She can read minds.
4
“I want to go pick strawberries today,” Angel said firmly, scooping up a forkful of scrambled eggs. “They’re ripe now.”
“Okay, Angel, I’ll go with you,” said the Gasman. Just then he let rip one of his unfortunate occurrences and giggled.
“Oh, jeez, Gazzy,” I said disapprovingly.
“Gas . . . mask!” Iggy choked out, grasping his neck and pretending to asphyxiate.
“I’m done,” Fang said, getting up quickly and taking his plate to the sink.
“Sorry,” the Gasman said automatically, but he kept eating.
“Yeah, Angel,” said Nudge. “I think the fresh air would do us all good. I’ll go too.”
“We’ll all go,” I said.
Outside, it was beautiful, clear and cloudless, with the first real heat of May. We carried buckets and baskets as Angel led us to a huge patch of wild strawberries.
She held my hand. “If you make cake, I can make strawberry shortcakes,” she said happily.
“Yeah, that’ll be the day, when Max makes a cake,” I heard Iggy say. “I’ll make it, Angel.”
I whirled. “Oh, thank you!” I exclaimed. “Okay, I’m not a fabulous cook. But I can still kick your butt, and don’t you forget it!”
Iggy was laughing, holding up his hands in denial. Nudge was trying not to laugh, even Fang was grinning, and the Gasman looked . . . mischievous.
“Was that you?” I asked Gazzy.
He grinned and shrugged, trying not to look too pleased with himself. The Gasman had been about three when I realized he could mimic just about any sound or voice. I’d lost count of how many times Iggy and Fang had almost come to blows over stuff Gazzy had said in their voices. It was a dark gift, and he wielded it happily.
It was just another weird ability—most of us had them. Whatever they were, they sure made life more interesting.
Next to me, Angel froze and screamed.
Startled, I stared down at her, and in the next second, men with wolfish muzzles, huge canines, and reddish, glinting eyes dropped out of the sky like spiders. Erasers! And it wasn’t a dream.
5
There was no time to think. Jeb had trained us not to think—just to act. I launched myself at an Eraser, spinning and planting a hard, roundhouse kick in his barrel chest. His breath went oof, and the odor was just awful, like raw sewage left out in the hot sun.
After that, it was like a movie, a bunch of superimposed images that hardly seemed real. I landed another blow, then an Eraser punched me so hard that my head snapped around and I felt a burst of blood in my mouth. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Fang holding his own against an Eraser—until two more ganged up on him, and he went down under flailing clawed hands.
Iggy was still upright, but one eye was already swelling shut.
Beyond shock, I scrambled to my feet, then saw the Gasman out cold, lying facedown on the ground.
I leaped toward him, only to be grabbed again. Two Erasers pinned my arms behind my back. Another leaned in, his reddish eyes glinting with excitement, his jaw fully morphed out and snoutlike. He pulled back his hand and curled it into a fist. Then he brought it in hard, punching me in the stomach. An unbelievable pain exploded inside me, and I doubled over, dropping like a stone.
Dimly, I heard Angel screaming and Nudge crying.
Get up! I told myself, trying to suck in air. Get up!
As weird mutant kids, we’re much, much stronger than regular grown-up humans. But Erasers aren’t regular grown-up humans, and they outnumbered us as well. We were dog meat. I struggled to my hands and knees, trying not to retch.
I staggered to my feet, bloodlust in my eyes, ready to kill. Two Erasers held Nudge’s hands and feet. They swung her hard, and she went sailing, hitting her head against a tree. I heard a small pained cry, and then she lay crumpled among the pine needles.