Inside, we found a slim wrapped package. It was a picture frame, book size but no thicker than a pencil. Of course Gazzy was the first one to press the red button on the side.

The frame bloomed into life, and there it was: that same picture Fang and I had found, once in a crack house in DC and once in Dr. Martinez’s house. I swallowed hard, thinking about her. Wondering if she was real. Hoping she was okay. Trying to figure out what her deal was.

The picture was of baby Gasman, with his telltale cowlick, being held by a woman who looked kind of tired and washed out. He was plump and happy, maybe a few months old.

Then the picture started moving, not like a movie but like the actual picture was just...moving. The image zoomed in and rotated, as if we were walking around the woman and focusing on Gazzy. Then the picture pulled back and swung around. We saw an ugly room, with cracked walls and dirty windows. Was that the squatter’s house we’d visited in Washington? Before it had become a bombed-out haven for thugs?

The camera focused on a wooden table, then on a slip of paper lying on the table. Again it enlarged and sharpened, enough so that we could read the paper.

It was a check. The name it was made out to was obliterated. The check was from Itex, for $10,000.

Gazzy coughed slightly, and I felt him trying to control himself.

His mother had sold him for $10,000 to the whitecoats at the School.

51

I didn’t know why only Gazzy’s life was in the picture frame, or why none of the rest of us got one. Those whitecoats sure liked to keep us guessing!

We all checked one another for expiration dates, but none of us had them. Yet. But you know, when you’ve faced imminent death as often as we have, it gets a little old, frankly. Our room had no windows, so we had zero reference for time passing. We fought off boredom by coming up with plans to escape, courses of action to take. I led the flock through all kinds of scenarios, how we could use each one to our advantage.

That’s what leaders do.

“Now, let’s say they come get us,” I started for the hundredth time.

“And, like, the halls are full of zebras,” Iggy muttered sarcastically.

“And suddenly tons of bubbles are everywhere,” said the Gasman.

“And then everyone starts eating beef jerky,” Nudge suggested.

“Yeah,” said Iggy, rubbing his hands together. “I’ll grab a zebra; Gaz, you fill all the bubbles with your trademark scent, so people are choking and gagging; and let’s throw beef jerky right into their eyes! Now, that’s a plan!”

They all collapsed into laughter, and even Fang grinned at me as I gazed sourly at the flock.