The Secret of Zoom (23 page)

But Danny was nowhere to be seen.

For sure he wasn't among the sleeping orphans that lay about the smoldering embers of the fire. The length of his body and the size of his head would have made him easy to spot.

Where could he have gone?

She was getting close to the guardhouse. Christina slipped
from shadow to shadow, careful how she placed her feet. Had they taken Danny inside?

She crouched down under the window. The voices inside were loud and confusing, talking all at once, but she could pick up random snatches of conversation.

“Yeah, nobody cares what happens to orphans, so we're safe—”

“—the Karsnicky Medal comes with a hundred-thousand-dollar prize—”

“We've got to ship a kid out tomorrow with the plastic toys—”

“—singing wrong notes on purpose, I swear—”

“But weren't you going to get some kid with perfect pitch, boss? For the underground mine, where they can't hear the harriers?”

“Yeah, well, she made a run for it.” The babble quieted as Lenny Loompski's voice grated with suppressed rage. “We'll find her, though. I found a picture of her in her dad's office, and I put up ‘Missing Child' posters all over town—the police station, the library, the school . . . I want everyone here on the lookout for a scrawny girl with blond braids. Answers to the name Christina.”

C
HRISTINA
could scarcely breathe. No place was safe. Even in the town, people would be looking for her. And at Dorf Elementary, where she had hoped to go to school one day, her face was plastered on the door . . . like a criminal's.

She tried to stand and walk away, but her legs felt strangely watery. She crawled instead, trying desperately to make no noise at all. When she reached the first bit of adequate cover—a large bush at the base of a tree—she stopped and hugged her knees to keep from shaking, and tried to think what to do next.

Lenny was looking for a girl with braids.

Well, she could fix that. Christina reached into her back pocket, past Leo's wrench, and pulled out her jackknife.

She hesitated a moment. It had been so lovely when her mother brushed her hair.

Of course if Lenny caught her, she might never see her mother again. Christina gripped her left braid and sawed away with the knife. The night was quiet; she could hear an irregular
squeaking, like an odd sort of cricket, and the soft, rasping sound of splitting hair next to her ear.

The braids were off, and heavy in her hand. She rubber-banded them together and tucked them in her waistband. There was no sense leaving them around for someone to find.

She needed to look more like an orphan and less like the girl in the picture. She picked up a handful of dirt and rubbed it on her face. There. She'd done what she could for now.

Christina looked up toward the cone where the pickup was parked. It was getting lighter, and now she could see the flitting shadow of something moving, legs perhaps, between the truck chassis and the ground. If she squinted, she could see a faint glow seeping over the cone's top like a pale violet fog.

No, it was gone again. Taft must have put in another gunnysack and gone down to unload.

All right. She hadn't been able to find Danny. But clearly she had to get back inside the mountain. And there was no time to lose . . . the sky had changed from dark to pearly gray. She couldn't move about, hidden, for much longer.

That cricket was squeaking in the strangest manner. The sound seemed to be coming from behind a large upthrust rock.

Christina crept stealthily toward it. She could hide behind it if anyone came, and it was fifty feet closer to where she needed to go.

Only it was not a cricket. It was Danny.

The moon had set long since, but the sky was growing lighter, and she could see his tall, dejected form slumped against the rock, tear streaks on his dirty face. He was cradling
something in his arms—the rubber cow—and as Christina watched, he squeaked it again.

She
couldn't
leave him here alone . . .

But Danny didn't know her. Even if he
would
come with her, even if he
didn't
make a fuss, he would still be slow and clumsy climbing up to the cone. Her chances of getting caught were at least doubled with Danny along.

The door of the guardhouse slammed. Heavy boots clattered down the wooden steps. There was a sound of matches flaring and then a wafting scent of tobacco.

Christina hunkered down in the shadow of tall weeds, her heart beating wildly. If she stayed very still—if they didn't glance this way—

One of the guards scuffed at the dirt. “Did you get all that, Torkel?”

“Sure, Barney. What didn't you understand?”

“Well, those plastic toys are too hard to soak up zoom.”

“Nah, plastic soaks liquid up just like raisins do. Ever soaked hard raisins in water? Give it a day and they're juicy again.”

“But I still don't get
why
 . . .”

Christina slid her eyes sideways. She could see the ends of the guards' cigarettes glowing briefly as they inhaled.

Torkel blew out a stream of smoke. “I guess if zoom's in plastic, and solid, you can bring it anywhere, no spills, no explosions. But melt it, sing it out again, and
wow
!”

Barney scratched his head. “Wow, what?”

“Something happens to it when it's in the plastic. It's a cat—a catal—”

A
catalyst
, thought Christina. She had heard that word from her father. But she couldn't remember exactly what it meant.

“Anyway, all of a sudden it's, like, a thousand times more explosive!”

“Wow, dangerous!”

“More like, wow, more energy, more power for fuel, and a lot more money for Lenny Loompski!”

There was a silence. From behind the rock there came another squeak.

“Is he going to give any of that money to us, Tork?”

“If we do a good job, Barney. See, you drive the garbage truck, right?”

Barney swelled up his chest. “I sure do.”

“Well, then. You're the one who's going to drive the kids and the toys. Just pretend you're picking up garbage, and drop the kids off instead, and you're done.”

“But where are they going on the garbage truck, Torkel? I won't feel sorry for them, I promise.”

Danny was still squeaking his rubber cow, oblivious to the rumbling voices of the guards. Christina could only hope they thought it was just another insect. But simply for her own sake, she wished he'd stop. She might miss hearing something important.

“. . . lots of places still heated with oil. If they can be heated by orphans singing zoom out of plastic toys, it's a ton cheaper. The clients save lots of money, Lenny gets even richer, and everybody's happy, as long as they follow three simple rules—oh, come
on
, that cricket's driving me crazy!”

Torkel picked up a stick and threw it in the direction of the rock. There was a cry.

“That's no cricket!”

The guards thundered past the patch of tall weeds where Christina lay hidden. There was a sound of scuffling and a whimper from Danny as he was dragged to his feet.

“All right, hand over the squeaky toy.” Torkel stood over Danny, legs apart and arms folded.

Danny clutched the cow to his chest. “Taff gave it to me,” he said, his voice ragged.

“I don't care if Santa Claus and all his elves gave it to you. Hand it over.”

Slowly, reluctantly, Danny stretched out the hand that held his toy.

“Oh, for crying—” Torkel made an impatient noise and grabbed the cow. He flung it away, and Christina followed its high, curving arc with her eyes.

“Now get on out of here!” Torkel gave Danny a push with his boot, and the tall boy went stumbling off, his large head low.

Barney shuffled his feet. “Guess you gotta be hard on them, huh, Torkel?”

“It's for their own good.” Torkel threw an arm around Barney's shoulder as they walked back toward the guardhouse. “See, if we're soft with them now, it'll just be harder for them later. Life isn't easy for orphans, and the sooner they learn that, the better.”

“So that's why everyone tells them they're stupid and dirty and won't ever amount to anything?”

“Yep. Then they won't be disappointed when it turns out that way, see?”

Barney followed the other man's bulky form up the steps to the guardhouse. “But, Torkel, you said there were three simple rules to follow. What are they?”

Torkel paused at the door. The lantern shone full on his squashed, bulldog face. “Rule number one: Keep the orphans a secret.”

Barney looked up. “Is that why I have to deliver them in a garbage truck?”

Torkel nodded. “And then the client puts them in a little room with no windows—”

“And locks it, I bet!”

“That's right. And they never leave, until their voices get too grown-up sounding to work.”

Barney twisted his hands together. “I suppose rule number two is to keep them hungry, or they won't sing when it's time to.”

“Well, of course.”

“I don't know if Momma would have liked that,” said Barney, half to himself.

Torkel socked Barney playfully on the arm. “Your momma's dead, though, right?”

“Yeah,” said Barney earnestly, “but what if she's looking down on me from somewhere?”

“Listen, Barney, was your momma a normal person? Or a crazy bleeding-heart type?”

“Um . . . normal. I guess.”

“Well, then, she'll understand it's just business. Nothing personal.”

“Oh,” said Barney. He looked up. “And what's rule number three?”

The guardhouse door opened. Torkel and Barney backed down the steps as Lenny came out, took a deep, vigorous breath of the early morning air, and looked over at the sleeping orphans, some distance away.

“I've got to get these kids earlier,” he said, rasping the stubble on his chin. “I hear the younger you teach them their notes, the more likely they are to develop perfect pitch.” Lenny gazed at the sleeping orphans some distance away. “I'm sure I can find a few babies across the border—hey, you there!”

Christina looked in the direction of Lenny's glare. A little distance away, Danny was on his hands and knees, searching for something in the weeds.

“What do you think you're doing?”

Danny lifted an anxious face. “My cow is lost.”

The sky grew lighter in the east as dawn neared. On the rocks above, a harrier cried out its first greeting to the day.

“Hear that?” Lenny raised his voice. “Forget the cow. Just remember that pitch, if you know what's good for you, or . . . KABOOM!”

Danny ran back to the sleeping orphans, whimpering.

“Hee hee!” Lenny clapped his thick palms together.

“I wish you wouldn't say that, boss,” said Barney plaintively. “That
kaboom
part gives me the willies.”

“It's fun, though.” Lenny opened the guardhouse door. “Anyway, if they're not afraid, they won't get the right sound in the note.”

“And that's rule number three,” said Torkel, as the door slammed shut.

Barney frowned. “Keep them secret. Keep them hungry. And . . . keep them scared?”

Torkel nodded. “And when their voices change, of course, get rid of them.”

“You mean . . .
permanently
?”

“Sure. We just drive up in the garbage truck like we're going to pick up trash, only we pick up the kid. And then, well, you know. We push the red button.”

“We
mash
them?” Barney swallowed hard. “Isn't that a little . . . harsh?”

Torkel shrugged. “Maybe, but how else are we going to keep rule number one?”

C
HRISTINA
stumbled across the rocky ground in horror, hardly able to take in what she had heard.

This was why her father had tried so hard to keep her safe. Because he had known what she had not—that there were terrible people in the world who didn't care about keeping children safe at
all
.