He swallowed hard and launched himself out into the night air. It was amazing, to be able to spread his wings and fly. It was great. As he felt the night wind against his face, the Gasman’s spirits rose. He felt strong, powerful, and dangerous. Not at all like an eight-year-old mutant freak.
29
“Um, Ella?”
The girl stiffened and jumped back.
I stepped forward a bit, out of the underbrush, so she could see my face. “It’s me,” I said, feeling even stupider. “The girl from before.”
It was getting dark and still raining, and I hoped she could recognize me. The dog trotted over, saw me, and gave a halfhearted woof of warning.
“Oh, yeah. Hey, thanks—for helping me,” said Ella, squinting at me through the rain. “Are you okay? What are you doing?” She sounded wary and glanced around, like maybe in the time since she’d last seen me I had gone over to the side of evil.
“I’m okay,” I said lamely. “Well, actually, I guess I need help.” Those words had never left my lips before. Thank God Jeb wasn’t here to see me doing something so incredibly boneheaded and weak.
“Oh,” said Ella. “Gosh. Okay. Did those guys . . .”
“One of them managed to clip me with some shot, if you can believe that,” I said, inching closer.
Ella gasped and put her hand over her mouth. “Oh, no! Why didn’t you tell me? You’re hurt? Why didn’t you go to the hospital? Oh, my gosh, come on in!”
She stepped back to give me room and urged Magnolia, who had lumbered over and started sniffing my wet clothes with interest, away from me.
Guess what. I hesitated. Here was the moment of decision. Until I stepped into that house, I could still turn and run, escape. Once I was in that house, it would be much harder. Call it a little quirk of my personality, but I tend to freak out if I feel trapped anywhere. We all do—the flock, I mean. Living in a cage during your formative years can do that.
But I was honest enough with myself to know that I really couldn’t go on like this—wet, cold, starving, and a little wonky from loss of blood. I had to suck it up and accept help. From strangers.
“Are your parents home?” I asked.
“There’s just my mom,” said Ella. “No dad. Come on, let’s get you inside. My mom can help. Magnolia, here, girl.” Ella turned and strode toward the house. She clomped up wooden steps, then turned and looked for me. “Can you walk okay?”
“Uh-huh.” Slowly, I headed toward Ella’s small house, which was glowing with warmth and light. I felt light-headed and panicky. This could be the last huge mistake in a long line of huge mistakes I had already made today.
I cradled my hurt arm with my good one.
“Oh, my God—is that blood?” Ella said, staring at my pale blue sweatshirt. “Oh, no, come on, we have to get you inside quick!” She shoved the door open with her shoulder, almost tripping on Magnolia, who trotted in quickly. “Mom! Mom! This girl needs help!”
I felt frozen. Stay or run. Stay or run. Stay?
30
“You think that wire will hold?” the Gasman whispered.
Iggy nodded, frowning as he twisted the two cable ends together with pliers. He leaned against a pine tree for leverage, and when the wire was tight, he snapped on a cable clamp and pinched it shut. “That’ll hold a bit,” he whispered back. “Until a certain Hummer hits it at top speed.”
The Gasman nodded grimly. What a night. They had gotten so much done—Max couldn’t have done better herself. He hoped Max had already rescued Angel by now. He hoped nothing had gone wrong. If the whitecoats had gotten hold of Angel . . . For just an instant he saw her, white and lifeless, laid on a cold steel slab while whitecoats lectured about her unusual bone structure. He swallowed and shook the dreadful image off. Once more, he glanced around, listening.
“Back home?” Iggy whispered.
“Yeah.” Standing up, the Gasman pushed off from the ground, staying close to the trees. He followed Iggy’s dark shadow as he braked and headed back west, toward home. From up here, the Gasman couldn’t see any of their handiwork—which was a good thing. They didn’t want the Erasers’ chopper to be able to pick out the tarp or the trip wire until it was too late.
“We covered the ways in and out,” he said to Iggy once they were at cruising height. “Oil slick, nails in the road, trip wire. That should do it.”
Iggy nodded. “I’m bummed we couldn’t use Big Boy,” he said. “But I don’t want to waste it. We have to actually see them first. I mean, you do.”
“Maybe tomorrow,” the Gasman said encouragingly. “We’ll go out and see what havoc we’ve wreaked.”
“Wrought,” said Iggy.