Flanked

was already crawling out of the sleeping bag.
When Marcus got to his feet, Flix handed him the vision shields. “Sit with me while I keep watch?”
“Ooh, can I hold it?” Marcus gestured toward the knife in Flix’s hand.
No way. Flix told Marcus as much.
Marcus grumbled but didn’t argue.
They settled in against the hard-packed ground and silently watched the sun creep toward the horizon. Life was easy, being with Marcus, and Flix hadn’t wanted that to change. Marcus was all he had, and Flix would have stayed at Flights of Fantasy forever if Marcus had refused to leave. Thank God, after the initial shock had worn off, his brother had agreed to come. What they were getting themselves into, neither’d had any idea. Flix squirmed. Whatever came their way, it couldn’t be worse than what Boggs would do to him.
Flix scanned the endless nothing that stretched out on either side of the overpass. Dead trees. Dead grass. Dirt. No buildings, no homes. No life. He’d never been outside the city, never even realized parts of the world could look like this. He loved maps, so he knew there were empty spaces, but he’d always figured they were like Austin, cities that stretched for miles, no matter what the map showed.
“Feeling okay?” Marcus asked.
Flix didn’t want to talk about the burns. “I’m fine.”
Marcus nudged Flix’s shoulder. “You’re being broody, hermano.”
“Thinking.”
“Brooding. Does this have to do with your fantasy boyfriend?”
“Not everything has to do with him.”
“Ha.” Marcus raised his eyebrows. “With you it does. I’m thirsty.”
Flix wiggled his fingers toward Joe’s backpack. “Get some water out of there.”
Marcus stood and dusted himself off. He took a long drink from the water jug, then handed it to Flix, who took a drink of his own. Marcus was on his way to put it back when he stopped at Peter’s sleeping bag.
“Hey, Flix. Watch.” Marcus took a sip and held the water in his mouth. Then he pursed his lips and let the water trickle out. It dripped onto one of Peter’s pale cheeks.
Flix stifled a laugh. “You are so immature.”
Marcus dribbled a bit more onto Peter’s face. One drop went straight up his nose. Peter choked and flailed, then sat up, coughing and spluttering. Marcus dropped a mouthful into Peter’s hair.
Marcus needed to stop. Wasted water hurt them all, and irritating Peter wasn’t very nice, even though Marcus wasn’t really doing it to be mean. Flix kept laughing, though.
“Knock it off, pinkypenis!” Peter stood unsteadily and swiped at Marcus, who jumped out of reach.
“Keep your voice down, Petey,” Flix hissed. Calling him “Petey” seemed to annoy him even more than blanco or whitey or white-ass, all of which Flix had tried two or three times to make sure.
“Shut up, brown” — Peter seemed to be casting about for something really awful — “homo boy.”
Marcus spat water straight into Peter’s ear.
Peter lunged and tackled him. He landed a couple feeble blows before Marcus rolled them over and straddled Peter’s hips.
Flix flung down the knife and scrambled toward them. He reached them just in time to grab Marcus’s cocked fist. If Marcus hit skinny little Peter, he’d break him. Peter probably hadn’t gotten in many fights in that fancy northern bubble he’d lived in. Marcus, on the other hand, could take people down.
“Let it go.” Flix dragged Marcus off Peter. As he stepped backward, his foot slipped on mushy ground. He inhaled sharply and met Marcus’s eyes. “Oh, no.”
Marcus dove for the overturned water jug at Flix’s feet. Too late. Almost every drop had spilled. Peter crowded around the container, his eyes wide.
“What’s going on?”
Flix spun toward the voice. Marcus and Peter stood on either side of him. Marcus tucked the water jug behind his back. The smooth silicone of it bumped Flix’s hand.
He forced himself to breathe enough to speak. “Hey, Devin. Morning. Or, evening. Whatever. How are your eyes?”
Devin sat up. His hands trailed over his face and through his messy hair. When he dropped them, he’d removed his vision shields and narrowed his eyes. “Blurry. And I repeat, what’s going on?”
“Nothing,” Marcus said. He turned to Flix and nodded fiercely. “Nothing, right?”
“He can’t see you, Marc. But they’re going to find out.”
“Find out what?” Devin tilted his head and staggered to his feet. Dios mio, he was immense. When they were small, Abuela Carmen had read them Beauty and the Beast. Devin was Beast-big.
Flix sucked in a breath. He knew Marcus wasn’t lying because he was worried about Devin finding out what they’d done. Despite his imposing body and rough words, Devin was about as intimidating as a butterfly. Joe, on the other hand... Flix had seen Joe lose his temper once. He’d never forget it. “On accident, the water spilled.”
“It’s my fault,” Marcus said.
Flix shook his head. “Joe trusted me. It’s my fault.”
Devin’s pale gold face lost all color. “It’s all gone? What the fuck happened?”
No one answered him.
He gently kicked sideways until he found Joe’s body and gave it a nudge. “Wake up, Joe.”
Joe fidgeted and stretched. He patted the space where Devin had been, then faster than Flix had ever seen a human move, Joe leaped to his feet, a knife in hand, eyes darting everywhere.
Devin reached out and grabbed Joe at the back of the neck. He turned Joe’s head toward Marcus, Peter, and Flix. “There.”
Joe straightened and put his hands on his hips. “What’s going on, boys?”
Flix steeled himself and pulled the jug from behind Marcus’s back. “The water spilled. I’m so sorry, Joesy.”
A fly buzzed around Joe’s head. He caught it, let it go, and caught it again. When he spoke, his voice sounded like the filing boards Flights of Fantasy’s aesthetics department had used on Flix’s nails. “What happened?”
“We were playing.” Flix tried to keep his voice from shaking. “It was an accident.”
“Knife?”
Crap! Flix jumped and ran to retrieve the knife from where he’d thrown it on the ground. He skidded to a halt and picked the thing up like he’d found a snake. He slid both sides of it