The Blood Guard (The Blood Guard series) (10 page)

He stared straight back. “Nice
monocle
.”

“Thanks,” I said. What a bratty kid. “Good game?” Closing my uncovered eye, I cast my gaze around the RV. Everything looked the same, just a lot more violet.

“It’s supercool,” Sammy said. “You should give it
a try.”

I aimed the lens toward the front of the motor home. “I don’t th
i
—
”

My words died in my throat.

Where Izzy stood, where Henry sat, there was nothing but the faintest of shimmers, puffs of light. I opened my other eye, and they were still ther
e
—
I
zzy singing while looking through the cupboards for plates, Henry’s bulk rising up over the back of the driver’s seat.

But when I closed that eye and looked again through the purple monocle, they were practically invisible. I looked at Sammy again: he was there whether I viewed him through the glass or not.

“Why don’t they show up when I look at them through the purple lens?” I whispered.

“Beats me,” Sammy said. “Maybe there’s something wrong with your monocle. But forget about that. I keep telling you, you’ll be really interested in this game. He shoved the handheld across the table.

“I don’t care about your video game,” I said, lowering the lens. “Greta,
”
—
I
pulled her into the booth and placed the monocle in her han
d
—
“
you’ve got to see this.”

“See what?” she said, turning her attention to Sammy. “So how old are you?” she said brightly.

“I’m eleven,” Sammy said in a singsong voice. “So how
dumb
are you?”

“Excuse me?” Greta said, shocked. “That’s not very nice.”

“Whatever,” he said quietly. “I’m not one of the stupid kids who got into a motor home with two total strangers.” He slid the handheld in front of her.

Written in block letters on the screen were the words
TRAP THE BLOOD GUARD
.

“You guys haven’t even started playing,” he said, “but you are already losing big-time.”

C
H
A
PT
E
R
12
:

THE PERFECT FAMILY GETAWAY

G
reta made a wheezing sound and dropped the
monocle onto the tabletop. It tinkled and rolled around like a half-dollar until I grabbed it and stowed it back in my pocket.

“What did you just say?” Greta asked, forcing a shaky smile. “I think I misheard you.”

Sammy slid around on the bench, sandwiching Greta between the two of us. “No, you heard me right,” he said. “Here, I’ll show you.” We watched as his fingers flew over the GameZMaster IV’s keys. The screen went blank and he pressed a button so that a keyboard appeared. Blindingly fast, he typed,
THEY HAVE WEAPONS
.

“This game is really hard to play,” Greta said. She was gray and breathing funny, like she was going to be sick.

“Be cool,” Sammy whispered, popping the keyboard away. In his normal voice, he said, “So these rocker buttons control your avatar.”

Three paper plates plonked down on the tabletop. “There you go,” Izzy said, “a little something to tide you over until you get yourselves a proper dinner.”

“Thank you
so much
,” Greta said, dragging a plate toward her. “For everything. Sammy was just showing us his game.”

Gazing into Izzy’s face was like looking at every grandmother I’d ever met all rolled into one. She had smile lines around her eyes, just a hint of lipstick, and her cheeks were actually rosy. The people who’d killed Dawkins, who’d kidnapped my dad, they didn’t look like this innocent grandma. If this sweet old lady was bad, then how would I ever know who I could trust? Evil was supposed to be obvious, wasn’t it?

Trust no one
, my mom had said.

“Aren’t you happy to have something to eat, Ronan?” Greta asked, elbowing me.

“Yes, thank you,” I said, picking up my sandwich. It was stacked high with bologna and drippy with mustard. Just the smell of it made my eyes water. “I love mustard,” I lied. And then I made myself smile.

“Oh, good. Just give a holler if you want more.” Izzy slowly made her way to the front of the motor home, easing into the passenger seat beside Henry.

“They shouldn’t be able to hear us up there,” Sammy said. He mashed his fingers against the controls.

“We have to get out of this motor home,” Greta said, setting her sandwich down. To Sammy she said, “Are they really your aunt and uncle?”

Sammy scowled. “Look at me. Do I
look
related to them?” I had to admi
t
—
w
ith his light-bronze skin, dark-brown eyes, and loose afro, he didn’t. “I only met those two last month. They’re part of the same scientific society as my foster parents, but they’re nobodies. Henry works at, like, an RV showroom in Annapolis.”

“But why?” Greta asked. “Why did they take the RV and drive it up here?”

“Because of you two,” he whispered, stabbing at the GameZMaster IV’s buttons. “Everyone got a call, and Henry got stuck going to the dam at Percy Point. Someone needed to be there in case you showed up. My foster dad made me come along. Figured you’d trust a kid over an adult.”

Sammy didn’t seem so bad, but I couldn’t figure him out. If his foster parents were part of Ms. Hand’s group, like Izzy and Henry, then why would he help us? “Aren’t you going to get into trouble for telling us all of this?” I asked.

“I think I’m already in trouble,” Sammy said, putting the GameZMaster IV down and locking eyes with me. He looked scared. “I’m not the first kid who was fostered with the people I’m with. There was another kid in my foster family before me, right? But that kid ran away.”

I couldn’t understand what he was talking about. “I’m sorry, but I don’t se
e
—
”

“At least, that’s what they told everyone. But I’m pretty sure they were lying.” He shook his head. “My fosters are part of this weird scientific movement, and everybody in it is a liar. They lie straight to my face. Because I’m a kid, they think I’m stupid.”

“Ronan?” Greta whispered, “She’s on a cell phone.”

Izzy was either talking to herself or had miraculously found cell phone reception.

Without even looking back, Sammy muttered, “She’s talking to the people who sent us here, you can bet.”

“Ms. Hand,” I said.

Sammy shrugged. “I don’t know her. I only met this…evil guy they call the Head.”

The motor home rocked and the tires squealed. We’d made a sharp turn.

“What was that?” Greta asked loudly.

“Oh, you know what roads can be like!” Izzy said. “Lots of twists and turns.”

“Don’t you worry,” Henry called back. “We’re on our way to the interstate now.”

“We need to get out of here,” I whispered, standing and walking to the back. Just as I reached the bathroom, the motor home tilted as it made another hard turn.

“Sorry about that!” Henry called back. “Just taking a shortcut.”

I ducked inside and closed the door. The window over the toilet was too small to escape through. It was barely wide enough for me to poke my head out.

When I did, the wind outside was something fierce; wherever Henry was going, he was eager to get there. We weren’t on a main highway, that was for sur
e
—
t
he road was dirt and there were no other cars around.

I pulled my head back in, shut the window, and flushed the toilet.

The lock rattled. “Whatcha doing in there?” Izzy called through the door.

“Using the toilet?” I said. “I had to go.”

“Henry said he saw your head on the rearview cameras! Now, you’re not sticking your head out of our bathroom window, are you? That would be dangerous!”

“I just…needed a bit of fresh air,” I said. “I get carsick, sometimes.” I undid the bolt and opened the door.

Izzy was right there, in front of me. Her friendly grandma smile had turned into a grimac
e
—
l
ike she was about to pounce. “We can’t have you putting your head out the windows, Ronan.”

“I understand,” I said. “I promise it won’t happen again.”

She seemed to relax. “Silly! Now you just go join the other kids.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I said, and slid in beside Greta again. Her eyes didn’t seem to be focused on anything in front of her, even though Sammy kept up a nonstop patter about how to get through “Level Seven,” whatever that was.

“The trick is to
escape
before the timer runs out and the game enters
lockdown
,” Sammy said.

“Lockdown,” I repeated.

“Yeah, it’ll happen real soon. Your avatar goes through a gate, an
d
—
”

“Why don’t I fix you kids another sandwich?” Izzy said from the kitchen up front.

“No, thank you,” Greta said. She added, “I’m still working on this one,” though neither of us had taken a bite.

Izzy reached into a drawer and pulled out the biggest butcher knife I’d ever seen. “I’ll make them better this time. I can cut the crusts off.”

“You should see how big this motor home is, Greta.” I said, rising and pulling her up. She hooked an arm through Dawkins’ satchel as she stood. “There’s even a full bedroom in the back!”

“That is the chamber where Mr. Wells and I sleep,” Izzy said, chopping at the bread. “It is off-limits.”

I smiled and said, “We won’t look at anything personal. Honest.” I shoved Greta down the hall.

“That room is
private
, Evelyn, and you should heed the wishes of your elders.” Izzy turned to face us, the butcher knife held straight out.

“I really don’t lik
e
—
”
I’d started to say automatically when I realized what she’d called me. “How do you know my first name?” I asked.

With a roar, Izzy flung the knife.

I saw everything in slow motion: Izzy’s arm snapping forward; the flash of silver as the blade caught the light; her fingers wide as she let go of the handle.

I pushed Greta down and snapped open the door of the hall closet. A broom and mop tumbled out, both brand-new and wrapped in plastic.

The blade thunked hard into the closet door.

When I shut it again, the knife was sticking out of the front, its handle vibrating.

“Nice move!” Sammy said from the dinette. He’d slouched down so low that he was almost completely hidden.

“You two
will
behave!” In a frenzy, Izzy yanked open a drawer, spilling silverware to the floor. The motor home tilted as it took another turn, and I was thrown against the wall. “This is why I don’t like children!” Izzy shouted.

Greta yanked me into the bedroom and slammed the door. She turned the tiny lock and stepped away. “That is not going to stop anyone,” she said.

“Maybe we can block it with something,” I said.

Greta yelped. “There’s someone in here!”

I spun and saw two shadows against the back window. “Who are you?” I asked. But the people didn’t move at all.

I slapped on the overhead light.

It revealed a smiling handsome man standing with his pretty, young wife.
THE PERFECT FAMILY GETAWAY VEHICLE
!
read a banner across their waists. They weren’t real, just cardboard cutouts for a sales display.

Greta giggled nervously, and we both stepped forward just as something shiny was thrust through the thin wood paneling of the bedroom door: the killing end of a sword.

“Open up!” Izzy shouted. The blade pivoted as she wrenched it back through the wood.

“The mattress!” I said.

We each grabbed a side and heaved it up off the bed frame. Then Greta and I wedged it tight between the floor and ceiling, blocking the entryway.

“That will slow her, like, probably three minutes,” Greta said.

“Maybe it will be long enough,” I said. Kicking the cardboard couple aside, I pulled the screen out of the back window.
This
one was big enough to crawl through.

Behind us, the trailer with the motorbikes rocked and bucked with each bump in the road. To our left, an aluminum ladder was bolted to the back of the RV.

“We can go up there,” I said, pointing to it.

“And do what?” Greta asked. “Hope they don’t check the roof?”

“They’ll think we leaped out the window and ran away,” I said.

“No,” she said, sounding tired all of a sudden, “they’ll know exactly where we are. Look.”

On the road behind us were headlights, faraway but closing in fast. It was a familiar-looking bloodred SUV.

“They’re here,” Greta said.

C
H
A
PT
E
R
13
:

A NOT-SO-GREAT ESCAPE

“T
he motorbikes,” Greta said, pointing.

“I don’t know how to ride a motorcycle,” I protested, but she was already clambering out the window and onto the ladder.

“Well, I do!” she said. Her sneakers on the bumper, she edged along until she reached the hitch where the trailer connected to the RV.

“Be careful!” I shouted.

She scowled at me, then turned and jumped like it was no big deal, like leaping from a speeding motor home onto a trailer was the sort of thing she did all the time. She landed between the two motorbikes, crouched down, and kicked at the trailer’s metal tailgate until, with a bang, it fell backward into the dirt.

“What are you waiting for?” she shouted.

She made it look so easy.

I clutched the ladder and carefully stretched until my foot was firmly on a rung, then swung out the window. “That wasn’t so hard!” I shouted.

Greta just shook her head and said, “Come on!” Behind her, the tailgate dragged on the dirt road, creating a giant plume of dust that filled the air and obscured the coming headlights. If we couldn’t see the people in the SUV, maybe they couldn’t see us.

But apparently, Henry could, simply by looking in his rearview cameras.

The RV swerved left, and my feet slipped. I clung to the ladder, my sneakers dangling over nothing. A moment later, Henry swerved back the other way, jerking the trailer around behind him.

The two motorbikes tumbled sideways, sandwiching Greta. She heaved one up, and it slid down the tailgate and vanished. The other lay on its side beneath her.

“He’s trying to throw us off!” I shouted, getting my feet on the ladder again as Henry quickly jerked the RV left and right.

Greta clung to the trailer’s metal grill and waved me toward her. “Stop wasting time!” she shouted.

“I can’t!” I was afraid. If Henry yanked the wheel when I jumped, I’d miss the trailer and go down on the road. But there was no reason Greta couldn’t unhook the trailer and get away. “Go,” I said, pointing. “The hitch!”

“Okay!” Greta shouted. She pulled something from Dawkins’ satchel and aimed its square nose at the hitch.

The Tesla gun.

“Wait!” I cried, scrambling up the ladder. It connected to a big metal luggage rack on the roof of the motor home. I pulled myself across it and held tight just as a bright-purple sheet of light crackled up from where I’d been a moment before.

Once the afterimage cleared, and I could see again, I slid to the back edge of the motor home and looked down.

“Missed!” Greta said. Still crouched on the trailer, she took aim again.

At that moment, Henry cranked the wheel so sharply that the trailer bounced and Greta fell over, her finger on the trigger.

The shot from the Tesla gun went wild, tracing a jagged arc up the back end of the motor home.

Right toward my face.

I ducked and felt the bolt sear the air over my head.

Then it swept downward again. “Stop!” I shouted. “Turn it off!”

The light disappeared as Greta released the trigger.

I peered over the edge of the RV and gasped.

Greta had cut a five-foot-wide smoking hole in the back of the motor home, big enough for a person to climb through. Izzy screamed somewhere inside, and then a moment later, the cardboard cutouts of the family came sailing out. Greta ducked as they blew over her head and were gone.

“You put that thing down!” Izzy shouted.

Greta aimed the gun again. This time, the purple bolt found its mark, and with a giant burst of sparks, the hitch separated from the motor home.

The trailer spun sideways and away. I clutched the rack and stared helplessly into Greta’s eyes as we left her behind.

I was glad she got awa
y
—
I
wanted
Greta to escap
e
—
b
ut at the same time…now I was truly alone. One by one, everyone had been taken from me. My dad, my mom, then Dawkins, and now even Greta. No one was going to rescue me or tell me what to do. If I was going to be saved, I was going to have to save myself.

“Okay,” I said, trying to be like my mom. “Bring it on!”

Suddenly the roof of the RV split apart beneath me like a bursting seam as a sword blade thrust up between my knees.

“Hey!” I cried, flinging myself back.

The foot of shining steel wrenched downward, only to reappear two inches in front of my face.

I scooted over to the top of the ladder, but there’d be no going down it now: Greta’s wild shot with the Tesla gun had cut it almost loose except for a single bolt at the top. With every jolt of the road, it flopped and twisted in the air like a skeletal metal wing.

The noise of a car horn made me look up.

The red SUV had closed the distance, and now I could make out the drive
r
—
o
ne of Ms. Hand’s flunkies, probably Mr. Four. Beside him was Ms. Hand herself. She grinned at me and then pointed at the upper right corner of the windshield.

Signaling Izzy.

I scrambled the other way just as the blade poked up through the roof again.

Over the roar of the wind, I could hear Izzy’s bello
w
—
a
nd then something else: the high-pitched whine of another engine.

A single headlight bounced toward us out of the dark, and then pulled alongside the motor home. It was Greta, astride the motorbike, her hair whipping in the wind.

She’d come back for me.

Henry must have seen her, because the motor home lurched sideways.

Greta braked and dropped back, weaving from side to side to avoid the flopping ladder.

Behind her, the SUV’s headlights flicked into high and it gunned forward.

They were going to ram her. I had to get off this roof now.

What would a Blood Guard do?
I wondered. I flashed on a parkour class I’d taken. The teacher had us sliding down bannisters all over tow
n
—
u
ntil I sprained an ankle and mom declared, “That’s enough of that.”

“Get closer!” I shouted.

I pressed my feet against the sides of the ladder as Greta pulled up alongside. then used one leg to kick the ladder away from the RV. As the ladder swung up and out, I loosened my grip and slipped down its length like a fireman sliding down a pole. When I ran out of ladder, I shot out into the air.

And landed hard on the back of Greta’s motorbike, a leg on either side of the saddle. The impact knocked the breath out of me. “
O
w
,” I moaned.

“You’re insane!” Greta yelled. She rolled her wrist on the throttle, and the bike shot forward.

The tires bounced against the dirt as we left the motor home and SUV behind us. “We can go cross-country,” she shouted. “They can’t. So we’ll just make a big loop back to the road, and then we’ll follow it out of here.”

But we hadn’t gone all that far when we came to a twelve-foot-high chain-link fence, topped with shiny curls of razor wire. It extended from the darkness on our right and disappeared on our left.

Greta brought the bike to a halt, letting the engine idle. “I wonder if this is the lockdown Sammy mentioned,” she said.

“Just cut a hole in the fence,” I said. “The Tesla gun should be able to do that, no problem.”

“I dropped it when the trailer came loose.”

Glancing back, we could see the faraway lights of the RV, but no sign of the SUV.

“It’s okay,” I said. “We can just follow the fence until we find the exit.”

“Good idea,” she said, popping the clutch. And just like that, we were off.

Ten minutes later, we reached the gate at the main road. It had been pulled closed, an enormous chain tightly wound through its two halves. “Can you pick that?” I asked.

Greta put down the bike’s kickstand, and we both slid off and walked over to examine the padlock. “Maybe.” she said. “I don’t know this type of lock. It might take me a while.”

Suddenly we were bathed in a bright light: the red SUV snapping on its headlights. It had been sitting silently in the dark a hundred feet away.

The doors on either side opened and I saw Mr. Four aiming some kind of rifle at us. Over the other door, Ms. Hand’s face appeared.

Greta and I looked at one another. “We can run fo
r
—
”
she started to whisper before Ms. Hand cut her off.

“Please,” Ms. Hand said. “You’ve caused us more than enough trouble already. I’d really rather not have to shoot you. But trust me, if I must, I will.”