He wiped his eyes with his sleeve and turne
d over his wrist, where he saw a number of impatient queries on the screen. The letters blurred—had the chemicals permanently damaged his vision?—but Horseman knew the gist of his master’s concerns. He tapped out a quick message to the Remedy: “The Gasman is dead. The kid blew himself up.”
Standing on top of the silo, Horseman turned in a slow circle.
Now, where is Iggy?
52
HORSEMAN SAW THE flash out of the corner of his eye—a figure disappearing into the trees like a pale ghost.
“Iggy!” Horseman called, blazing after him on the trail through the pines. “Let’s not make this harder than it has to be.”
Horseman didn’t exactly enjoy this part of the job—the kids’ fear reminded him too much of how he felt around the doctor—but he knew his body was made for the hunt. His wings were longer, his body stronger, and he had the eyesight of a hawk.
Well, usually. Right now, he felt like he was looking through a milky lens.
But however clouded his vision, Horseman still had Iggy in his sights, and he could cruise as long as he needed to; his lungs were built to outlast Iggy’s twofold. It was only a matter of time.
“Iggy!” Horseman shouted again as he wove after him through the underbrush.
“Don’t call me that,” Iggy yelled over his shoulder. “Only my friends get to call me that.”
Iggy was distracted now, and Horseman was gaining on him with each breath. Closing in.
“You don’t want to be my friend?” Horseman asked with a smile as he darted forward.
Iggy laughed and veered up sharply, winding toward the clouds.
Horseman grasped at the air in frustration. He’d thought he had him.
He strained his neck to keep track of Iggy’s movements above, desperate not to lose him now. Though Iggy was blind, he was a magician in the air and seemed to possess a sixth sense that made him even better at navigation… and almost impossible to track.
Almost, Horseman reminded himself. Not impossible for you.
He had to keep Iggy talking, keep him interested enough to stay close.
“Or maybe you meant friends like the Gasman,” he taunted. “Did he call you Iggy?”
The movement above stopped.
“You killed him, didn’t you?” Iggy’s voice cracked in despair. “Gazzy said he was right behind me, but he’s dead, isn’t he?”
Iggy’s accusing voice seemed to come from a hundred different directions, and Horseman squinted up through the maze of twining branches, trying to locate his prey.
“You’ve got me all wrong,” he said, his voice earnest, persuasive. “Just stop for a minute, and we can talk.”
I’ll tell you about the doctor and his plans, Horseman thought. I’ll tell you the truth.
It didn’t matter. He knew Iggy would never stop. There was only one way this could end.
Horseman glimpsed movement to his left—far from where he’d been searching. He turned his head to see the swoop of a light-colored wing standing out against the brown bark.
He took off like a bullet.
Following little more than the quiver of branches as they snapped back into place, Horseman plowed through leaves. He snagged his wings on burrs and dodged between whiplike vines. He followed the bird kid doggedly, recklessly, gaining distance, gaining speed.…
And when Iggy turned and dipped sharply, Horseman slammed face-first into a thick tree and, almost a hundred feet in the air, momentarily blacked out.