"Shadow Nine to studio. You getting this? Come back to me right now, Stephanie. Do you see this amazing shit? Or am I dead and on my way to heaven. Am I looking at an angel?"
He heard a voice in his earphones. "What is this, Eddy? Is this a joke?
What the hell are these pictures you're sending us?" Stephanie Apt's voice crackled loudly in his headset. Steph was usually a realist, a cynical, no-nonsense newswoman. Frieffeld figured her mind was already blown to smithereens. Join the party. His mind certainly was gone.
"You're lookin' at exactly what I'm lookin' at," he said. "Get the state troopers and EMS, and anybody else you can think of... We're maybe three miles north of the Hoover Road cutoff. I repeat - what you see is what we see. She's heading due north now. We're following her lead!
She is definitely flying!"
"I make her out to be eleven or twelve years of age. Looks like a regular Denver or Boulder or Pueblo grade-schooler - but with wings. And she is flying.
"On the soul of my dear deceased grandmother, this is really happening. The girl has beautiful white and silver-blue wings. Believe me. She's leading us somewhere, and frankly, I'd follow her anywhere. This is a News Four Special Report. And this is history. A girl is flying!"
Chapter 118
MAX BELIEVED in the thinking-feeling place in her heart that she was about to crash and burn and die, that she had to die soon. Too bad, but it was her assigned fate in life. It was the way the universe wanted it. She had known it since the day she escaped. Matthew had probably known it, too.
The keepers couldn't allow her to live. She was a witness to everything they had done, all of the terrible murders and other crimes.
She was Tinkerbell, "Stinky Tinky." Just another lab specimen. They were the stinky ones, though. She knew all of their dirty little secrets.
At least she had seen what the real world was like - some nasty, ugly things, but so much that was unbelievably beautiful, too. The outside world was way beyond her ability to imagine it at the School. It was a hundred times better than in books, or on TV, or even in the movies.
So here goes nothing! Or here goes everything! Same thing, right?
She was getting closer and closer to the big house, Gillian's place. She saw lots of people way down there, running around like tiny stick figures.
Max lowered her head and dived toward the men with guns. She realized she had no choice in the matter. This was her fate. They were trying to shoot at Oz and Icarus, who were flying away so beautifully and bravely. The other kids were flying to safety. God bless them.
Some of the guards were threatening Frannie near the main house.
Frannie seemed to be doing okay by herself. She was kicking a little butt.
So was Kit.
Then somebody shot Kit. He was hit. Kit fell to the ground and Max remembered how horrible it was to be struck by a bullet. She felt it, experienced Kit's pain. The wound was in his neck, and he wasn't moving, wasn't saying anything. Max felt as if she'd been shot again herself "Kit!" she screamed from the sky. "Kit, get up. Please get up."
She power-dived at one of the gunmen. Forty miles an hour - at least that. She hit him hard with the sweep of one wing. He went down and she was glad. Not glad that she'd hurt the man, but that she'd stopped him from hurting anyone else. She still couldn't conceive of hurting somebody without a good reason. It wasn't in her nature. She wasn't like "them," the keepers, maybe the whole human race.
Max was suddenly aware of more choppers following her, arriving from the east. More "good guys." There were three of them now approaching the house at high speeds.
They shuddered and thundered, whipping up the air terribly, rippling the leaves and branches of trees, and even the tall grass. At first there had only been one news helicopter, but then the others had seen the news and joined in pursuit. The helicopters she had brought, the "good guys," were filming everything. The names were brightly emblazoned on their sides.
KCNC-News 4. KDVR-News 31 Fox. KMGH-News 7. KTVJ-News 20.
A "bad guy" helicopter started to lift off from behind the house. They have no right to get away, Max thought to herself. Those bums have no right to fly. No right.
She leaned her body into an even steeper dive. Maybe too steep.
Suddenly she was at three-quarters throttle, doing as much as sixty miles an hour. Too much, way too much speed. Scary. It was as if she were standing on her head.
She was dive-bombing straight for the windshield of the rising black helicopter. She couldn't let them get away, though.
They have no right to fly.
They mustn't escape.
And then she saw something coming fast at the rising helicopter from the opposite side, rising out of the fir trees. What a great surprise. The best thing she had ever seen.
"Matthew!" she screamed.
Chapter 119
CAROLE O'NEILL and her two girls, Meredith and Brigid, were camping along a wide, bubbling stream in the Gunnison National Forest. They had brought along a small Sony TV. They had the set turned on, the volume as loud as it would go, but even that wasn't loud enough, and the picture was way too small.
"It's Max! And there's Aunt Frannie!" Brigid shrieked, as they watched the live news report inside their RV. "Mom, what is going on?
What's happening? Can you believe this?"
"Shhh. Shhh," Carole spoke above the TV and her daughter. "I want to hear this. Shhh, girls."
Carole did a lightning-quick station check on the TV. The same startling, mind-blowing pictures were on every channel she reached. Something incredible was going on at Gillian Purls's house. What was it?
Carole couldn't believe her own eyes. Of course, she hadn't been able to believe her eyes for the past twenty-four hours.
Max was doing a dangerous kamikaze dive at a helicopter. She was going to crash right into the chopper. Carole winced and she held her breath.
What was going on?
Frannie was punching Gillian Purls. Could that possibly be? Why would her sister hit Gillian?
Oh my God! It looked as if Kit had been shot. He was lying on the ground. He wasn't moving. Men with rifles were running everywhere.
Thousands and thousands of TVS in the populous greater Denver area were receiving the same live pictures with a voice-over description.
Thousands more sets were switched on as word of the newscast traveled.
Entire families gathered around their TVS. Late sleepers were hauled out of bed to come see. People surrounded TV sets at hotels, breakfast cars, early-bird taverns, places of business.
Within a few minutes, the networks had patched in the live news feed from the Denver stations. Excited newscasters delivered the story in either high-pitched or very hushed tones.
The amazing, stunning pictures of the flying girl began to be transmitted around the world, to every continent, every country, big city, and small village. The striking image of the flying girl seemed spiritual to some. "An angel,"
"awe-inspiring,"
"supernatural,"
"once-in-a-lifetime,"
"a miracle" were ways that people tried to describe what they saw and felt. The first sight of her was an indelible image, never to be forgotten. It struck the deepest chord in every man and woman, every child who saw it.
"The future has just arrived," intoned one of the British news journalists, "and we've got the pictures to prove it."
Chapter 120
I SAW EVERYTHING as it developed from ground level. Kit was down and I was trying to comfort and aid him. He'd been shot below the clavicle and there was a great deal of blood on his neck and staining his shirt.
He insisted that he wasn't hurt badly. I didn't believe him. I was shaking with fear.
"She brought the 'good guys,"' he said in a low voice. "She's a smart girl."
She was also poetry in flight. I was so proud of,Max, only I was also deeply disturbed and frightened for her. She was taking too many chances near the whirling helicopter blades - no
t to mention the guns.
She was fearless.
The noise overhead was deafening and confusing. I could make out a bold scrawl of call letters on the sides of the helicopters.
The TV news was here - live. Max had brought the cavalry, hadn't she?
The TV choppers were filming all the surprised, guilty faces. Gillian and the rest of the bastards, including her husband. Maybe they wouldn't get away with this, after all. Their dirty secrets were being exposed. On TV. That's what I hoped, anyway.
Max suddenly banked sharply to the right. She wasn't just fearless; she was reckless. She dived toward the black Bell Jet Ranger helicopter that was rising from behind the main house. She was trying to hinder, or even stop the takeoff. She didn't want them to escape.
From out of the towering pines, Matthew joined her. Jesus, what a sight that was. Brother and sister finally reunited. They were getting their revenge, a little payback.
"Watch out!" I screamed. I stood up to yell. I waved my arms. "Max, come down. Max, don't."
There was no way she could hear me over the roaring, thundering noise that filled the sky. Max was definitely too close to the rising helicopter. She was doing it on purpose.
Too close. Too dangerous.
She appeared to collide with the helicopter in midair. It happened fast.
I couldn't tell if she'd actually struck the copter, and if so, how much damage she'd done to herself.
I watched, and I was still yelling as she began to plummet. Oh Max don'tfall. Please don't. Oh please, Max.
The helicopter had jigged, tried to avoid her, but now it wobbled and spun. It was out of control, dropping rapidly from about five hundred feet. The chopper was definitely in trouble. The blades slowed and it began to shudder and shake. I could see men and women inside, looking out the windows, frightened, close to panic.
Matthew floated like a leaf above the failing chopper. He was watching close up. Way too close, as if this were all some kind of game to him.
It looked like he might be sucked down into the maelstrom.
I left Kit for the moment. I thought he'd be all right; I prayed that he would. I was racing toward Max when the ground shook, the result of a terrifying, fiery explosion.
The helicopter had crashed into treetops and limbs on its way down. A deafening metal-against-metal shriek pierced the air. The copter collided with the ground and burst into flames that shot high over the tops of the surrounding evergreens. Smoke, black as coal, billowed from the wreckage. Everyone on board must have died in that insane, terrifying instant.
I was a witness again. I didn't want to be. I desperately wanted my old life back.
I saw Max struggle out of a cloak of thick black smoke. Her wings and face were covered with soot and ash. She was still flying, but she looked exhausted. She was trying to fight off fatigue, but it weighted her down.
The other children were circling back from the shelter and safety of the woods. They whistled for Icarus and he managed to stay with them. They joined Max and she guided them down onto the rolling, Technicolor green lawns beside the house.
No sooner had Max and the smaller kids landed, when she and Matthew began to race across the manicured patch of lawn. Their stamina was incredible. They took off again, shot straight up toward the shimmering morning sun.
I saw what they were up to; at least I thought I understood. They were following a grayish Mercedes sedan. It was moving at high speed along a dirt road, a back way to the main house. I had been on that poor excuse for a road a couple of times in the past.
I knew who was crammed inside the gray Sc00. I'd seen them climb in: Gillian, Dr. Peyser, little Michael, a driver, and Harding Thomas. Except for Michael, it was the family from Hell. Thomas was riding shotgun. They were getting away again.
A dusty Land Rover was idling a couple of yards from where I stood.
I had no idea whose vehicle it was - but for now I decided it was mine.
I borrowed the car.
I got in and chased after the speeding sedan. I didn't want to be a hero, didn't want any part of that. I just wanted to stop Max and Matthew somehow. I didn't want them to die.
Chapter 121
I GUESS I WAS TRYING to follow the sage advice of Sophie Tucker: keep breathing. The Rover was built to handle most of the deep ruts and bumps in the dirt road. Almost fifty yards ahead I could see the Mercedes speeding away. The Sc00 was severely punishing its suspension. The driver was trying to go faster than he should on the mottled, makeshift road.
Max and Matthew were diving and swooping too close to the car.
They were like angry gnats. Without a doubt, though, they were disturbing and irritating the driver.
Then Max did a power-dive. She struck the center strut on the roof of the Mercedes. A caroming hit that made a dent. She and Matthew were acting crazy, acting like children.
"Max, no!" I yelled out the side window. I stuck my head and shoulders out as far as I could. Wind whipped into my face, making me squint.
I drove the Land Rover as best I could from the scary position.
I hit the horn hard with the heel of my hand. I sounded the alarm, the warning, over and over.
Max never looked back. Neither did Matthew. They must have heard my car horn. They must have known I was there. They just didn't care anymore.
I pressed down on the gas, had it to the floor. Trees rocketed past me on either side of the narrow, twisting road. I was going too fast, double the speed that would have been safe.
Max finally turned. She saw the Land Rover, with me hanging unceremoniously out the side window. I hadn't known how really connected I was to Max until that moment. All my maternal feelings had been building up, layering on, thickening around my heart. I couldn't bear it if she got hurt, if I lost her or Matthew or any of the children.
I saw what was about to happen, but Max couldn't. She was busy looking back at me.
"The car window. Max!" I was screaming at the top of my voice again.
"Look out! Max - turn around!"
She couldn't hear me. Couldn't, or wouldn't. She was smiling, laughing at the danger around her.
The side front window of the sedan was sliding down. Harding Thomas stuck his head out. Then I could see his hand. He had a gun outside the window. He was taking aim at Max or Matthew, who were both flying too close to the car.
Max finally saw Thomas. She and Matthew darted off toward the thick evergreens and pines on the side of the road. The daring kids whipped back through the trees at a tremendous, dangerous speed. They were laughing at Uncle Thomas, taunting and mocking him.
Thomas fired his gun, anyway. He blew a huge, furry branch off a tree.
The Sc00 picked up more speed.
So did I. I was ready to do anything to stop them, to protect Max and Matthew if I could. They had suffered far too much from the monsters inside the car. Gillian, Dr. Peyser, Thomas - they shouldn't escape again, shouldn't get away with this.
But they were getting away. The Mercedes was roaring down the mountainside and would soon be gone from sight.
Chapter 122
I SHIFTED INTO FOURTH GEAR and the Rover obeyed, roared forward. The woods were still rushing by me, incredibly blurry and fast, extreme danger on either side. There was no room for even the smallest error.
I'd never driven at anything close to this speed. I realized I could easily spin out and crash. I could die in a split second and the thought terrified me. Still, I kept my foot pressed to the floor.
The slender, twisty road suddenly tilted up toward the sky again. It was a tricky, dangerous roller-coaster track, a wild-mouse ride. I'd thought it would take us down toward town, but it didn't happen that way.
Max and Matthew appeared again, flew into full view. Max went right, Matthew left. They seemed to have a plan this time.
They zigzagged directly behind the gray sedan, close on its tail. The car's brake lights were flashing repeatedly. The kids were flying too fast, though.
I saw Thomas twist around to get his gun sight on them again. He lunged even further out the open side window. Because of the slick turns of the road, Max and Matthew had no trouble keeping up with the slipping, sliding car. It was an amazing chase, stunning to watch.
The kids began shouting at Thomas again, teasing him, calling him ,'murderer" and "asshole." Their taunting voices echoed back to me.
I slammed my palm into the horn again and again, but I finally stopped. It was useless. Max and Matthew were beyond listening to me or anyone else. I couldn't stand to watch what might happen.
James Patterson - When the Wind Blows Page 28