He wouldn’t let himself dwell on that possibility, but ran off to get help.
In the balloon, Tommy cried out. “We’re gonna crash. You gotta steer us. You gotta move us in between the other balloons.”
Mrs. Ginmoor laughed. “How silly! I don’t know how to steer a balloon.”
“But we’re gonna die,” Tommy screamed.
Jenny was still on the floor, wailing. Michael hadn’t budged from his spot.
Tommy looked at his friends, an expression of disgust coming over his face. “Quit acting like babies,” he demanded. “Don’t let her do this to us. We gotta help ourselves.”
“You’re going to die,” Mrs. Ginmoor shouted. She began to saw away at one of the suspension ropes.
Tommy understood immediately that she intended to free the gondola from the support of the balloon above.
“No,” he shouted, racing toward the control panel. He recognized a compass, but the other gauges were completely foreign to him. Wasn’t there something here he could use to bring them down? The next balloon was coming closer and closer. The people in it were on the opposite side, unaware of imminent disaster. If only he could warn them, make them move . . .
He scanned the next balloon frantically. Its gores were orange-and-black-striped, emblazoned with the graphic of an eagle. Tommy’s eyes caught a small stuffed eagle hanging from one of the burner supports. He was taken back to the clinic, to the animals he had brought to life. He stared at the toy, willing it to move into the basket. The platform of his own gondola jerked a few times as the first of the suspension ropes was cut free.
As she moved to another, Mrs. Ginmoor saw the little creature open its beak and spread wings that should have been sewn to its plush feathers. It broke free of its string, reared up, and curled its talons like a real eagle in search of prey. Mrs. Ginmoor knew what Tommy was up to and jerked him away before the spell could be completed. Halfway to the back of the balloonist, the little eagle became a toy once more and thumped to the floor of the carriage.
“You won’t stop me. We’ll fall to the ground, and you’ll die.”
Michael had suddenly found his voice. “If we crash, you’ll die, too.” His tone was as matter-of-fact as if he were reciting arithmetic tables.
Mrs. Ginmoor let go of Tommy and turned to the smaller boy. “I know that,” she said. “I have known I might be called to the ultimate self-sacrifice since the day I agreed to join Dr. Adams’ team. Yes, I’ll die. But I’ll go down in the glory of his magnificent work, knowing I prevented you from stopping its progress.”
“Yeah, you’ll go down,” Michael said, his tone dark. “But you’ll go down alone.”
Jenny and Tommy looked up at their friend. Somehow, he had come out of his trance of fear. What was he going to do?
Michael stared at Mrs. Ginmoor, his eyes seeming to grow dark. Or was that just the shadow of a cloud passing overhead?
“Go to the edge, Mrs. Ginmoor.”
Something about his voice sent chills through his friends. Jenny sidled over to Tommy and put her arms around him. Michael’s was a voice that could not be disobeyed, it seemed.
“Don’t do that,” Mrs. Ginmoor said. “I know all about your powers and they won’t work on me.”
“Go to the edge, Mrs. Ginmoor.”
She was backing up in spite of her protests. She stopped abruptly at the back end of the basket, grabbing hold of a rope.
“Climb over and jump, Mrs. Ginmoor.”
The child’s voice had a deep, almost guttural quality. Jenny watched in amazement as Mrs. Ginmoor lifted one foot up. Tommy looked behind them at the ever-nearing orange-and-black balloon.
“Climb over. Climb over and jump.”
“No! No!” Mrs. Ginmoor was fighting with all her might.
“I told you to jump, you stupid old witch.”
Michael was suddenly running toward the old woman, arms outstretched. Just as he reached her, she obeyed the command she could not have ignored anyway. She threw her leg over the side, leaned far forward, and flew from the edge of the basket. Michael slammed into the wicker side, grabbing hold of the padded-leather rim, watching dizzily as Mrs. Ginmoor grabbed desperately for the basket handle, then the scuff leather around the bottom. In less than ten seconds her body was whirling down into the screaming crowds below.
And he saw himself falling, falling from the watch tower, spinning like an airplane out of control, spinning around and around . . .
My name is Peter Morse. My name is Peter Morse. It’s not Michael Colpan. It isn’t!
Say your name is Michael or I’ll drop you.
Peter Morse!
Michael Colpan!
I don’t wanna fall. I don’t wanna fall.
“I’m not Peter Morse,” Michael screamed. “I’m Michael Colpan.”
Jenny and Tommy leapt to their feet and pulled him away from the side. His screams had alerted the balloonist, who worked with lightning speed to open the rip panel and duck his balloon down. Word spread through walkie-talkies and soon a path cleared for the runaway balloon. As if they’d been synchronized, dozens of colorful balloons sank to the ground to give way. And now the wind was carrying children’s balloon toward the massive walls of the mountains, toward the top of trees that could easily rip the balloon to shreds . . .
Tommy knelt down beside the unconscious balloonist and began to slap his cheeks in a desperate attempt to wake him.
Michael tried to will the balloon to open air, finding to his frustration that his talents did not work.
Jenny closed her eyes and began to call out to the brown-haired woman, using words she sensed all along but hadn’t had the courage to believe in.
Mommy? Mommy, help us. We ‘re going to crash and I don’t want to die.
53
KATE’S KNEES BUCKLED AS IF THEY’D BEEN SNAPPED in two, and she sank to the floor of her kitchen. Dorothy helped her into a chair, feeling the violent trembling of her friend’s body. Kate was as pale as a ghost, her green eyes wild.
“Laura’s going to die,” Kate cried. “Mrs. Ginmoor’s trying to kill my little girl.”
“How do you know?” Dorothy demanded, beyond questioning the reality of what was happening. Kate’s distress was no game. “Can you see her? Do you know where she is?”
Kate nodded. “She—Laura said she’s up in a balloon. Some kind of hot-air balloon, I think. She said the old woman is trying to kill her. Dorothy, why doesn’t Danny call? Why doesn’t he call?”
Her voice was so panic-stricken that Dorothy had to hold her firmly by the shoulders to calm her. “Kate, if you believe this so strongly,” she said, “we’ll contact Information and get the number of the police down there.”
“No,” Kate cried. “They won’t believe us. It’s just too crazy a story. Even Danny took a long time to believe I was really in contact with our little girl, that she was alive.” She gazed at the phone. “Call me, Danny,” she whisper-cried. “Please call me.”
If only she could contact her husband the way she contacted Laura . . .
Like a miracle, as if Danny really had received her message, the phone rang and he was on the other end. He started telling her about the deserted LaMane Center, but she cut him off.
“Danny, I had contact with Laura a few minutes ago,” Kate said breathlessly. “She’s in a hot-air balloon somewhere. Danny, Mrs. Ginmoor was one of them. They planted her here to spy on us.”
Thousands of miles away, Danny closed his eyes in disbelief at his own gullibility. But there was no time for that now.
“Kate, I know where to look for her,” he said. “There’s a balloon festival in Albuquerque right now. Kate, I swear to you when I call back, I’ll have our little girl.”
Without waiting for a good-bye, he hung up and went to find Lou and the others. “We’ve got to get to the balloon fair,” Danny said. “The kids are in a balloon somewhere, with a crazy woman who’s trying to kill them.”
“How do you know?” Lou demanded.
“Don’t ask,” Danny said. “It’s too complicated and we don’t have time to waste.”
Lou nodded, having come to the point that he just accepted anything these people said. The whole thing was insane. Quickly, followed by the others, he went to the squad car and put in a call. When he came back, his ruddy complexion had gone pale.
“There’s a report of a runaway balloon, all right,” he said, gazing at Danny in awe and fear. “Fellow at the end of a tether line said an old woman and three kids got on board. The—the old woman fell over the side of the basket and ended straight up and hip-deep in the mud. She’s dead.”
“What about the balloonist?” Jill asked. “The children can’t be alone up there.”
“They might be,” Lou said. “No one can establish radio contact with the balloonist.”
Jill closed her eyes, feeling the heat of tears behind them. Had she come this far only to see her son die in a freak accident? It couldn’t happen that way. None of this could be such a waste. “Come on,” she said. “Let’s get to that field.”
“Follow me,” Lou said. “I’ll give you an escort.”
Red-and-blue beacons flashing, the sheriff’s car roared down the mountain road and onto the highway. They were at the fair in moments, where Lou received a report of what had happened from the security team assigned to watch over the crowds.
“Do you know where the balloon is now?” Jill asked, looking up at the colorful gathering in the sky. “Is there any way to stop it?”
“Of course there is,” said a man who had joined the group. It was Max’s partner, Neal. “You’ve got to pull a rope that leads to a rip panel. Trouble is, landing may not be so slow and smooth without the tether line.”
“It won’t be smooth at all if they crash,” Danny growled.
“Aerostation accidents are rarely serious,” Neal reassured.
Danny scratched his head. “I’d feel better if that ‘rarely’ was a ‘never.’ ”
“But where is it?” Jill asked again.
“Heading eastward,” Neal said. “We’ve got people monitoring it.”
“I’ll put in a call to those helicopters I’ve had searching for Adams and his crew,” Lou said, heading back to the squad car.
Danny had a sickening thought. “What—what happens when the burner is empty?”
“The air already in the bag will hold them up,” Neal said. “They’ll go down at parachute speed. But it isn’t the descension that’s dangerous. It’s finding a safe place to land. On a clear day like this, you need about sixty feet of clear space for the empty bag. But if the winds pick up, you need much more. The gondola drags a bit before it stops.”
“What if they hit trees?” Jill asked.
“If they’re going slow enough,” Neal said, “not much harm will be done. But if they hit something at high speed, or if they land too fast . . .” He let the other imagine the rest.
Jill shivered and moved closer to Danny. He put his arms around her. “If only there was some way to contact the children,” he said.
Now Jill pulled away again, her eyes wide. “But there is! Danny, you can call. Kate and have her send a message to Laura. Neal here can give you instructions over the phone on landing that thing.”
Danny nodded eagerly. “It could work.”
“It has to work,” Jill said. “Six years ago, we thought our children had died. We can’t sit by and make it really happen. Not after all we’ve gone through to get them back again.”
Danny turned to Neal. “Where can I find a phone?”
“We have a trailer set up at the back of the field,” Neal said. “Just follow me.”
They raced toward the crowds. Danny was so nervous when they climbed into the van that his big fingers fumbled with the phone dial. Jill took it gently, asked Danny’s home number, and dialed. Only half a ring sounded when Kate jerked the phone off the hook.
“You found her?” she asked hopefully, remembering Danny’s earlier promise.
“In a way,” Danny said. “Kate, you were right. Laura is up in a balloon and there’s no one to land it. The only way we can help is if you contact Laura and instruct her. There’s a fellow here named Neal who’ll show you how.”
“I understand,” Kate said. “Give me a few minutes to get in touch.”
“I’ll wait,” Danny said, though he wished Kate’s gift was as fast as a telephone.
Every minute that went by put his daughter, and the other two children, in greater danger. And this time, it wouldn’t be a trick.
54
THE BALLOON FLOATED LAZILY ON CURRENTS OF mountain wind, carrying its four passengers farther and farther from the crowded fairgrounds. The din of the burner as it shot heat into the mouth of the balloon was loud enough to drown out the cries of the people below, but Jenny could sense their horror as easily as she had picked up other voices and thoughts throughout the past years. She searched her mind for the woman with brown hair and glasses, a woman she now believed to be her real mother. Even if Michael hadn’t found those files, she would have come to this conclusion. Alice Segal had never shown her any love. She had always treated Jenny like a . . .
Jenny tried hard to think of a word. Like something under a microscope, she decided. Her father had been nicer—her pretend father, that was—but he never did anything to stop the hurting. And he’d taken her away from her real parents.
The girl looked over the rim of the basket at the mountains. Fortunately, the wind was blowing them away from the Rockies, but if it turned, or if the burner stopped . . .
She shook her head hard, not letting herself think such things. There had to be a way out of this. The boys were trying to come up with a solution. Tommy was busy patting the balloonist’s face, trying to revive him. Michael, forcing himself to overcome his fear of heights, was studying the control panel. Jenny caught a flash of his thoughts and realized he had figured one of the gauges, labeled VARIMOMETER, was measuring their ascent in feet per seconds. But then she became so caught up in her own search for her real mother that she shut Michael out completely.
Tommy looked up from Max, seeing Jenny staring out at the mountains. “What’re you doing?” he asked. “I need help here.”
“I’m trying to get us help,” Jenny said. “I’ve been trying to reach my mother, to call for help. But she’s cut me off, for some reason.”
The truth of the matter was that Kate Emerson had channeled all her mental energies into memorizing the instructions Neal was giving her over the phone. Before she could relay them to Laura, before she could risk the lives of three children, she had to be certain she knew exactly what she was doing.
From thousands of miles away, Neal’s voice was tinny and crackling. Kate jotted down notes with a nervous scribble as Dorothy read them over her shoulder. Guide the balloon down through telepathy? It seemed impossible, but it was the only chance the children had.
“Okay, I’m ready,” she said. “Put Danny on the line.” When Danny got on, she said, “Say a prayer this works. I’ve had tentative cooperation from Laura in the last day, but I still think she’s skeptical.”
“She’ll listen,” Danny says. “She’ll feel how much we love her and she’ll know we want to help.”
“I’m giving the phone to Dorothy now,” Kate said. “If there’s any trouble, she’ll let you know.”
“Good luck, Kate.”
Kate didn’t respond. She gave the receiver to her friend and pulled out a chair. Sitting at the kitchen table, she closed her eyes and rested her head in her arms. Over and over she called her daughter’s name, begging her to answer, telling Laura how much she loved her.
The response was so immediate that Kate sat up with a jolt, her eyes open but glazed.
“Kate?”
She didn’t hear Dorothy’s voice. Her friend reported Kate’s condition over the phone and kept watching her. The eyes were blank, as if Kate’s soul had fallen through some kind of hole into another dimension. Dorothy wondered i
f Laura was there, too.
To Laura, it wasn’t like falling through a hole into blackness, but like having a brilliant light suddenly flicked on when you’d spent days in darkness. Darkness. They’d locked her in a dark room and told her she could have light only if she said her name was Jenny Segal. But when the brown-haired woman with glasses started appearing to her, she’d sensed joy and light. It was only now, in the terrifying situation she was in, that Jenny/Laura could let herself accept that light.
“She’s here,” Laura cried. “My mother is here and she’s going to help us.”
Tommy looked up at her. He wasn’t telepathic like Michael or Jenny or some of the others, so he didn’t really understand what was going on. But if Jenny was in touch with someone who was going to get them the heck down to the ground, he was all for that. He glanced over at Michael, who still stood bent over the control panel. Tommy felt helpless, but still he continued to prod the balloonist.
“I can hear her calling me,” Jenny said. “I’ve got to—to answer.” She closed her own eyes and sat on the fuel tank.
I knew you’d come, Mommy.
You called me mommy! Oh, Laura, my baby . . .
I don’t want to die, Mommy.
You won’t, sweetheart, Oh, no, you won’t. I’m going to tell you how to get that thing down. Can you listen to me and talk to your friends at the same time?
I guess I can. What do you want me to do?
Who’s at the control panel?
Michael Colpan. He’s real smart.
All right, tell him to keep watch on the variometer. You want to lower the balloon very slowly, no more than five hundred feet per minute to start. When you get closer, you’ll be going as slow as a hundred feet per minute, okay? And then, even slower than that.
Jenny looked up at Michael. “We have to go down slow, Michael,” she said. “The variometer’s not supposed to say more than five hundred feet per minute.”
Michael nodded. Right now, the wind was carrying the balloon upward.
How do we get it to go down?
What’s the other boy doing, Laura?
He’s trying to wake Max up.
Hear the Children Calling Page 29
