“What’s all that dust, then?” The chief operating officer of the Australian branch of DelaneyMinker peered out the window. Miles and miles of desert stretched away as far as she could see. On the horizon, a wide, low dust storm was coming at them.
“Hand me those binoculars, would you, Sam?” she asked her assistant.
Sam handed her the binoculars.
“Is it...School Day?” asked the COO. “Are we expecting field trips?”
Sam looked at her. “We don’t get field trips here. It’s a top-secret facility. Why?”
“Well, it looks like...children! On motorscooters, apparently. And some of those four-wheel thingies.”
“ATVs?” asked Sam. He took the binoculars and looked.
A line of small vehicles stretched for at least a mile. It did look like children. Was this some sort of nature club? He squinted and adjusted the focus slightly. They were carrying signs. He could almost make one out...
DELANEYMINKER = POLLUTING STINKER
And another one:
THE PLANET IS OURS! GET OUT!
“You may want to go into lockdown,” said Sam, sounding far calmer than he felt.
126
“Iggy!” Fang yelled. “Gasman! Follow me!” Wheeling through the sky, Fang worked his wings powerfully, racing across the gray ocean toward the horizon.
Risking a backward glance, he saw that Iggy and the Gasman were behind him and closing fast.
“Dive-bomb,” Fang said. “On my count.”
The Gasman looked down, frowned, then drew in a deep breath and nodded.
“Oh, God,” said Iggy. “Talk about cold...”
“We are here to destroy you,” said the Flyboys, sounding like an angry swarm of mechanized bees.
“One!” Fang called, heading away from shore as fast as he could. He hoped there was a steep drop-off along this part of the coast. “Two!”
“You will recant!” the Flyboys droned. “You will recant!”
“Three!” said Fang, and tucked his wings in tight against his body. He aimed himself downward, right at the water. From this high, going this fast, hitting the water was going to feel like hitting concrete. But it couldn’t be helped.
He heard the Gasman’s and Iggy’s jackets flapping as they accelerated downward.
“This is going to be bad!” Iggy called.
“Yep,” Fang agreed, his voice snatched away by the streaming wind.
“There is no escape!” droned the Flyboys, who were, of course, following them fast.
Yeah? thought Fang. This is true.
Smash!
Hitting the cold ocean was in fact a whole lot like hitting concrete, Fang decided, but he was so streamlined that he shot straight down like an arrow, spearing the water. It felt as if God had punched his face, but he was still alive and conscious.
He heard the impact of the Gasman and Iggy hitting the water but could barely see anything when he opened his eyes.