Sammy Keyes and the Search for Snake Eyes (27 page)

“Let me have that brick!” I said, and tried tapping the spigot handle to loosen it. But right away, the brick broke in two. Our only weapon, split right in two.

So I go over to the wheelbarrow and say, “Okay, Marissa. Grab that end.”

“What are we doing with it?”

“We're going to tap the handle.”

“With a
wheelbarrow
? That's like tiptoeing with an elephant.”

I stop and look at her. “I'm serious. You cannot
tap
with a wheelbarrow.”

I lift up my end and say, “Watch me.”

She helps me aim the front brace over the crank and I say, “Not too hard—we don't want to break it. Ready? Set? Tap!”

We did about ten
tap-tap-tap
s all over the top of
the crank, then put the wheelbarrow down. I tried the valve, really
leaned
on the valve, but it was stuck, same as before.

I grabbed my end of the wheelbarrow. “Try again!”

“Sammy, why?”

“Just help me!”

She lifted her end. “This isn't about drinking water, is it?”

“No. It's about getting
out
of here.” “But how?”

“Tap! If we can get this valve open, I'll show you!”

So
tap-tap-tap
we went, only this time harder. Lots harder. And when we put the wheelbarrow down, I took a deep breath and cranked that valve with all my might.

And in less time than it takes to say, Holy shipwreck! I was on my rear end on the ground with hot water blasting out.

“Man, that is
hot
!” Marissa cries, jumping to the side.

I hurried to shut the valve, then turned the heater setting dial from medium to high.

The burner kicked on.

The water heater rumbled.

I grinned at Marissa. It wouldn't be long before
we'd
be ready to rumble!

“What are you
doing
?” Marissa asked as I crammed the cut end of the hose over the spigot.

“We are going to hydroblast our way out of here!” I said, then pointed behind me. “Duct tape!”

She hands it over, saying, “I don't get it,” but Lena does. She nods and says, “Oh, hurt him, girl. Hurt him bad.”

I ripped off a section of duct tape and wrapped the hose onto the spigot, saying, “If he's got a gun, that's exactly what we're going to do.”

The water heater rumbled and shook, then seemed to jump. Marissa backed away a little. “That thing's acting like it's going to explode!”

I stretched the hose toward the steps, wishing for about four more feet. “Let's test it, okay?”

“Are you serious?”

“Yes! You turn the valve, I'll see how far it'll blast.” I pinched off the hose with my left hand, held the end with my right, and waited.

Marissa opened the valve, and right away the hose got hot. Very hot. I let the pressure out and nearly roasted my hand. And although the first spurt of water shot up
the steps, the rest of it just sort of rolled out, doing its best to burn me. “Turn it off!”

Marissa shut the valve and said, “Uh-oh.”

Uh-oh was right. I could barely hold the hose, let alone put my thumb across it for pressure. I needed a pressure nozzle. Or a way to flatten the end into a pressure nozzle. I needed vice grips. A hammer! I needed tools!

I settled on half a brick. But after two whacks the darn thing crumbled. Just fell into a million pieces right there in my hand.

So we tried using the wheelbarrow again, but that didn't work, either. We wound up splitting the hose
away
from the metal end. And I was just thinking that the whole idea was bust when it hit me—there was still a way to make a nozzle on the end of the hose.

I tore and twisted the metal end until it was completely out of the hose. Then I grabbed the duct tape, ripped off a strip, and ripped that strip in half lengthwise. Lena came over and said, “You want me to pinch the hose while you wrap?”

I smiled. “Exactly.”

So we pinched and wrapped and made our own power nozzle. And when we were done, I kinked the hose off and said to Marissa, “Try again!”

This time, the water shot out hard and fast. But I couldn't hold the hose for very long—it was blazing hot.

Marissa cut the flow and cried, “I know! Use your mitt!”

I smiled at her. “That's a great idea!” I said, and dug my catcher's mitt out of my backpack.

Lena frowned. “You know, if you hit him on the way down, he'll just turn around and lock us in again. We gotta wait 'til we're face to face.”

She had a point.

“And you can't hide around the corner like that. He'll get suspicious.”

“So … so what do we do? Sit here out in the open?”

She frowns, then looks at us and says, “You need to think like him.”

Think like him. I shook my head. “I don't know if I
can
.”

“Domination. That's what makes him happy. He'll come in and toy with you if he thinks you're scared.”

“So sit here and look scared?”

She nods. “Like you've been crying.”

So we practiced. Where we'd sit,
how
we'd sit, the sad and sorry faces we'd make. Boo-hoo-hoo.

Then we practiced the break—how Marissa'd open the valve and I'd blast with the hose. Lena's job was just to get up the steps without fainting. She said she could handle it, but I wasn't sure. And Marissa was pretty nervous about her second job—conking ol' Snakeface on his head with the half brick that was left. And if she couldn't get in close enough, I told her to pitch it at him. She only had one chance, but if she delivered a strike, well, it wouldn't take three to call him out.

And we all agreed—if any of us could get free, we wouldn't wait for the others, we'd run for help.

We went through the drill about five more times and
then all of a sudden Lena said, “Ssssh!” with her finger to her lips.

There were footsteps, all right. Outside, getting louder and louder. Then some familiar baggies shuffled past the vent, followed by some smaller feet.

“He's got somebody with him,” I whispered.

Lena just nodded and lay down like she was sleeping. “Stay cool.”

Marissa and I did our best to look like a couple of sad and sorry weaklings, sniffing and making our breath all hiccuppy and pathetic. But it was hard because my heart was popping around like a string of firecrackers, and my hand was shaking in my mitt.

“Oh, God,” Marissa whispered, “I'm not ready for this.”

I tried to sound lighthearted as I smiled at her. “Sure you are, Cavegirl.”

“But what if he —”

The door creaked open.

“Marissa—focus! He's the strike zone. He's yours!” Easy for me to say, shaking away in my mitt.

Little Feet came down first. And even though he had a shirt on, I recognized him—the boy who'd given us away to Sonja. Lena was right—he'd recruited a baby.

Only this baby was carrying a gun.

It looked huge in his hand, heavy at his side. And he was trying to act tough, but he looked like a bush-league bat boy playing in the majors.

“Them two,” Snake Eyes says, pointing to Marissa and
me. It was the first time I'd heard his voice. It was sort of high. And airy. And at that moment, very scary.

It wasn't hard to play up the fear, believe me. Marissa and I whimper, “No … no! Please!” and my hand is shaking on the hose, hidden behind me.

Snake Eyes steps down alongside him, with this crooked, evil grin growing on his face. “Beg me,” he says. But I guess he started smelling something fishy because all of a sudden he steps aside, saying, “Do 'em,” to the baby.

The gun comes up, shaking like crazy. And for a split second I can't tell who's more afraid, me, staring at the killing end of a gun, or him, looking at me from behind it. Marissa dives for the valve, I roll to the side, and before ol' baby banger can blink, he's hydroroasted.

The gun goes flying. The baby does, too. Just screams up the steps like his diaper's on fire. And before Snake Eyes can finish shrieking, “Get back here, punk!” I turn the hose on him, right in his face.

He drops to the ground, covering his head and screeching words they don't
begin
to cover in Spanish class. And I'm yelling, “Now!” to Marissa so she'll bean him with the brick, and “Run!” to Lena so she'll get out of there, only Marissa's just standing there staring at Lena.

I keep blasting on Snake Eyes as he tries to roll away, working around him so he can't run up the steps. And that's when I see Lena, standing with her arms straight out, the gun leveled on one scalding, screaming snake.

“Lena, no! Just get out!”

She stands there, rock steady, her finger on the trigger.

“No, Lena! Think about your baby! He needs you!”

She's frozen with anger, glaring at him. “You're free! Go! If you shoot him, you're right back where you started!”

She blinks, then seems to snap out of a trance. And after calling ol' Caesar a string of things that, believe me, Ms. Pilson's never taught us in
English
class, she smacks him,
thwack
, on his piping-hot pinhead with the butt of the gun.

He slumps. Then falls forward. And since he's not moving at all, I kink the hose while Marissa shuts off the valve.

We all stand there for a minute, waiting, and finally, Lena says, “He's out cold.” So I grab the roll of duct tape and say, “Marissa, take Lena and get the police. I'm going to tie him up.”

“Are you
crazy
? I'm not leaving you here!” “Lena, go! Get the police.”

She shakes her head and says, “I think I'm safer with
you
.”

I laugh, “That's a first,” then start wrapping him up. But Lena stops me and says, “We gotta tie him
to
something.”

“Why?”

“Believe me. He'll find a way out.”

“But —”

“The wheelbarrow,” she says, like I've got no choice.

“Okay… but how?” It seemed crazy to me, and really,
I just wanted to get
out
of there. But then I notice she's got this look on her face like she's about to bust up. And I have no idea what she's thinking, but she says, “Please? You wouldn't let me shoot him—let me do this, okay?”

“Well, what?” I ask.

“You'll see. It'll make him a laughingstock. He'll have no power. He'll be done.”

I went along with her, and it was amazing to me how the girl who could barely stand a little while ago was lifting and strapping tape and moving like she was Hercules.

She wanted him in the wheelbarrow. She wanted his arms strapped over his head to the handles. She wanted his ankles strapped down by the wheel. She wanted his mouth taped closed.

I didn't see how this was going to rob ol' Caesar of his power, but then when Lena smiled and waved us over to the sacks of EZ-CRETE, well, I smiled right back.

Marissa says, “You're kidding, right?”

Lena shakes her head. “You don't understand. He'd have power. Even from jail. If you've got a rep, people fear you. They do what you say. This,” she says, “will finish him.”

EZ-CRETE's heavy. And dusty. But the three of us got both bags emptied on him and then ran water-heater water all over it. Then, even though the directions said you could just pour EZ-CRETE in a hole and add water, we took turns stirring the two together with that good-for-
some
thing paint stick.

And let me tell you, we giggled.

A lot.

And in no time, we had one bad-boy serpent, boiled and bound and setting in cement. And from the look in Lena's eyes I could tell—she was finally free.