The rifle sailed up. Xander reached out to grab it. There was a clack-clack sound, as though he’d stuck his hand into a fan. He yelled and pulled his arm back. David saw a gash running across the back of his hand.
Once again Phemus plucked the weapon off the ground.
David said, “Whatever we’re going to do, we better do it now.”
Xander drifted into a beam of sunlight. He blinked, turned his face toward it. “Okay, okay, I got it,” he said.
Phemus circled below them, hefting the rifle like a ball-player about to throw a pitch.
“Now, Xander!” David said.
“We gotta get out from under the branches,” Xander said. He pointed at the sky. “We gotta go higher.”
CHAPTER
thirty -three
WEDNESDAY, 12"51 P.M.
Hovering over the clearing with his brother and sister, David said, “I thought this was it. As high as we could go.”
“We’ve only done this once before,” Xander reminded him. “And we didn’t try to go higher than the trees.”
They kicked and paddled their way to the edge of the branches and leaves.
Whoop-whoop-whoop!
The rifle snapped through the fine branches, not a foot from David. A twig shot into his cheek. He reeled back, feel-ing the sting, as though slapped with a riding crop. “Ahh!”
Below, Phemus snatched the rifle out of the air. He moved around, searching for the best angle of attack.
Toria said, “David, you’re bleeding.”
He touched his face, looked at the blood on his fingers. He said, “That guy’s three for three. He got us all.”
“Come on,” Xander said. He pointed his face toward the open sky beyond the foliage and paddled his injured hand in the air.
They began to rise. Their heads lifted over the branches. David and Xander shared a smile.
Like flipping from one photograph to another, Xander’s expression instantly changed to panic. A second later David’s did, too, as the firmness of the air that keep them aloft evaporated and they plunged down . . .
. . . below the forest canopy . . .
. . . and still they plummeted . . .
. . . down, down . . .
David had felt the same plummeting roller-coaster feel in his gut when he’d fallen all the way to the meadow and bro-ken his arm. Only that time he’d been at the clearing’s edge and was able to slow his fall by grabbing branches. No branches now, only a free fall to earth.
He closed his eyes and squeezed himself closer to his sister.
His mind betrayed him with a gruesome assessment of what was to come: Their legs would shatter. Their organs and bones, their spines and heads, would compact on themselves. They might splatter or simply crumple into skin-bags of what used to be David, Xander, and Toria. At least that way, they’d have separate coffins.
Against all hope, David kicked and paddled. The wind rushed past him. Then he felt it in his stomach: a lurching stop, like an elevator’s but stronger.
He allowed one eye to open, then the other. They were ten feet from the ground and starting to rise again. Phemus ran toward them, swinging the rifle like a club.
“Kick,” Xander said.
He hadn’t needed to say it. David was already moving his legs and feet faster than he ever had.
Phemus hurled the rifle at them. It nicked David’s sneaker, one of an old tattered pair he had to put on this morning because he’d lost one of his good Converses in the Civil War world. His little toe flared with pain, as though someone had stomped on it.
“We can’t keep doing this,” David said. “It’s just a matter of time before one of us gets nailed good.”
Whoop-whoop-whoop!
All of them heard it, none of them saw it coming. It sailed up from directly below them, this time spinning vertically, like a propeller—and just as deadly. It passed inches in front of them. If they had leaned their heads down to take a look, it would have clobbered them.
Clobbered? David thought. No . . . it would have killed them.
“We’re fish in a barrel,” Xander said.
“Look,” Toria said.
David followed her gaze to the tangle of branches and leaves hung over the edge of the clearing. He said, “What?”
“The branches,” she said. “See how thick they are over there. We can—”
“Yeah,” Xander interrupted. “If we could get on top of them, we’d have some protection.”
“Can we fly above them?” David wondered.
“Probably not,” said Xander. “But we can reach them, and climb up onto them.”
The rifle spun by—nowhere close, for a change.
“Let’s do it,” David said.
They made their way to the heaviest branch and hovered below it.
“Grab hold, Toria,” Xander said. “Pull yourself up onto it. We’ll give you a boost.”
She released her death grip on David’s neck and extended a shaking hand to the branch. The boys pushed her up.
None of them heard the rifle coming. It struck Xander’s back. He let out a sharp groan, arched backward as though he’d taken a bullet in the chest, and fell.
CHAPTER
thirty -four
WEDNESDAY, 12:55 P.M
Falling, Xander whirled his arms. He scissored his legs. His descent slowed and he started back up, not unlike a bungee jumper. Groaning, alternately reaching for his injury and paddling, Xander returned to the branch.
“You okay?” David said.
“I’ll live . . . this time.” He groaned, then said, “Toria, you good?”
She peered past the branch and nodded. Her arms clutched the branch. “I want to hold my ankle, but I’m afraid to let go.”
“Don’t,” David said.
Xander said, “Just remember to watch for that thing com-ing at you. Duck away from it, move your hands if you have to. But don’t fall off.”
“I’ll get on the branch right behind her,” David said. “I’ll grab her if it looks like she’s in trouble.”
“Okay.” Xander’s face was twisted into a pained grimace.
“You sure you’re all right?”
“I said I’ll live, not that I’m all right.” He grinned, but David could tell it was forced. “Get up there,” Xander said. “I’ll help.”
David grabbed the branch behind Toria and kicked his feet. He floated up. Before he could swing his leg over, the air’s firmness faltered and disappeared. Gravity pulled him down. Xander got his hand under David’s rump and gave him a shove. He settled onto the branch just before the rifle smacked it directly under him, kicking up a spray of bark. The toy spun off, right over Xander’s shoulder.
Xander reeled away from it. He drifted to the next branch, about ten feet away, and scrambled onto it. He held on with one hand and rubbed his back with the other.
Whoop-whoop-whoop!
The rifle flew up between the branches, tore away leaves, then went down again.
“Hey, Xander,” David said. “Remember the weird movie title or whatever it was you thought of when the gladiator was spinning his swords at you?”
“Yeah, that’s right,” Xander said, remembering. “Pinwheel of Death.”
“Fits here, huh?”
The next throw came at the branch that Xander occupied, a foot away from his head. Xander released his grip, tucked his arms close to his body, then grabbed the branch again after the rifle’s strike. In a deep voice, with precise diction, he said, “In a world where hiding in trees is the only way to survive, three children must learn to outsmart the . . . Pinwheel of Death”.
David smiled. Was it the clearing making them feel a little better, or did people in terrifying situations naturally think of things that calmed their fear? Either way, he liked the distraction. He said, “I don’t think that’s a movie I’d want to see anymore.”
Toria saw the next one coming and tucked in perfectly. When the rifle clattered under David, it was he who almost lost his b
alance and tumbled off. Phemus must have decided he’d found a weak link; he continued targeting David, toss after toss.
Pulling his arms out of the way for what seemed like the hundredth time, David said, “Man, this is getting to me. Doesn’t that guy have to go back to his own world sometime?”
Xander thought about it. “I thought Dad said the worlds had to balance out, eventually. Like the way the items in the antechambers pull toward the portal, and whatever we bring back with us gets sucked into its own world again. I kind of thought that worked with people too.”
“Then why didn’t Mom come back?” Toria said.
They didn’t have an answer.
David closed his eyes, listening for the approaching Pinwheel of Death.
When there’d been no attacks for a few minutes, he opened his eyes. Xander looked asleep. Toria was gazing into the leaves farther along the branch, probably pretending she was looking out her bedroom window or . . . anywhere but balancing on a branch fifty feet in the air with some guy trying to knock her off it. He looked down.
“Oh . . . you gotta be kidding!” he said.
Xander raised his head, looked. “No!”
“What’s he doing?” Toria said.
“He’s flying.”
CHAPTER
thirty-five
WEDNESDAY, 1:10 P.M.
Phemus hovered two feet off the ground. He wobbled and dropped onto the grass. He prodded at the air with his toes. He hopped up, as though he’d felt something. He went right back down and tried again. It was a bit like watching a body-builder trying to tap dance, but there was nothing funny about it.
“Do you think he can do it?” Toria said.
“He’d better not,” Xander said.
“He already did,” David said. “If he floats up two feet, it’s just a matter of time before he’s coming up here.”
As they watched, he did do it. Not for long, not very high, but he definitely sailed up for a few seconds.
“See?” David said.
“We’re dead,” Xander said. His eyes darted to Toria. “Uh . . . I mean . . . we’ll figure something out.”
“You can say we’re dead,” she said. “I’m not a baby.”
“No, really,” Xander said. “We’ll figure—”
“Here he comes,” David said.
The big man hovered five feet over the grass, wobbling, shifting one way, then the other. He grinned up at the kids, then looked down at his feet.
“Go away!” David yelled.
Phemus snapped his gaze up and crashed to the earth, sitting hard. He hoisted himself up, began feeling the air with his foot. He lifted into the air.
“Hey!” Xander said. “Go away!”
“Get out of here!” David screamed.
Toria simply screamed, a long piercing warble.
This time their attempts to distract him didn’t hinder his flying at all. He hovered, slid sideways, came back . . . a little higher.
Xander cast a worried glance at David. He whispered, “I’ll come over and get you. We’ll both get Toria.”
“Then what?” David said.
Xander shrugged. “Dodge away.”
“Carrying Toria?”
“We have to try.”
“Hey,” David said. The bushes at the perimeter of the clearing rustled and parted. A man broke through and fell onto the grass. He eyed Phemus, who apparently hadn’t heard his approach—then took in the kids.
“Keal!” David said.
“Help!” Toria yelled.
Keal leaped forward like a sprinter coming off the starting line. He ran directly for Phemus.
“The big guy’s too high up,” Toria said.
“We’ll see,” David said.
Keal sprang, sailing higher than anyone ever would have expected . . . anyone who didn’t know the clearing. He grabbed Phemus’s ankles and pulled the big man down. Phemus flashed a surprised expression and crashed to the earth. Keal was on him, landing punch after punch to the ribs, stomach, face. Phemus hammered a monstrous fist into Keal’s back.
David knew too well what that fist felt like. His face still hurt. He said, “Phemus is too strong, even for Keal.”
“Maybe not when he’s away from the house,” Xander said. “I get the feeling he needs the house . . . or the world he came from. That’s why he keeps going back to it.”
Hoping Xander was right this time, David yelled, “Get him, Keal!”
“Get him!” Toria echoed.
Keal dodged a blow. He flipped onto his back on the grass and kicked his heel into Phemus’s face.
The big man’s head snapped back. He rolled onto his stom-ach, rose onto his hands and knees, and started to stand.
Keal was already up. He kicked the man’s head, shifted and kicked his ribs. He swung his right fist down into the back of Phemus’s head.
David heard the crack and winced. He hoped the noise wasn’t Keal’s hand breaking.
If it was, Keal showed no sign. He swung his left fist into the side of Phemus’s temple, then planted the right one between his shoulder blades. Keal meant business: He didn’t pause, he didn’t give his opponent a second to recover. He continued to pummel the man. Punch, punch, kick, punch, kick, kick.
Don’t wanna ever get Keal mad at me, David thought.
Phemus swung his arm around, knocking Keal’s leg out from under him. Keal went down, and Phemus grabbed his foot. He pulled Keal to him and brought a fist down onto his stomach. Keal wheezed out a gust of air, buckled in half. Phemus swung a fist into Keal’s head. Keal did what every fighter does when the blows are landing and he can’t get away. He dove into his opponent, hugging him, giving him no room to swing.
They rolled in the grass—and lifted off it. David squinted, and yes, the two men were tumbling in the air, three or four feet off the ground. Rising higher.
Phemus pushed Keal away. Keal did a backward somersault and stood. He almost fell over, caught himself, and looked down at the grass a half dozen feet below him. He wobbled. He turned a stunned face at the kids.
“Keep going, Keal!” Xander yelled.
“Move like you’re underwater!” David told him.
Phemus slid through the air. He reached his opponent and clamped his arms around Keal’s torso. The silent scream Keal displayed indicated that Phemus was squeezing him. David could only imagine how much pressure those tree-trunk arms could exert.
Keal began punching Phemus’s ear. His knees came up into Phemus’s gut. They broke away from each other only to embrace again: Keal encircled his muscular left arm around Phemus’s neck. He pounded his right fist into the big man’s face, again and again.
Phemus landed one blow after another into Keal’s stomach and sides. Without pausing in his face-pounding, Keal kicked at Phemus’s crotch.
All the while, the men tumbled and rose through the air. They were in the center of the clearing, measured aerially as well as across its breadth and width. It almost seemed staged to David, but the sounds of their blows and grunts, as well as the blood and sweat flying off them, said otherwise.
Phemus reached behind his back, fumbled with some-thing at the small of his back, where the pelt started, and pulled out a black shardlike object.
“Keal!” David yelled. “He has a knife!”
Phemus raise the blade and plunged it down.
Keal grabbed the big man’s wrist. He never released his arm from Phemus’s neck. Phemus never ceased in slamming his fist into Keal’s ribs. Phemus’s arm looked like a machine pumping pumping pumping.
David threw himself off the branch. He plunged down five feet, ten feet. He felt the resistance in the air and started kicking, swimming with his arms.
“David!” Toria yelled.
He ignored her and continued moving toward the fighting men. He circled them, keeping himself directly behind Phemus. When he saw his chance, he sailed in and grabbed the hand that held the knife. He could see now that it was a chiseled piece of black stone.
Keal saw David, saw him holding the knife hand. He let go of Phemus’s wrist, pulled back, and brought his fist into the big man’s nose.
David strained against Phemus’s hand that was trying to plunge the knife into Keal. He squeezed his eyes closed and concentrated on not letting that happen. He rose up over the men’s heads. He kicked, using the motion to help him keep the knife high in the air, high above Keal.
He heard a crack! and looked. Xander was hovering behind Phemus, holding the barrel of the toy rifle. He had apparently retrieved it from the ground and batted the stock into the back of the big man’s head. He cocked it back for another strike.
Phemus twisted out of Keal’s headlock. He lifted his foot, planted it on Keal’s sternum, and pushed off. He sailed away, taking David with him and banging into Xander. Xander spun away, twirling like a top. Phemus dropped straight down, wrenching his hand out of David’s grasp. The stone knife slid through David’s fingers. David gasped and pulled his hands back.
As he fell, Phemus lunged at Keal, stretching his knife toward him. Keal kicked away, but the blade caught his leg, rip-ping through his pant leg. Phemus continued falling—all the way to the grass, twenty-five feet below. He landed with a grunt and rolled. He hopped up, glaring at the boys and man above him. Then he ran to the edge of the clearing and disappeared into the bushes.
CHAPTER
thirty -six
WEDNESDAY, 1:22 P.M
Breathing hard, Keal kept his eyes on the spot where Phemus had disappeared. He drifted and bobbed in the air like a ping-pong ball on the surface of a lake.
David drifted to him and reached out to touch his shoulder.
Keal jerked around, raising a fist. Registering David, he smiled.
“Thank you,” David said. He noticed red fingerprints where he’d touched Keal and looked at his palm. Blood covered his hand, glistening.
“I think his blade was obsidian,” Keal said. “Sharper than a razor, so it probably doesn’t hurt much, does it?”
Watching the slice across his palm open and shut like a mouth as he flexed his hand, David shook his head.
“It’ll take forever to heal, though,” Keal said. He rubbed the side of his face, then stuck a finger in his mouth to wiggle a tooth. He spat, watching the bloody goop fall to the grass far below. He said, “This is weirdest thing I’ve ever experienced.”
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