Quinn Gaither Quotes

“Astrid looked at Lana, now leaning against the window, and Diana, lost in thought, and reminded herself that at times she had hated Diana. She had told Sam to kill her if necessary. And she had disliked Lana as a short-tempered bitch who sometimes abused her privileges.
She let her mind move beyond these two. Orc, who had been the first to kill in the FAYZ, the first murderer. A vicious drunk. But someone who had died a hero.
Mary. Mother Mary. A saint who had died trying to murder the children she cared for.
Quinn, who had been a faithless worm at the start and had been a pillar at the end.
Albert. She still didn’t know quite what to think of Albert, but it was undeniable that far fewer would have walked out of the FAYZ without Albert.
If her own feelings were this conflicted, was it any wonder the rest of the world didn’t know what to do with the Perdido survivors?”
― Michael Grant, Light

“About time,” Brianna said.
“Hey, sorry, we were kind of busy,” Quinn snapped. “And I didn’t exactly realize I was on a schedule.”
“I don’t like what I have to do here,” Brianna said. She handed Quinn the note.
He read it. Read it again.
“Is this some kind of joke?” he demanded.
“Albert’s dead,” Brianna said. “Murdered.”
“What?”
“He’s dead. Sam and Dekka are off in the wilderness somewhere. Edilio’s got the flu, he might die, a lot of kids have. A lot. And there are these, these monsters, these kind of bugs . . . no one knows what to call them . . . heading toward town.” Her face contorted in a mix of rage and sorrow and fear. She blurted, “And I can’t stop them!”
Quinn stared at her. Then back at the note.
He felt his contented little universe tilt and go sliding away.
There were just two words on the paper: “Get Caine.”
― Michael Grant, Plague

“Penny rolled over, got to her feet, trying to get control of her scattered mind, but Quinn was behind her now and had his powerful arm around her neck.
“I will snap your neck, Penny. I swear to God, I will snap your neck. Nothing you can do will stop me.”
Penny went limp. “You think the king will let you get away with this, Quinn?” she hissed.
“Anyone messes with me, Penny, you or anyone else, and I go on strike. See how well you enjoy life without me and my crews. Without food.”
― Michael Grant, Fear

“You can't let him get away with this!" Penny shrieked.
Caine wasn’t having it. “You stupid witch,” he yelled back. “No one told you to let it go that far!”
“He was mine for the day,” Penny hissed. She pressed a rag to her nose, which had started bleeding again.
“He tore his own eyes out. What did you think Quinn would do? What do you think Albert will do now?” He bit savagely at his thumb, a nervous habit.
“I thought you were the king!”
Caine reacted without thinking. He swung a hard backhand at her face. The blow did not connect, but the thought did. Penny flew backward like she’d been hit by a bus. She smacked hard against the wall of the office.
The blow stunned her, and Caine was in her face before she could clear her thoughts.
Turk came bursting in, his gun leveled. “What’s happening?”
“Penny tripped,” Caine said.
Penny’s freckled face was white with fury.
“Don’t,” Caine warned. He tightened an invisible grip around her head and twisted it back at an impossible angle.
Then Caine released her.
Penny panted and glared. But no nightmare seized Caine’s mind. “You’d better hope Lana can fix that boy, Penny.”
“You’re getting soft.” Penny choked out the words.
“Being king isn’t about being a sick creep,” Caine said. “People need someone in charge. People are sheep and they need a big sheepdog telling them what to do and where to go. But it doesn’t work if you start killing the sheep.”
“You’re scared of Albert.” Penny followed it with a mocking laugh.
“I’m scared of no one,” Caine said. “Least of all you, Penny. You live because I let you live. Remember that. The kids out there?” He waved his hand toward the window, vaguely indicating the population of Perdido Beach. “Those kids out there hate you. You don’t have a single friend. Now get out of here. I don’t want to see you back here in my presence until you’re ready to crawl to me and beg my forgiveness.”
― Michael Grant, Fear

“Go, Breeze,” someone yelled.
But another voice yelled, “Quit showing off, stupid mutant.”
Brianna stopped dead. Her dress settled back into place. “Who said that?”
Zil. The same jerk who had picked on Jack over the phones.
“Me,” Zil said, stepping forward. “And don’t bother trying to look tough. I’m not scared of you, freak.”
“You should be,” Brianna hissed.
Suddenly there was Dekka, up off her chair, hand extended between Brianna and Zil. “No,” she said in her deep voice. “None of that.”
Quinn joined her. “Dekka’s right, we can’t be having fights and stuff here. Sam will shut this place down.”
“Maybe we should have two different clubs,” a seventh grader named Antoine said. “You know, one for freaks and one for normals.”
“Man, what is the matter with you?” Quinn demanded.
“I don’t like her acting like she’s so cool, is all,” Zil said, stepping beside Antoine.
“You should be on our side, Quinn. Everyone knows you’re a normal,” another kid, Lance, said. “Well…kind of normal. You’re still Quinn.”
― Michael Grant, Hunger

“Hey, brah,” Quinn said.
“What is going on, do you know?” Sam asked.
“It’s a club.” Quinn grinned. “Man, you must be working too hard. Everyone knows about it.”
Sam stared at him. “It’s a what?”
“McClub, brah. All you need is some batteries or some toilet paper.”
This announcement left Sam baffled. He considered asking Quinn for clarification, but then Albert appeared, formally dressed, like he thought it was graduation or something. He actually had on a dark sports coat and slacks in a lighter shade. His shirt was pale blue, collared, and ironed. Spotting Sam, he extended his hand.
Sam ignored the hand. “Albert, what is going on here?”
“Dancing, mostly,” Albert said.
“Excuse me?”
“Kids are dancing.”
Quinn caught up then and stepped in front of Sam to shake Albert’s still-extended hand. “Hey, dude. I have batteries.”
“Good to see you, Quinn. The price is four D cells, or eight double As, or ten triple As, or a dozen Cs. If you have a mix, I can work it out.”
Quinn dug in his pocket and produced four triple A batteries and three D cells. He handed them to Albert, who agreed to the price and dropped the batteries into a plastic bag at his feet.
“Okay, the rules are no food, no alcohol, no attitude, no fights, and when I call ‘time,’ there’s no arguing about it. Do you agree to these rules?”
“Dude, if I had any food, would I be here? I’d be home eating it.” Quinn put his hand over his heart like he was pledging allegiance to the flag and said, “I do.” He jerked a thumb back at Sam. “Don’t bother with him: Sam doesn’t dance.”
“Have a good time, Quinn.”
― Michael Grant, Hunger

“Quinn came forward and Sam pulled him aside. His old friend looked tortured and sad.
“What’s up, brah?” Sam asked.
Quinn couldn’t speak. He was choked with emotion. “Dude . . .”
“You want to stay in town.”
“My crews . . . my boats and all . . .”
Sam put a hand on his shoulder. “Quinn, I’m glad you found something so important to do. Something you really like.”
“Yeah, but . . .”
Sam pulled him into a brief hug. “You and me, we’re still friends, man. But you have responsibilities.”
― Michael Grant, Plague

“Where are you going, Albert?”
Albert said nothing. How rare, Quinn thought: Albert speechless.
“Not really your concern, Quinn,” Albert said finally.
“You’re running out.”
Albert sighed. To his three companions he said, “Go ahead and get in the boat. The Boston Whaler. Yes, that one.” Turning back to Quinn he said, “It’s been good doing business with you. If you want, you can come with us. We have room for one more. You’re a good guy.”
“And my crews?”
“Limited resources, Quinn.”
Quinn laughed a little. “You’re a piece of work, aren’t you, Albert?”
Albert didn’t seem bothered. “I’m a businessman. It’s about making a profit and surviving. It so happens that I’ve kept everyone alive for months. So I guess I’m sorry if you don’t like me, Quinn, but what’s coming next isn’t about business. What’s coming next is craziness. We’re going back to the days of starvation. But in the dark this time. Craziness. Madness.”
His eyes glinted when he said that last word. Quinn saw the fear there. Madness. Yes, that would terrify the eternally rational businessman.
“All that happens if I stay,” Albert continued, “is that someone decides to kill me. I’ve already come too close to being dead once.”
“Albert, you’re a leader. You’re an organizer. We’re going to need that.”
Albert waved an impatient hand and glanced over to see that the Boston Whaler was ready. “Caine’s a leader. Sam’s a leader. Me?” Albert considered it for a second and shook the idea off. “No. I’m important, but I’m not a leader. Tell you what, though, Quinn: in my absence you speak for me. If that helps, good for you.”
Albert climbed down into the Boston Whaler. Pug started the engine and Leslie-Ann cast off the ropes. Some of the last gasoline in Perdido Beach sent the boat chugging out of the marina.
“Hey, Quinn!” Albert shouted back. “Don’t come to the island without showing a white flag. I don’t want to blow you up!”
― Michael Grant, Fear

“Get me out of this,” Caine demanded.
Quinn said, “It’s not so easy. You should know: you’re the scumbag who invented cementing.”
― Michael Grant, Fear

“Hi, Albert,” Quinn called back. He seemed distracted. And Albert was sure that he’d seen Quinn motion for someone to stay down.
“How long is this supposed to go on?” Albert asked.
“Until we get justice,” Quinn said.
“Justice? People have been waiting for justice since the dinosaurs.”
Quinn said nothing and Albert cursed himself for indulging in sarcasm. “What is it you want, Quinn? I mean in practical terms.”
“We want Penny gone,” Quinn said.
“I can’t afford to pay you any more,” Albert shouted back.
“I didn’t say anything about money,” Quinn said, sounding puzzled.
“Yeah, I know: justice. Usually what people really want is money. So why don’t we get down to it?”
“Penny,” Quinn said. “She leaves town. She stays gone. When that happens we fish. Until it happens, we sit.” He sat down as if to emphasize his point.”
― Michael Grant, Fear