James Patterson - When the Wind Blows

by When the Wind Blows (lit)

  He was wearing funny-looking goggles, and she thought she knew what they were. Night glasses, so he could see in the dark. Like a vampire.

  She was so angry now. She wasn't going to die like this! No way was she going to cooperate with that lousy plan of theirs!

  Max flapped her wings fast and real hard at the last possible second.

  The soldier or guard raised his head to look.

  "Geronimo, asshole!" she yelled.

  Max dropped from the tree. It was almost a free fall.

  Fwap!

  Fwap! Fwap! Fwap!

  Fwapfwqpfwapfwapfwap!

  Max hit the man like a large, falling rock. His goggles flew off his face. The big, bad rifle spun away, too. He lay on the ground out cold.

  Now that was dumb! What's that supposed to prove? she was thinking.

  That you're just like him?

  But she knew the answer from somewhere deep inside.

  She could fight back!

  She raised her arms into the air -raised her wings high, and she whispered real loud - "Yesssss! I can fight Them!"

  But then she heard the roaring thunder of approaching helicopters. She looked up. There was more than one. Now she wasn't so sure.

  Chapter 110

  KIT HAD CUTS and lacerations and purplish bruises all over his face.

  His upper lip was split and leaking blood. His nose was bleeding, and probably broken at the bridge bone. He had been beaten up, really knocked around. He had been somebody's punching bag and they'd had quite a workout.

  "What happened to you? What happened, Kit?"

  "I didn't talk," he was able to say. He tried to smile with his fat lip, and partly succeeded.

  I sat down beside him on the bed. I wished I had a first-aid kit. I gently touched one of the bruises and he winced.

  "I'm all right. I'm fine," he said. "I've taken a few punches before."

  He was pissed off about the beating. He was like an animal that had been caged and mistreated. He was going to get even, somehow, and I loved his spirit. He never seemed to give up. He told me about his visit with Uncle Thomas. Then I told him what I had learned upstairs with Gillian.

  Kit slid his arm around me. He moaned as he did. I leaned my head against his shoulder and we were quiet for a couple of minutes.

  "I'll never forget the first time I saw you," Kit said against my cheek.

  I thought that he was smiling. I could hear it in his voice.

  "When I was screaming at you to get off my property? To pack up and clear out? You said, 'a deal is a deal."' Kit nodded. "I believe that. And also that a handshake's a handshake.

  You struck me as brave, wise, adventurous, obstreperous as hell. Not to mention extremely beautiful."

  "Right, I remember how glamorous I looked. I had blood and guts from a deer smeared all over my smock."

  "Yep. Blood on your blouse, fire in your eyes. God, you were a pretty sight. You are so pretty. I hope to hell we're going to get through this, Frannie. I don't exactly see how they can let us go, though. We're eyewitnesses to everything."

  "Our last day on earth," I sighed, letting the words sink in a little, thinking about their meaning. "How incredibly weird. What do you regret never having done? What would you do now if you could?"

  "I'd like to fly with Max," Kit said without hesitation. He sighed.

  "I'd like to have said good-bye to Kim and my two little boys. It kills me that I didn't get the chance... I'd like to go on a camera safari to the Serengeti and Masai Mara. Maybe live for a couple of months in Tibet, in spite of the Brad Pitt movie. Go to Florence for a month or two."

  "Yeah, beam us to Florence, Scatty," I said. I don't know why we were talking that way at such a bad time, oddly at peace, a little giddy.

  We were, though. Probably the thing I regretted most was that we wouldn't be with each other anymore. Kit and I were just beginning and now we would suddenly end. It seemed unfair and wrong.

  "I really couldn't bear to die unless I did this," Kit whispered. Even though his lip must have hurt, he kissed me, very softly, on the lips. It was the sweetest thing. He kept surprising me like that.

  I whispered, "I wanted to do that, too, really wanted to. Right from the first time I saw you."

  "You sure had me fooled," Kit whispered back. "What else did you want to do?"

  "Let me show you. Come here."

  We kissed again, tenderly but urgently. We pushed against each other's bodies. What else did I want to do? I wanted to undress him very slowly and luxuriously, and have him do the same to me. There wasn't enough time for us, and we knew it. It changed everything, changed every priority we might have had. Maybe it ordered our priorities correctly for the first time.

  I gently touched his face. Kissed the cuts. I tasted the blood off his lip.

  I was learning all about him, memorizing, hoping never to forget anything about him. This was about the only thing we could do now, the only good thing that made sense. It was better than worrying, blaming ourselves for mistakes, banging on doors and screaming.

  I reached and tugged at his wide leather belt. I was still a little shy with him. Then, when I realized how foolish that was, I yanked hard on his belt. Everything between us had happened so fast, but at least it had happened. He was the sexiest, the best man I had ever known. I was so sure of it. Oh, I was sure.

  The seconds passed slowly. I let them, wanted them to move slowly.

  There was nowhere for us to go, no better place to be. I felt a little dizzy, suddenly returning to intimacy like this. There was no guilt for me, though, not anymore.

  Kit's face tilted toward mine. He held my chin tenderly with his fingers. He kissed my lips, then my cheeks, my nose, my eyes. His blue eyes neverleft mine.

  I couldn't remember anyone ever kissing my eyes before. He kissed the hollow place in my throat. I loved that, loved the way he touched me. Maybe this shouldn't be happening now, but I couldn't stop, didn't want to.

  It seemed so incredible that the two of us were together. My breathing was shallow, my breasts rapidly rising and falling. I wanted Kit so much.

  I ran my hands across his hard back, his shoulders, the insides of his muscular legs. He was aroused now, very hard, and I loved that he wanted me. I wanted him, too.

  A fire had been rekindled inside me. It was spreading quickly. Kit entered and we began to rock slowly, then more quickly, much more quickly. I felt our bodies find a rhythm and it was so right, so good. I had the thought - that we were flying, and this was how it was supposed to be.

  Chapter 11

  MAX HAD ONLY DOZED. It was all she dared to do. She had moved again, changed locations. She was hiding at the top of a small mountain thick with boulders and aspens. She had buried herself under damp leaves and brittle, old branches in a deep, narrow crevice.

  After an hour or so, she raided a nearby summer house for food and water. Just for old times' sake. And because she was ravenously hungry and thirsty. Flying burned up tremendous amounts of energy.

  She had gorged herself, eaten too fast. Now she was sick to her stomach, Her tummy was cramped and she felt nauseated, just plain awful.

  But it was time to go, anyway, time to rock and roll, time to live life to the fullest, and probably time to die.

  That wasn't so great, but it was okay with her, Max was thinking. At least she'd been free for a while. She'd been able to fly and see a little corner of the world. Most people never got to do that. Not as she had.

  The morning sun was coming up fast and she was so happy to view it one more time. She wanted to fly right into the glorious sunrise, to be one with the great orange and yellow ball of sun. She felt incredibly connected to the rest of the universe. Did that make sense - was she more connected than most people? She thought that she was. Maybe because she could fly.

  God she felt stiff and achy all over. She needed to take a hot shower.

  Needed to have Frannie comb out her hair, preen her feathers. She wanted to be with her friends, an
d for once, have everyone else leave them alone.

  Damn them all! She hated Uncle Thomas, the other guards, the strange men in the business suits, whoever they were. Hated them with all of her heart.

  Max crept up onto a bluff that overlooked the upper part of the valley.

  She figured she was about two miles from the house. Kittytoes, she thought to herself. Don't make any noise now. Don't blow it and get caught. You can't get caught now.

  Max lifted her head, peered out over the valley, and her heart nearly stopped. Oh no! She could see an army of men and women looking for her. She quickly ducked back down behind the rockface.

  She raised her head again. Just a peek. She saw one of the helicopters, and it gave her an idea. She didn't know whether her idea was stupid or pretty cool or totally insane. She concentrated on the distant whirlybird, cleared her brain of everything else.

  Yes, it was a pretty cool idea! Maybe because she didn't have too many other choices. At least it was a plan. Something to get her through the next few minutes.

  She stretched out her limbs and wicked pain punched through her body.

  She ignored it. She got herself as limber and loose as possible. She prepared herself mentally. God she still felt nauseated. The food she'd found must have been partly spoiled.

  She warned herself: Get up in the air fast. Nofear. No hesitation. Stay inside the trees.

  Fly very, veryfast.

  Nofear!

  Stay low!

  God save anybody who gets in my way!

  Max stood up quickly, and started to run to beat the brass hand. Her heart was beating fast and very hard. Too hard, in fact. It was threatening to break right out of her chest. She felt as if she might blow apart.

  She saw no one as she lifted off the ground. Where were the searchers?

  She expected to be shot at. She winced at the thought, wanted to shut her eyes, but didn't.

  Stay low, fly very fast.

  Please don't let them shoot me down again. Just let me be okay for a few minutes. Let me fly for a minute more. Let me fly for ten more seconds.

  Oh no! It was too late to slip in behind the trees. The guard was right there, so freaking close he could almost grab her.

  He must have been sneaking up on her, silent and deadly as an Icarus fart. As he raised his rifle from hip level, Max dived like a bomber. She had no choice.

  Try as she might, she couldn't knock him down. She was too achy and sore, too exhausted, and sick!

  So she let it all go! Her insides, her sickness, her nausea. Gross times two!

  Whatever she'd eaten at the summer house: cold beef stew, chocolatechocolate-chip ice cream, lots of milk that smelled a little sour, ham and provolone cheese and red pickle relish without any bread, whatever she'd found in the fridge - she returned the favor.

  She threw up on the guard. All over his face and his dumb Colorado Rockies ball cap. His hands shot to his eyes. He probably didn't know what had hit him. He dropped his gun and let out a loud yell.

  Max winged past him. She disappeared amid the maple and fir trees and thick brush. She was safe. She didn't get shot. She screamed Yessss, yessss!

  She was flying again, remembering how much she loved this.

  Just let me fly for sixty more seconds, she made a wish.

  Just let me fly one more time.

  -Chapter 112

  I WOKE with my face inches from Kit's, and I liked being there, close to his.

  Strange, but it was the first morning in a long time that I hadn't come awake in the middle of a terrifying nightmare.

  But of course, I really had.

  He was awake. Kit was looking at me. His blue eyes were more dazzling than ever up close. How unexpectedly sensitive and sweet he had turned out to be. How easy to be with. I'll bet you were a really, really goodfather.

  "Hi," I whispered, and smiled, and felt warm and fuzzy for the first time in ages.

  "Hi, back at you. I guess it wasn't a dream that we made wild and passionate love last night."

  Suddenly everything seemed so simple and right and the irony of it just killed me. Kit and I were falling in love, or maybe we had already fallen. Our situation couldn't have been any worse. Our chances of surviving were nonexistent. We were witnesses. We had seen the atrocities committed at the School.

  There was a light tapping at the door. We looked at each other. Was this it? Had they come for us? Thomas and his hand of goons.

  Kit and I exchanged looks again. We heard a key slowly sliding into the lock, metal against metal. We climbed out of bed and hurried into some clothes.

  The door opened, and I couldn't believe who it was.

  "Hello, Aunt Frannie. It's me, Michael. I came to rescue you."

  Chapter 113

  THERE WAS SOMEONE ELSE THERE, TOO. A man in a blue summer suit stepped into the room right behind Michael. He had a semiautomatic in his hand and the gun was aimed at Kit. Inexplicably, he smiled.

  "I came to rescue you, too," he said. His voice was soft. Very quiet, It really made you pay attention.

  "Who are you?" I asked. I'd never seen him before. I was pretty sure he wasn't from Boulder Community Hospital. I didn't think he was one of the guards either.

  Kit spoke up. "His name is Peter Stricker He was my boss at the FBI, the regional head. Peter ordered me off this investigation, said it was going nowhere. He threatened to fire me when I wouldn't give up the case. And now, here he is. Hello, Peter. I see the case finally has your attention."

  Stricker was tall and well muscled; he had slicked-back, light blond hair. He was a smug-looking yuppie, if ever there was one, with an easy, well-oiled smile.

  "Who can you trust these days?" Stricker said in his whispery voice.

  "Nobody, I guess. Not your closest friends. Not even some of your old buds at the FBI."

  "Does that mean there are still some people I can trust at the Bureau?"

  Kit asked.

  "Oh sure. A few dinosaurs here and there. The Director happens to be one of them. Actually, only a couple of us are lucky enough to be involved in this. Plus a few very trusted stalwarts from the army. Everybody who found out about this wanted a piece of it. It's the American Way. You were right, though. This is big stuff. The biggest I've ever seen."

  "Does this mean the U.S. government is involved?" I asked.

  "No, let's not get carried away. No need for too many paranoid fantasies or conspiracy theories. Certain people in the government are aware of what's going on here in Colorado, and before that in San Francisco and Boston. We're involved as private citizens only. There are only about fifty of us and we have a great deal at stake. There was a little insurrection among a few of the doctors, attacks of conscience, but we're past that now. We eliminated the problem."

  "You're greasing the way for progress, and being paid for your efforts?" Kit said. "That is the American Way."

  "Very well paid. But don't forget, our work is important. I stopped you from interfering, didn't I? Did my part for the Cause. I happen to believe in it, by the way. I think Dr. Peyser's work is critical for us all."

  "So, are you here to shoot us yourself?" I asked Stricker "Are you the one?" As I spoke I moved a step or two away from Kit. Put a little distance between us.

  "That wasn't my plan when I came down here. Of course it could change at any moment. Don't do that, Dr. O'Neill. Not a real good idea."

  I kept moving laterally. "What isn't a good idea?"

  "You never were a field agent," Kit said. "Never got your hands dirty, Peter. Stayed behind a desk all these years. That's why I wouldn't have promoted you to the regional job."

  "All right! Stop right there." Stricker finally raised his voice and shifted the gun until it was pointed at my chest. "I can do dirty work just fine, Tom. Watch me."

  Kit took a lightning-fast step in and threw a hell of a punch at Stricker's jaw. It was a crushingly hard shot and the agent went down hard on one knee.

  But he came bounding right back up. That su
rprised me. Stricker was stronger and a lot tougher than he looked.

  Kit came back with a short, powerful uppercut. A haymaker, I guess you'd call it. He knocked the smug and satisfied look right off Stricker's face. I almost cheered.

  Then he crunched another quick, hard shot into Stricker's stomach. Kit was tougher than he looked, too. A whole lot tougher, and Kit looked tough to begin with. I knew nothing about the Golden Gloves, and whatever time Kit had put into amateur boxing, but it was paying huge dividends now.