Gifted (14 page)

I stepped back to have a look around. I fought the wind and took a little jog down the line of buses, but there wasn't a single bow tie in the vicinity. Mr. Harris hadn't come up from the campground yet. I did, however, catch a glimpse of Drew Lewis and Tim Simpson looking like a couple of drowned rats on Their way to the stockade. I stopped to see which bus They got on. The other felons were no doubt already on it, and in a morbid way I thought it would have been kind of nice to take a last look at Them—a last smug look.

I was to change my mind a moment later.

With campers still pouring into the parking lot, I decided I'd scoot over to the pathway so as to be right on the spot whenever Mr. Harris emerged, my impulsive nature once again leading me astray and trying to get me killed. The path had become a sea of mud. I stood under a canopy of swaying trees, where the precipitation was a good deal lighter, marveling at the pleasant warmth of my toes, when a foot shot out of nowhere from behind, kicking my legs out from under me. I fell on my face in the wet grass.

I tried to get up, but the foot squashed me back down flat.

“Worms
like
mud,” a voice growled, the unmistakable growl of Gabriel Arno. I tried to gasp, but I had no air. Gabriel was stepping on me with his full weight, which was considerable.

“Pull him up,” a different voice growled.

I was yanked upright and shoved against a tree. Up close Gabriel's big face looked bigger than ever—the eyes
cold and dark and inhuman, and the skin a savage red, ornamented with clusters of pimples, or possibly boils, like something out of the Book of Revelations. Sam Toselli and Jason Barton moved in to flank him, the three forming a tight horseshoe around me. I cast a darting glance over to the muddy path, but the view was obscured, shrouded behind blowing vegetation.

Sam leaned down. “Where do you think you're going, you little freak?”

I opened my mouth to speak, but words had escaped me. I pointed a feeble finger at the parking lot.

“We wanna talk to you first.”

“Yeah,” Jason spat. “We're not gonna see you again for a while. You know we're getting kicked out of school because of you?”

“Because of me!” I mouthed. The words were there, but my voice had escaped me.

“Because of
you
.” Sam emphasized the word with a poke in my chest. “What's the matter, worm? Nobody to hide behind? No one to protect you?”

“And nowhere to run?” Jason sneered.

Nowhere to run?
We were evacuating for Heaven's sake! This was no time for an ambush! I had to make Them see reason. I cleared my throat and found my voice again.

“Look,” I ventured reasonably, “why don't we talk this over on the bus. I'll ride next to you, promise! I mean, you guys
did
start the whole thing, but I'm sure we can work something out. I'll put in a good word for you with my dad. You don't want to get in more trouble now, do you?”

Sam seemed to consider this. He cocked his head and stood looking thoughtful, with little rivers of rain streaming down his face.

“Well,” he said at last, “we can't really get in
more
trouble, since we're getting kicked out. But yeah, I guess we did start it, now that I think about it.” His eyes changed to mean little slits. “
And now we're gonna finish it.”

“Wait!” I wailed reasonably. “It wasn't my fault! I don't see how you can blame me!”

“Oh, Georgette doesn't see! Think we should fix her glasses?”

Sam snatched the lenses from my face and ran backward. The others backed up, too, and soon my glasses were part of a malicious game of toss. I ran in between Them, trying to intercept my eyewear while They cackled with laughter and continued running away, the game driving us deeper into the woods.

At last, Sam held them out, dangling, for me to grab. I started toward him, much relieved, then stopped. He was bending them, twisting them like a pretzel. When both lenses popped out, he flung my broken frames into the wind. I bit my lip, determined not to cry. “You know what Coach Caruso said?” Sam put his face in mine. “He said we should have nailed you when we had the chance. Your time has come,
Worm
.”

A pair of hands seized my arms from behind and wrenched them back, as another hand clapped itself over my mouth to stifle my scream. The one over my mouth must have been Gabriel's because it smelled more like a foot than a hand, and a wave of nausea rolled through my interior. I watched Sam wind up, preparing to punch me, then saw him hesitate as if he'd changed his mind.

He had. He bent down to pick up a big stick, and when he straightened up, it was poised in both hands over his shoulder like a baseball bat.

So I did the only thing I could do. I took a deep breath and I held it. I battened down my eyelids. I sucked in my stomach until it hit my spinal column. And then I lost it.

I lost it
completely
.

My muffin, I mean. Abject terror combined with the smell of Gabriel's hand made me spew. Before Sam could deliver his fatal blow, my nutritious bran muffin came shooting out of me like an exploding soft drink.

And the effect was magical. When I opened my eyes, I saw that They'd all leaped away from me—Sam, to get out of the line of fire, and the two behind me, in sympathetic revulsion. A sizable gap had opened between Them, and through that gap I saw the
Road to Freedom
.

Well, I didn't linger. One look at Sam was all it took. There was murder in his eyes and my breakfast all down his front.

I took off running.

I ran through the woods as fast as I could. Through swaying trees and flying sticks, through hailing pinecones and updrafts of pine needles, and when I looked back, They were right on my heels. And They had spread out, an obvious football strategy. I whimpered briefly and picked up my pace, which wasn't easy. Although the overhead foliage had kept the ground fairly dry, the winds had knocked down a lot of branches and tree limbs, and without my glasses, visibility was poor. It was like picking my way through a dark jungle at cheetah-speed, only without cheetah-dexterity, and in consequence, I fell down a lot. But so did They, and because of that, I managed to gain ground.

I had no idea where I was going, not that I could have done anything about it if I had. If you've ever been chased before, specifically, if you've ever been chased by the criminally insane before, you probably noticed that the choice of direction is not really yours. It's Theirs. Particularly when They're spread out like that and one of Them is
brandishing a stick. Soon I cleared the trees and reached the top of the big sand dune, with the stormy Delaware Bay below and the rain lashing down hard. The dune was eroding right under my feet. There was hardly any dune grass left at all. The Keep Off sign had blown off into oblivion. In a matter of seconds, I was tumbling down the dune and onto the beach with a painful thud—a painful thud and a heart full of optimism. Because as my body was slipping and sliding and thudding to the bottom, and finally rising up, a five-foot sand sculpture of myself, my quick brain was formulating a plan. I would find the trail that lead from the beach back into the Compound, where I was sure by now help would be waiting.

You see, it never occurred to me that the buses would leave. I pictured search parties already scouring the Cape looking for us—faculty members in tight groups searching high and low, with Mr. Harris in command, overweight, ill-tempered bus drivers honking their horns and cussing freely.

I pictured Mr. Caruso, the guy who'd told Them to nail me, explaining the whole thing to my dad when we got back to school, and in a weird way I was glad this was happening. There could be no opposition to my going to a private school now. None whatsoever.

If I had known the buses would leave without us, I would probably have given up and let the Bruise Brothers catch me. Let Them pulverize me and bury me deep in the sand, a relic for future archaeologists to find.

It was a good thing I
didn't
know. The bay was in a fury, with one huge wave crashing right on top of the next. Probably sounding like thunder, but the howling wind drowned out all other noise. And the beach was a battlefield, pelting me with pebbles and broken shells. I
wanted to check if They were gaining on me, but couldn't. I was getting sandblasted. I pulled my jacket over my head and kept my face straight down. The rain was hitting me from all directions, even upward, and there was strange sea life squishing under my feet. I couldn't see what I was treading on, but I could imagine what it was and that only added to my hysteria.

The path to the Compound, I couldn't find it! I looked for it every few seconds, peeling my jacket back just far enough to see out. Even with my glasses on, I would never have found it. I could barely make out the dunes through the sand and rain. Everything looked completely different now. The idea was useless!

And now the gusts were so strong that at times they picked me up and carried me forward. I had to get off the beach soon, before I got swept out to sea! I scanned the dunes again, hoping against hope that I would find the way out, when my eyes fell on the watchtower, that blurry and silent sentinel. Seventy-five feet of steel-reinforced sanctuary. I made for it like a moth zeroing in on a light-bulb.

There was no lock on the tower door, but I still had to fight the wind to get it open, after which I was blown inside as the door slammed shut behind me. I inhaled deep drafts of cool, smelly air, then slowly took in my new surroundings.

My new surroundings were creepy. And the silence was startling. From inside the tower Hurricane Judith sounded like mere background noise. The walls were gray and shadowy. A black spiral staircase grew out of the floor, winding its way to the top like Jack's beanstalk. And I was Jack, only there were
three
giants after me, down on the ground already, somewhere outside the door.

Well, there was no point in going upstairs. I was trapped no matter where I went. I trudged to the opposite wall and sat down to wait for the inevitable. The Bruise Brothers would be here any second. The teachers who were searching for me would find only my mangled carcass.

And I no longer cared. There was sand in my mouth and in my ears. There was sand up my nose and in the corners of my eyes. My new waterproof field-and-stream boots were sopping wet and full of sand. It was hard to tell if my toes were warm or not. I couldn't feel them. I pulled off my boots and slapped them against the wall. Dark gray socks came off next to reveal dark gray feet, gray with sand. I tried brushing them off, but my skin was coming off, too. There were blisters popping up between my toes.

My body hurt. My skin stung. There were broken shells clinging to my jacket and to my burgundy cargo-style pants. Well, they could stay there. My fingers were too raw to pick them off.

I closed my eyes, but not to cry. I didn't have the strength. Instead, I prayed, and though it wasn't the first time I'd prayed this prayer, it was the first time I'd ever prayed it aloud, calling up to Heaven in a voice thick with sincerity.

“Dear God, our most
merciful
Heavenly Father, please crush the Bruise Brothers with Thy mighty hand and save me from Them that persecute me. Crush Sam Toselli, Jason Barton, Gabriel Arno, and, if you have time, Tim Simpson and Drew Lewis—and deliver Them to the place of everlasting fire! Drop Them into the Bottomless Pit in accordance with your wrath, and save he who is deserving, which would be me.”

I paused to see if I'd left anything out, and while I was pausing, a disturbing doubt inched its way across my mind like a serpent.

What makes you think you're deserving?

My eyes flew open. Deserving? Of course I was deserving! I shifted uneasily. It was my inner voice speaking, but not my
usual
inner voice, which sounded like my own. This voice was a lot more sinister. A real
nasty
inner voice.

Maybe that's what He's trying to tell you. Maybe this is your punishment, George
.

My punishment! I shifted again, even more uneasily. Punishment for what? I racked my brain and came up dry. I'd never done a thing wrong my whole life. My genetic code didn't really allow for it.

Well, it was easy to see what was happening. Exhaustion was making me paranoid, and I was becoming hysterical. I needed to discipline my thoughts, think of something pleasant. Like Mr. Caruso getting fired in front of everybody. Now
that
was a happy thought. Ha! I would enjoy that.

Is everything about you, George? Everything?

What!

You are the biggest jerk that ever lived. All you ever think about is yourself, and that's why everyone hates you!

Now that wasn't true! And why should Anita's voice come back to me, and such a hateful thing to say! Anita had been acting very weird lately.
Probably something to do with hormones
I thought, though I doubted whether she had any yet.

You are the meanest person I've ever met! I hope you wake up one day and find out what you're really like! Because then you'll have nobody! And it'll be too late!

What a thing to say to your best friend! I shook my
head hard. I was becoming unglued. I needed to marshal my thoughts.

I imagined a search party trekking across the beach, a search party following Mr. Harris. I held the picture in my mind, until the words from that secret faculty meeting flooded my brain.

He's obnoxious. Completely obnoxious! Altogether too pleased with himself. Thank God this is his last year!

My head was spinning.

It's a shame he didn't break his neck!

I closed my eyes and clutched my forehead. My mind, usually my most trusted adviser, was unnerving me. I tried envisioning a great search team struggling over the beach with that aging man of science leading the way, his deductive reasoning drawing him closer and closer to the observation tower, knowing that a person of my intellect would surely seek refuge there …