A quick reconnaissance revealed no alarm system I could see. No red lights blinking inside for motion detectors. This wasn’t a big fancy house worth alarming, anyway. It was just a teeny-tiny vacation cottage.
With my pocketknife I slit a window screen and unhooked the latch. The screen lifted off easily, and I set it carefully against the side of the house: A thoughtful burglar, that’s me.
Then Fang and I shook the old wooden window frame until the lock at the top jiggled open. Fang climbed in first, then I boosted Nudge in, then I scrambled in and shut the window.
Dust covered everything. The fridge was turned off, its door open. I started opening kitchen cupboards. “Bingo,” I said, holding up a dusty can of soup.
“Oh, yeah, pay dirt, woo-hoo!” Cans of beans, fruit, condensed milk, whatever that was—it sounded bad. The ever-popular ravioli. “We’re golden!”
Fang found some dusty bottles of orange soda, and we popped those suckers open. But let me tell you—there’s a reason people serve that stuff cold.
Half an hour later, we were sprawled on the musty couches, our eyes at half-mast, our bellies way too full.
“Uhhnnhh,” Nudge moaned. “I feel like, like concrete.”
“Let’s take ten, rest a bit,” Fang said, closing his eyes. He lay back against the couch and crossed his long legs. “Digest a minute, we’ll feel better.”
“I second that emotion,” I muttered, my own eyes closing. We’re coming, Angel. In a minute.
15
“Let’s throw all their stuff into the canyon,” Iggy said angrily, punching a door frame.
Having to listen to the rest of the flock leaving while he sat around being blind was more than he could stand. “I think even their beds would fit out the hall window.”
The Gasman scowled. “I can’t believe I have to stay home while they go off and save my own sister.”
He kicked a worn red sneaker against the kitchen island. The house seemed empty and too quiet. He found himself listening for Angel’s voice, waiting to hear her singing softly or talking to her stuffed animals. He swallowed hard. She was his sister. He was responsible for her.
An open bag of cereal lay on the counter, and he dug out a dry handful and ate it. Suddenly, he picked up the bag of cereal and hurled it at a wall. The bag split open, and Frootios sprayed everywhere.
“This sucks!” the Gasman shouted.
“Oh, did that just occur to you?” Iggy said sarcastically. “I guess you can’t fool the Gasman. He might not look like
the sharpest tool in the shed, but—”
“Shut up,” said the Gasman, and Iggy raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Look. This sucks so bad. Max left us here ’cause she thought we couldn’t keep up.”
Iggy’s face stiffened.
“But was she thinking about what would happen if the Erasers came back here?” the Gasman asked. “Like, they got Angel not far from here—they saw all the rest of us. So they know we must be somewhere in the area. Why wouldn’t they come back for us?”
“Huh,” Iggy said thoughtfully. “Course, it would be hard to find this place, and even harder to get to it.”
“Not if they have a chopper,” the Gasman pointed out. “Which they do.”
“Huh,” said Iggy, and the Gasman felt proud that he had thought of all this before Iggy had, even though Iggy was older—as old as Max and Fang. Nearly ancient.
“Does that mean we have to sit here and take it?” the Gasman asked, pounding his fist on the counter. “No! We don’t have to wait for the Erasers to come get us! We can do stuff! We can make plans. I mean, we’re not useless, no matter what Max thinks.”
“Right,” said Iggy, nodding. He came to sit next to the Gasman at the counter, his feet crunching over dry cereal. “Yeah, I see what you mean. So to speak.”
“I mean, we’re smart! We’re tough as nails! Max might not have thought about keeping the camp safe, but we did, and we can do it.”
“Yeah, now you’re talking. Uhhh . . . But how?”
“We could make traps! Do sabotage! Bombs!” The Gasman rubbed his hands together.