‘The Resistance council has no power over us. We’re not part of your camp, remember?’

‘Yeah,’ says another guy whose face is as withered as dried salami skin. ‘You’ve all rejected us. And it’s because of him.’ Another vicious kick.

‘The next person who kicks or hits him gets banned from all betting. You will be blackballed for the rest of your shriveled lives. Now back off.’

Amazingly, they all back off.

Everyone else might reject the locust victims, but I guess the twins don’t discriminate in their betting pools.

Dee looks just as surprised as I am. He glances over at his brother. ‘Dude, we’re the new HBO.’ He flashes a grin.

Dum reaches down and pulls up a man who I barely recognize as Doc. He holds his arm awkwardly. His face, which was already bruised, is so swollen that he can barely open his eyes.

‘Are you okay?’ I ask. ‘What’s wrong with your arm?’

‘They stomped all over it. They have no idea what they’ve done.’

‘Is it broken?’ It’s starting to dawn on me what it means to have a surgeon with a broken arm.

‘I don’t know.’ His conscious brain might not know, but his body sure thinks his arm’s broken by the way he’s cradling it. ‘It’s people like this that make me wonder why I bother to try to save them.’

Doc looks furious as he brushes past me. He only takes a couple of steps before he has to lean against a tree and take a break. Dum holds Doc to make sure he can walk steadily.

‘We have another doctor,’ says Dee to me. ‘We’ll see what she can do for him.’

‘I’ll go with you.’ I see the locust stung with new eyes. Their shriveled chests and shoulders still heave with their anger and frustration. Several of them are crying with pent-up emotions that go far deeper than the ones stirred up by the fight.

I follow the twins as they help Doc across the street.

Chapter 20

20

I lean against the wall in a room full of patients waiting to see the camp’s doctor. Doc got high priority because he’s the only other doctor in camp. They let one of the twins into the back with him while the other took off on an errand. I was told to wait with the others in the waiting room.

There is only one candle for the entire room even though the windows are blocked off by blankets. There’s something particularly unnerving about being in a room that’s more shadow than light and hearing people around you coughing and whispering.

The door opens, and Dee’s bottle-blond head peeks in.

‘What’s the verdict?’ I ask. ‘Is it broken?’

‘Badly,’ says Dee as he walks in. ‘It’ll probably be six weeks before he can start to use his arm again.’