Matthew was attacking the gunmen! Dear God in heaven, he was nine years old! But he was so fast. And furious. And fearless, even if he had no right to be.
Then I noticed another small figure doing the same thing.
“Kit, look! Oh my God! Stop him!”
It was Peter! Little four-year-old Peter was imitating Matthew, fearlessly dive-bombing and attempting to create confusion with his hooting and hollering and kickboxing.
The only problem was, Kit couldn’t fire safely at the men in black. Peter was in the way.
There was no way to get off a clear shot.
It was frustrating, maddening, crazy. And I wasn’t the one with the gun.
Just when I didn’t think I could feel more helpless, Oz came out of nowhere and furiously threw himself into the action. He was like a missile, targeting one of the gunmen who fired off a series of rat-a-tats, each deadly sound illustrated by an orange flameburst.
But the shooter missed. It almost seemed that he’d missed on purpose. What was going on here? Who were the hunters? What were their orders? Who was in control of them?
Oz knocked the gunman out cold with one swipe of his powerful wings. Talk about your winged avengers. I almost couldn’t believe my eyes.
I was screaming at the kids to get away. So was Kit. Even Max was yelling. They might be super, but they weren’t bulletproof.
Oz kicked one of the shooters from behind. The bastard went down hard, and Oz gave him a good stomp to the head. I saw another gunman making a grab for a small dark shape as it fluttered past him.
Wendy! He had Wendy!
“Okay,” the gunman yelled out, and seemed really angry. “Everyone back off. Drop the gun. Kick it toward me.”
The entire forest seemed frozen in time and space. I saw Kit’s face as he weighed his limited options—drop the gun or shoot—when the silence was broken.
A shrill caw! Oz rose from the ground and slapped aside the shooter’s arm. It was only a glancing blow, and the gunman turned fiercely against Oz. He backhanded him with his pistol.
The crack to Oz’s head made a horrifying sound.
But Kit finally had a clear shot. He fired! The man was hit somewhere high in his chest. He staggered and fell down hard, holding his rib cage tightly with both arms, bleeding all over himself, probably dying before our eyes.
The other men were either down or in retreat. Wendy had managed to get away. She shouted in triumph. Then she darted into my arms, screeching, “Mama, Mama! We won the war!”
63
I DOUBTED IT! I sincerely doubted it!
I was panting hard, nearly in shock, as I watched Kit holster his gun. Even though it had saved us, I still hated the weapon, despised what it could do, aware of its awful potential for deadly violence. And one other thing bothered me a lot. Why hadn’t the gunmen fired right away? What had stopped them from shooting all of us? They certainly could have. What was going on? Why weren’t we all dead?
“Okay, everyone,” Kit called out, still trying to catch his breath. “Gather around so I can see you. Is anybody hurt?”
One by one, the children enveloped us. Oz got up from the ground and wiggled into the embrace. Kit kept talking them in. “It’s okay, everyone. It’s okay for now.”
“Is anybody hurt? Yeah, they sure are,” Matthew finally piped up. “We kicked some proper ass.”
“We were lucky,” Kit said.
“And we were good,” retorted Oz, and shook a fist over his head. “I’m proud to go to war with you guys!”
“Yeah, right,” Peter piped up. “Bet your butt.”
I checked each of the kids for injuries. Oz had taken the worst of it. There was a darkening bruise on one side of his face.
Miraculously, bruises and scrapes were the only damage we’d sustained.
But Kit was right—we were lucky. Damned lucky! Or maybe it was more than just luck. Of course, it was more than luck.
The battle we’d just been through had happened and ended quickly. A five-minute assault, during which any one of us could have been killed! We hugged in pairs and then we hugged in a big pile. I was still breathless from all the excitement. Some of the kids started to whimper and shiver. Finally, reality was setting in.
I saw Kit walk Max away from the group, and I followed them. Kit stooped down and took Max by the shoulders.
“This was too close, Maxie. I take responsibility. I should have kept everyone under lock and key until I could get us to safety. We have to get out of here. Now. But we have a problem, don’t we? We still don’t know what’s going on.”
“They don’t want us hurt. Not yet. They prefer capturing us,” she said. “That’s obvious, isn’t it?”
“What do they want? What?”
Max had scratches on her face and her eyes were as huge as saucers. I saw her shudder, and then make her decision.
She spoke softly, so faintly that Kit and I had to strain to hear.
“It’s in Maryland,” she whispered. “It’s like another School, like the shit-awful place we were kept. Only I think it’s even worse. They’ve taken this biotech madness even further. They’ve gone to the limit this time. Maybe past the limit. Yeah, way past.”
“How do you know this, Max?” I asked. “What is the limit?”
She shook her head, then stared at the ground. “At the School they made me file and do other scut work on the computer. At first it was just to keep me out of their hair. But then they realized I did the job of three of their drones in less than half the time.
“So I filed their records and important communications. But I also read, and I remember it all. There’s another experimental lab. In Maryland. Not too far from Washington, D.C., where Kit lives. The doctor who runs it is supposed to be a genius, but personally, I think he’s totally whacked. I know he is. He visited the School once, but I didn’t get to see him. Not a good look, anyway. They locked us away in our cages. I know that the doctors there were in awe of this guy, and whatever he was working on. They were also scared shitless of him. And yes, there are people in the government who know about the outlaw lab.”
Max looked into Kit’s eyes, then into mine. She shook her head. “You talk,” she said, “you die. Looks like I die.”
64
MAX’S CONFESSION changed everything.
That evening about the golden hour, she and Ozymandias took the kids for a short flight with Frannie’s permission. They were in tight formation, gorgeous to watch as they sailed toward the setting sun. She was thinking they were more like a squadron of jet fighters than a flock that night.
Icarus called out and Max turned to him. His sightless eyes were closed against the wind. “Where are we going, guys? Tell all! What am I missing on the way?”
“Great sunset, Ic. Burnt orange against powder blue. Beautiful pine forests and mountains that seem to go on forever,” Max called back. “We’re going up into the woods. Primeval forests. We’re not coming back, little buddy. It’s too dangerous for Frannie and Kit.”
“Oh, so we’re the only ones who die?” Ic asked, his little voice thick with irony.
“Yeah. I’m afraid so, Icarus. This is our fight.”
He shrugged his small shoulders. “I can live with that.”
It was Oz’s plan, actually, and the first part was that the flock would have enough time to find safe shelter before darkness fell in the mountains. Oz had thought everything through. He was sure of it, and of himself. They would build temporary shelters high in trees, using branches and wild vines to weave sleeping baskets. The baskets could be lined with ferns and loose leaves.
Max approved. Basically. Actually, it sounded kind of comfy the way Oz described it, and everybody had confidence in him, especially since she did.
If they didn’t want to be too ambitious at first, they could raid a nearby farm for food. Root vegetables and gourds, such as pumpkins and squash, were in season. Carrots, maybe peas, tomatoes, melons, might also be available.
Plus, there
would be sunflower seeds, which they all loved anyway. Oz explained that the delicious seeds were packed in flat disks at the center of every flower head.
“What if there are no farms?” Wendy asked. “You ever think about that, guys?”
“No problem,” said Oz. “There’ll be plenty of nuts and seeds and roots. Pig nuts are pretty good. Burdock roots are sensational. And . . . turn over any log and you’ll find fat white grubs. A great source of protein!”
Max looked around again. The kids made faces at the mention of grubs, but they seemed to be keeping their sense of adventure, and humor as they flew into the mountains.
“Burdock roots and white grubs! Burdock roots and white grubs!” they chanted.
They were on their own.
Maybe back where they belonged.
It would be like the Lake House.
Well, almost, but not as good.
65
OZ AND MAX had decided they would share the watch. For the first night, anyway.
They sat huddled together on a rocky ledge that was maybe fifty feet above the trees where the children slept. There was no way human hunters could sneak up on them, but Oz was especially nervous about mountain cats, which could be incredibly fast and vicious, tear you apart in about thirty seconds.
“Was this part of your studies in ornithology?” Max asked. “How to survive in the wilderness? How to fight mountain lions?”
Oz finally smiled. “Our instincts will kick in and keep us safe. The way it was for a while at the lake. It’s the truth. Don’t forget—burdock roots and white grubs.”
“You’re so sure about things, Ozymandias. Be careful of too much pride. You could eat grubs?”
“I’m sure about some things. Grubs, maybe. I’m sure I want to be with you. Y’know, even though you’re a girl.”
“It’s not just some kind of dumb infatuation? Are you sure about that?”
Oz laughed. “I went through being infatuated with you when I was much younger, when we were both at the School. I used to go to sleep every night thinking about you. True tale. Every night.”
Max laughed. “I had no idea.”
“Of course you didn’t. You were too hung up on yourself. I was petrified around you. Whenever I had to talk to you, I got the shimmy-shimmy shakes.”
“Hold my hand,” Max said in a softer voice. “Hug me for a little while, then I’ll take first watch.”
Oz cuddled Max gently. “Whenever I hold you, I never want to let go,” he said. “I guess that could be dangerous tonight.”
“Oh, Oz, Oz, Oz,” Max sighed, then whispered against his cheek. She was starting to cry, and she almost never cried.
He felt her warm tears and pulled away sharply. “What’s the matter? Please don’t cry. It’s the one thing that could make me lose my nerve.”
She looked deeply into his beautiful, magnificent eyes. “Oh, Oz, everything that could go wrong is going that way in a hurry. We’re on our own with a little blind boy, two darling babies, and my kid brother. We had pine and pig nuts for supper. Humans are trying to capture or kill us and probably will. And you know what?”
Oz hugged her even harder. “What, Max? Tell me what?”
“I have never been happier in my entire life. It’s all because of you, tattoo-boy. I love you, Oz.”
“I love you, Max. Always have, always will. Now, I’ll take the first watch.”
Max grinned. “I already knew that, sweet patootie. You’re such a guy.”
66
THIS WAS NOT GOOD!
Kit and I rode in the Suburban on a dirt road as far as it would take us, and fast. The damn trail just dead-ended into the mountain face. We were in the middle of nowhere. Smack dab.
Staring at a cold, hard rock face.
Not good at all.
“You could say that this is the end of the road,” Kit quipped from his place behind the steering wheel. “Damn it. Damn Max.”
I immediately started to cry a little, and Kit slid over, put his arms around me, started kissing my tears away. I still liked being held by him, no use denying or fighting it anymore.
“The kids’ll be all right. For now, anyway,” he said. “I’m sure they just need to hash things out. Max was seriously programmed not to talk about anything she learned back at the School. She and Oz will do the right thing. They do act like grown-ups now.”
“They’re all geniuses, Kit. Off the charts, remember? They know it, too.”
“So maybe they won’t come back. But they’ll be all right.”
“Don’t say that.”
“Let’s go back to the hacienda. Maybe the kids are already there, waiting for us. Besides, we don’t have any other choice.”
It took us a good half hour to get to the Pines Bungalow Motel—Raton, New Mexico’s finest. Neither Kit nor I saw any sign of trouble. Nor did we see the kids.
We waited up for them—the kids. But there was also the awful possibility that more gunmen might show up. Hunters.
“I felt safer when the kids were around,” I said to Kit, who was putting another log on the fire. “They could spot an intruder coming a long way off.”
Kit spread a wool blanket not too far from the fire. He patted the floor by his side.
“Woof! Woof!” I barked.
“That’s not how I meant it. I’m just recommending a cozy spot by the fire here. Please, Frannie, please. See? I’m begging.”
I brought a couple of borderline-comfy pillows from the bed.
“That’s all this is?” I asked Kit. “Sit by the fire together? Warm our toes?”
“I didn’t say that, either.”
I finally lay down beside Kit, and he took me in his strong arms. “I missed you every day, every hour, every minute, Frannie,” he whispered.
I rolled my eyes. “That’s a little thick.”
“You’re tough,” Kit said, and grinned. “I missed you every day we were apart.”
“How about every day and most every hour?”
“That’s about right. I did.”
“Me, too. So, uhm, why did we stay apart?”
“Too much loss, too much awful pain, way too much chaos and confusion. My family dies, then we lose the kids in that courthouse fiasco in Denver. I thought you might bolt on me next, Frannie. I swear I did.”
“Kiss me,” I whispered. “Shush up and kiss.”
He did. A whole lot of times. Tender, sweet, strong Kit kisses. Just like always. Kisses so true that I had to believe him about why he’d stayed away. Then Kit was touching me everywhere I wanted to be touched, which was everywhere. God, how I loved his touch, too.
First he thoroughly explored my face, and I explored his. Then he covered my neck and shoulder with touches and kisses. He unbuttoned my flannel shirt and I returned the favor by unbuttoning his. He did my belt, my trousers; and I did his. Only when we were finally naked did I completely understand how much I had missed Kit, and maybe how much I loved him, which was with all my heart and soul and, obviously, my body as well.
And for once he said exactly the right thing: “I love you, Frannie. Simple as that. I really love you, Frances Jane. In fact, I adore you.”
And I whispered back, “I love you, Thomas.”
Eventually, after a good long while, and some rather spectacular shenanigans, which I won’t go into in a story that will be heard by old and young, we fell asleep on the blankets in front of the fire. The first time I awoke in the morning I was cold, and quickly stole my share of the covers. Maybe more than my share, but isn’t that what love is all about?
I immediately fell asleep again. In the cocoon of Kit’s arms. Safe and sound and blissful. Swaddled in blankets. Perfectly content.
The second time I woke, buttery sunlight was streaming through all the windows.
Something else was at the windows, too.
The kids! They had come back. My God, they were gawking at Kit and me.
“Get away from those windows, you little peeping Toms,” Kit hollere
d at them.
“Nothing we haven’t seen before,” said Icarus, blind poet that he is. “You guys want some burdock roots?”
Part Five
THE HOSPITAL
67
The Hospital
Dr. Ethan Kane was humming the Eagles’ golden oldie “Hotel California” and doing a lot of heavy thinking about Resurrection. It was almost here. His reverie was interrupted by an important phone call. It was long-distance from Los Angeles, and Kane had been expecting it for most of the day.
The California folk were attempting to play with his head, which was a very bad idea.
The voice on the other end was clipped and businesslike, probably a transplanted New Yorker. “Dr. Kane, this is Anthony Depino calling.”
Dr. Kane’s tone of voice was the opposite of Depino’s. It sounded jovial and unconcerned. “Anthony, so good to hear from you. I’m afraid you caught me working late in my office. It’s after nine. How are my friends, the Stevensons?”
“They’re old,” said the lawyer, and left it at that. Depino wasn’t having any of this idle chitchat. Well, fine. He was one of the most powerful attorneys in Los Angeles and had handled the Stevensons’ private affairs for the past few years. Also, he seemed to believe that his shit didn’t stink.
“Well, since they’re not getting any younger, let’s get down to business, Anthony,” said Ethan Kane.
“Splendid, Dr. Kane. I might as well start by informing you that the price you quoted for the procedures is totally unacceptable to us,” said the lawyer. “The price for Resurrection is just too much, even for Roger Stevenson. You’ll have to do better.”
“I understand perfectly,” said Ethan Kane. Then he hung up the phone on the snot-nosed lawyer.
He grinned, then scooped out a handful of peanut M&M’s, one of his few serious vices. He put three different-colored candies in his mouth, and then the phone rang again.
“Some fucking negotiator,” Kane mumbled, and smiled thinly.