He could cut down the length of time he spent out if he stopped by another house first. The weight of a few extra jars wouldn’t slow him down too much.
It wasn’t like anybody was going to shoot Howard just for riding his bike. Everybody in the FAYZ knew him, and there was nobody who would try to kill him for no reason.
Howard paid back his debts. He made deals in his own favor, but he didn’t screw people over. He used his brains to outsmart anyone he could and Orc’s brawn to deal with whoever he couldn’t.
That’s how it had always been. Even before the FAYZ.
Even if people didn’t like him, Howard Bassem wasn’t dangerous enough to kill.
So, he didn’t need Orc to protect him. He could just be some random kid. The kind of kid who could bike down the street without being paranoid that someone would shoot him so they could take over the moonshine still he was running out of a defunct private school.
The kind of kid that got killed when Caine knocked over a building. The kind that wouldn’t be able to count on having a giant rock monster standing over them, keeping the wreckage from crushing their body with its own.
Howard didn’t have to worry about Drake’s whip, because he had somebody without any skin on his back to take the blow for him.
Orc was his rock. Literally.
He had laughed about that alone in a dark, empty Coates classroom while testing some weed that he wanted to sell. He repeated that stupid joke in his own head more times than he’d be willing to admit out loud.
At least he didn’t fuck up his distillery the same way Orc had fucked up his front door.
Howard turned down Pacific Boulevard and wheeled his bike up the first driveway.
A few kids lived near that house. Or at least they had the last time Howard had been there. So, he couldn’t just leave his bike at the end of the curb the way he had at the last place. He had to bring the bike inside the house if he didn’t want it to get stolen.
Howard wouldn’t have to worry about someone stealing his bike if he just sent Orc out to get the jars instead.
But Orc couldn’t ride a bike. Not without crushing it like a soda can.
And he couldn’t stay sober long enough to make it to one house, much less the other three Howard still wanted to get to before sundown. Nobody could ride their bikes at night in the FAYZ.
Not even the moofs. They wouldn’t be able to use both their powers and the handlebars.
Maybe that’s what the Coates kids were doing on that fucking island. Riding their bikes outside the mansion at midnight. Just because they could.
Orc could do that in Perdido Beach if they made a bike that was strong enough to hold him. Not that the lazy drunk would ever use it.
Howard didn’t even think that he liked Orc. And he was pretty sure Orc felt the same way.
They were just stuck with each other. Howard couldn’t run his still without the protection Orc gave him. And Orc couldn’t get through a day without a drink.
That wasn’t Howard’s fault. It wasn’t like he’d started the still to turn his best friend into an alcoholic. Orc had made his own choices.
Howard shut the door behind him and went to check the kitchen for his liquor. But when he opened the dormant refrigerator, he found two empty mason jars.
Howard knew that the thief had to be Orc. He had kept the location of his emergency supply top secret. But there was only one person in the whole FAYZ who would find a gallon of Cabka in an abandoned house, drink the whole batch in one sitting, and then put the empty jars back in the fridge.
Anyone else in the FAYZ wouldn’t have been able to drink that much without leaving a trace. At best, they would have thrown up. At worst, they would have died.
And nobody would have come back to sneak Howard’s signature brew more than a couple of times. They were all still just little kids, scared of the big, scary monster.
Howard’s Rock.
Literally.
If that was all that Orc was to Howard, could he really call the other boy his friend?
Howard turned onto San Pablo Avenue and tried not to think about it.