Gatekeepers (15 page)

An insect fluttered onto the top of his head. He jerked his head sideways, but it wouldn't go away.

Better not be a spider,
he thought.

“David,” Xander whispered.

“I'm trying.” Their voices were high-pitched, but either because he was so frightened or he was getting used to it, David hardly noticed.

“Open your eyes.”

When he did, leaves hung down around Xander's head. A branch curled behind him, like the backdrop of a school photograph.

David tilted his head. What he had thought was an insect was the forest's canopy, leaning over the edge of the meadow. He looked down. Toria dangled between them. And
way
below her sneakered feet was the ground. It was scary for
him,
and he could fly.

He told Toria, “Don't look down.”

Of course she did. She began wiggling around. Her movements jerked David down, up, down, up, like a fishing bobber.

“Toria,” David whispered. “Stop it.”

She whined.

“You're not making this easy,” he said.

She swung her head back to look at David. Her blue eyes danced in their sockets, reflecting the frightened pace of her heart.

David whispered, “You've got Mom's eyes, you know. So does Xander.”

The randomness of his statement caught her off guard, distracting her from her panic just a little bit. She blinked at him, then adjusted her vision to Xander.

Xander smiled. “Guess we better give them back.”

Her lips didn't so much as smile as they did not frown.

“Hey,” David whispered, “have you heard this one? Birdie, birdie, in the sky, why'd you do that in my eye? Boy, I'm glad that cows don't fly.”

Toria started to chuckle, caught herself, and bit her lip. Her feet slowly stopped their midair pedaling.

Below them, Phemus plowed through the bushes and then stumbled into the clearing.

CHAPTER

thirty -one

W
EDNESDAY, 12:39 P.M.

Leaves and twigs fell off the big man's shoulders. He swiveled his head around, clearly surprised to have lost his prey. From their perspective of almost directly above him, the man didn't look as huge as David knew he was. All he could see were his gleaming dome, planklike shoulders, swinging arms.

Toria took in her brothers' worried expressions and started to bring her gaze down.

David stopped her. “Hey,” he said, quieter than a whisper. He shook his head. “Don't.”

“I'll be all right,” she mouthed, without making a sound.

When she looked, David felt her arm muscles tighten up.

She turned her face back to him. “It's okay,” David said.

“Dae,” Xander said. “Let's stay directly over him.”

David nodded. It was the least likely place the guy would look. Even if he glanced up, the chances of his looking
straight
up were pretty slim.

Especially with that fat neck of his
, David thought.

He wasn't about to release his hand from Toria's wrist, so the only way to adjust their position in relation to the man below was to wiggle and kick. It reminded David of people in movies who have their feet and arms tied; mimicking a snake or caterpillar, they somehow managed to escape.

The man spotted something. He walked to it and picked it up: the toy rifle.

David and Xander wiggled and kicked until they were once again directly over his head. If they dropped Toria, David thought, she would land right on the guy. No doubt it would hurt Toria a lot more than it would the brute. David closed his eyes and tightened his grip on her wrists.

“Ow,” she whispered. When he peeked, she mouthed,
“
Not so tight!”

Below her, the man turned in a circle. He examined the toy as though it might tell him where they'd gone. He headed toward the center of the clearing.

The boys kicked and wiggled to stay with him, but he walked too fast. David cast a concerned look at Xander.

Xander stopped wiggling. He whispered, “Toria, grab my wrist. Good. Now grab Dae's.”

When she did, they were not only holding her, but she was also holding them.

Xander said, “Trust me?”

The concern etched into her features deepened.

No kidding
, David thought.
That's like the last thing I'd want to hear in her position.

Still, she nodded.

Xander released his right hand. Toria's eyes flashed wide, then she realized their mutual grip was strong and she gave him a little smile. Xander nodded at David, who released his left hand from her wrist.

They used their free hands to paddle through the air. They could move much more quickly and accurately. Again, they stopped directly above the man.

Toria kept her eyes turned up. She looked from brother to brother, at the canopy of leaves around their heads . . . anywhere but down. Then she squinted at Xander, a puzzled expression forming on her face. “Xan—”

Something small fell away from him. Toria squeezed her eyes closed. It struck her forehead: a bright red splatter that took the shape of a starburst.

Blood.

The cut above Xander's brow was oozing again. At the edge of the wound, a droplet swelled like a tiny balloon. David's eyes grew with it.

Xander realized what had landed on his sister and began swinging his hand around to the cut—too late: another drop-let fell. It missed hitting Toria by less than an inch.

It was so small, by the time it passed her sneakers David had lost sight of it. He held his breath, hoping he had mis-calculated the drop's trajectory.

But he hadn't: a small dot appeared on the crown of the man's head.

Phemus raised his hand and rubbed the spot. Then he examined his palm. He looked straight up and grinned.

CHAPTER

thirty -two

W
EDNESDAY, 12:45 P.M.

Staring down at Phemus's upturned face, Toria screamed.

“Shhh,” Xander said. “He's down there, we're up here. He can't do anything.”

“Well, that means he can,” David said.

“Shhh,” Xander repeated.

Continuing to watch them, Phemus backed away.

“Do we follow him?” David asked.

“No point now,” Xander said.

Phemus bent his right arm way behind his back.

“What's he—”

“Oh, no,” David said. “Move! Move!” He began kicking and wiggling and paddling with his left hand.

Phemus hurled the toy rifle at them. It spun round and round like a circular saw. David heard it cutting through the air like the blades of a helicopter:
whoop-whoop-whoop.
It was heading for Toria.

“Pull her, Xander,” David said. “Pull!”

They tugged, raising her between them six inches, twelve inches. The rifle smacked into her ankle. It struck so hard, her legs swung out from under her.

Toria threw her head back and screamed. Her eyes were pinched shut, but her tears found their way out, pooling against her lids and the bridge of her nose. She cried—horrible, wrenching sobs.

David couldn't stand it, watching his little sister cry in pain, unable to do anything about it. They couldn't even check her ankle, rub it, do anything to make it feel better.

“Toria,” David said. “I'm sorry.”

He felt as though her pain was his. He had never experienced this so clearly: not when Phemus had knocked out Dad or when he had sent Xander crashing into the wall while kidnapping Mom or when the lock blew off one of the doors, gouging Dad's hand.

He said, “We'll get out of this, Tor. We will.”

She nodded. She straightened her head, so she was looking neither up nor down, and wept quietly. That pulled on David's heart even more than her wailing agony had done. It was like her
spirit
hurt.

David focused on Phemus's movements, and his stomach took a tumble all over again. The big man was approaching the toy rifle. After hitting his sister, it had spun down, landing at the edge of the clearing. Phemus stooped, snatched it up, then squinted at the three King children.

“We have to do something,” David said.

“For one thing,” Xander said, “let's protect Toria better.”

“How?”

“Pull her up between us,” Xander said. “If she puts her arms around our shoulders, and we reach across her back and under her arms, she'll be sandwiched between us. We'll get hit before she does.”

“That's okay with me,” David said. He tried not to think about what that meant, but images came anyway: the barrel of the gun tearing into his side, the stock cracking into his skull.

“Toria,” Xander said, “we'll raise you, and you have to climb up our bodies. Get your arms around our shoulders, okay?”

Her eyes followed the path she would take. “But that means letting go of your arms. I can't do that!”

“Try,” David said. “Toria, you'll be safer up here with us.”

“Move!” Xander yelled.

David caught a glimpse of the rifle spinning toward them. Both he and Xander threw themselves backward.
Whoop-whoop- whoop.
The weapon sailed over their arched chests, right where their heads had been seconds earlier. It sliced into the forest's canopy, then plunged to the meadow.

David and Xander pulled Toria as high as they could. She released her grip on David's arm and quickly grabbed his shoulder, then did the same with Xander. Their heads were nearly touching, their arms wrapped around each other.

Xander surveyed their surroundings. “How about we—
whoa!
”

Whoop-whoop-whoop!

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

W
EDNESDAY, 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—”