Maximum Ride: The Angel Experiment

32

"Come on, come on," the Gasman breathed. He was holding onto the pine branch so hard that he could barely feel his fingers anymore.

"What's happening?" Iggy demanded impatiently. "Tell me everything."

It was early morning, and the two of them were perched near the top of an old-growth pine overlooking one of the abandoned logging roads. They had cased the situation , and the Gasman had been right: At least two Erasers, maybe more, had set up a rough camp not far from where the helicopter had landed. It seemed clear they were looking for the rest of the flock. It didn't matter whether they wanted to kill them or only kidnap them: Capture was unthinkable.

The Gasman still had nightmares in which he found himself back at the School. He dreamed that whitecoats took blood, injected him with various drugs to see how he reacted, made him run and jump and then swallow radioactive dye so they could study his circulation. Days and endless weeks and years of feeling sick, hurting, vomiting, being exhausted, being stuck in a cage. The Gasman would die before he went back there. Angel would rather have died too, he knew -- but she hadn't had the choice.

"The Hummer's coming," the Gasman said under his breath.

"On the right road?"

"Uh-huh. And they're driving too fast." The Gasman gave a tight, worried smile.

"They're not practicing safe driving habits. Tsk. What a shame."

"Okay, they're coming up," the Gasman muttered. "Another quarter mile."

"Can you see the tarp?"

"No."

The Gasman watched tensely as the muddied black Humvee sped down the unsaved logging road. "Any second now," he whispered to Iggy, who was practically vibrating with excitement.

"Hope they're wearing their seat belts. Not."

Then it happened.

It was like watching a movie. One second, the boxy black vehicle was tearing along the road, and the next second, it swerved violently to the left with an audible squealing of the brakes. It began a slow, graceless series of jerking spins down the road, then gave an unexpected jump toward the trees on one side. It hit the trees at an angle and went airborne, sailing upside down about fifteen feet before landing with a heavy crunching sound.

"Whoa," the Gasman said softly. "That was incredible."

"You have two seconds to give me the picture," Iggy said irritably.

"It hit the oil, all right. It spun, hit the trees, and did a flip," the Gasman told him. "Now it s on its back, like a big, ugly, dead beetle."

"Yes!" Iggy punched the air, making their branch sway. "Signs of life?"

"Uh . . . oh, yeah. Yeah, one of them just punched out a window. Now they're climbing out. They look pretty dang mad. They're walking, so their not that hurt." The Gasman wanted the Erasers out of the picture, so he wouldn't have to worry about them anymore. At the same time, he wasn't sure how he would feel if they actually died.

Then he remembered that they had taken Angel.

He decided he was probably okay with them suffering a life-threatening accident.

"Shoot." Iggy sounded disappointed. "Any point in dropping Big Boy on them right now?"

The Gasman shook his head, remembered Iggy couldn't see it, and said, "I don't think so. They're talking on walkie -talkies. Now they're heading straight into the woods. We'd probably cause a huge forest fire or something."

Hmm." Iggy frowned. "Okay. We need a regroup, come up with Phase Two. How about we hang at the old cabin for one day."