And then I heard a loud crack! and Mickelson’s hand flew to the side. His gun landed in the snow half a dozen feet from where he stood, and I was no longer frozen like a statue. I whirled to face Aaren. He stood, slingshot in hand, a look of calm concentration on his face, the same look he got when he helped his mom treat someone who was badly injured. He loaded another piece of coal into his slingshot.
Mickelson grabbed his hurt hand and lunged for the gun. Before he got to it, Aaren fired a second shot and hit him in the shoulder. Mickelson threw a look of barely contained fury in Aaren’s direction; then the calm, controlled Mickelson returned.
He stared at Brock and the other bandit, then at Aaren and me, then he turned. Away from the gun, away from us. Like we didn’t matter at all.
“He doesn’t have to beat us,” I breathed. “He just has to leave with the Ameiphus and he wins.”
As the words came out of my mouth, Mickelson took off running toward the horses, leaving the other bandit behind. He untied Arabelle’s reins, swung onto her back, and galloped toward the woods.
We scrambled out of the ditch, and Aaren ran to help hold down the bandit Brock was struggling to tie up.
My breath came fast. “I have to go after Mickelson. I have to get the Ameiphus.” I paused long enough to see the worried look on Aaren’s face, the one that said he didn’t want me to go but knew I would anyway, and to be careful. He nodded once before he turned away, and I ran for Chance.
I couldn’t believe Mickelson took Arabelle and left me Chance. Chance, of all horses! He was saddled—that was something, at least. I flung off my snowshoes, untied him, climbed into the saddle, and jabbed my heels into his sides.
The wind bit my face and I bounced up and down as Chance galloped through the snow toward Mickelson. Most of the time I couldn’t see Mickelson as he went around houses, barns, and fences on his way through the first ring. At least with Chance, I didn’t have to go around low fences—he’d jump right over them … some of the time. He jumped the first two fences, but at the third he stopped. His stubbornness could have ended it all for me. The only thing Chance hated more than doing what he was supposed to, though, was being saddled and picketed. It made him want to run.
It took me nearly a mile to catch up to Mickelson at the end of the second ring, half a mile into the woods. I was close enough to see the white bag of Ameiphus tied to his belt. If I didn’t get it before Mickelson reached the end of the third ring, he could turn left on the road and go straight to the mines. I urged Chance closer so I could grab it.
The sound of his hooves pounding through the snow into the frozen ground felt as loud as my heartbeat as I got closer and closer. My outstretched hand was a foot away from the bag when Mickelson kicked at Chance’s shoulder and made him turn away. I got Chance to edge near them a second time, and Mickelson kicked Chance again.
Chance’s body was too big a target—I had to give Mickelson a smaller one. My mind went back to all the times I had watched Cass stunt-ride on Arabelle. I thought of the tricks they did and cursed again the fact that Mickelson rode Arabelle and I got Chance. The best trick was one where Cass hung by a hand on the pommel and one foot in a stirrup, and lay with her back pressed against the side of her horse. That could put me lower, and if I stretched, only Chance’s head would be within Mickelson’s reach. I hoped it was as easy as Cass made it look, because it was my only idea.
Cass had worked with Arabelle for weeks before they’d succeeded with the trick. At first, whenever Cass swung over her side, Arabelle would assume she’d fallen off and stop dead in her tracks. Eventually Arabelle learned to trust Cass. But it had always been my experience with riding Chance that he didn’t care even a little bit if his rider fell off.
Mickelson rode on my left, so I grabbed the pommel tightly with my left hand, planted my left foot in the stirrup, and then threw my body off the left side of the horse. As my back hit Chance’s side, I got the wind knocked out of me and my hand was nearly pulled off the pommel, but I did it. I was lying flat against Chance’s side. With my head against his neck, I imagined the bag in my hand as I reached forward as far as I could to grab it. I was within inches when Chance decided he was more interested in something off to the right than he was in Mickelson and slowed way down.
Sometimes I hated that horse.
I grabbed the cheek piece of his bridle with my free arm and jabbed him in the hindquarter with my free foot, aiming his head toward Mickelson. Chance closed the gap between us. I didn’t let go of his bridle until his head was almost to Mickelson’s waist. I gave Chance another nudge in the hindquarter. When he pulled forward, I let go of his bridle, then reached out and ripped the bag from Mickelson’s belt just as Mickelson reached out and shoved Chance’s head to the side.
Chance turned to the right and slowed to a walk, but not before I held the little white bag in my hand. The bag worth invasions and battles and gunshots and lives.
Mickelson jerked Arabelle to a stop and yanked her head toward me. He swore so loudly it startled Chance, making him almost fall when my unbalanced weight and his sidestep made his hoof hit a toppled tree hidden under the snow. As soon as he regained his footing, he took off running. My left arm shook with exhaustion, but I somehow managed to pull myself back into the saddle and shove the Ameiphus inside my schoolbag.
Mickelson rode after us, looking like he wanted to fling me off my horse even more than Chance wanted to be rid of me. Actually, he looked like he wanted to do something worse than fling me off. I jabbed Chance with my heels and yelled, “Go, go, go!”
I knew I needed a plan, but everything happened so fast.
The Bomb’s Breath! It was almost a mile away, but on horses it wouldn’t take long. If I took the Ameiphus through the Bomb’s Breath, Mickelson wouldn’t be able to get it.
There wasn’t a path through the woods, so we galloped around trees and over bushes and logs. Chance took every opportunity to sideswipe trees, which whipped twigs at my face and arms and scraped my legs on the trunks. Once I had to duck when he ran under a low-hanging branch as he tried to knock me off his back. To his annoyance, I managed to stay on.
Maybe Chance hadn’t been ridden lately. Maybe he’d been tethered too long. Maybe he was more impatient than normal. For whatever reason, he wanted to run fast, which worked for me. So many things about him frustrated me, and so I never really appreciated his speed. For every step Chance took, I heard Arabelle’s hooves crunch through the snow right behind us.
I saw the warning fences before we broke out of the woods. We jumped over the last clump of bushes and galloped across the road. Just one leap over the warning fence, I told myself, then another hundred feet or so and I can jump off Chance and run through the Bomb’s Breath.
And then Chance stopped right in the middle of the road so quickly that my forward momentum flung me off him, and I landed in the snow on my stomach.
Chance had just plain stopped. He hadn’t slowed or looked skittish; he just stopped. I glared at him for half a second before Arabelle and Mickelson jumped over the last cluster of bushes at the edge of the woods; then I scrambled to my feet and bolted over the warning fence.
I pushed through the knee-deep snow as fast as I could, waving my arms above me to feel for the dense air. Aaren and I had sky jumped in the Bomb’s Breath not too far from here—there was a spot to my left where the landscape was like a playground—but with everything covered in snow, I didn’t have a good sense of landmarks. I had no idea where the Bomb’s Breath started.
Arabelle’s hoofbeats pounded behind me. Of course she had jumped the fence. She was Arabelle. I stretched up once more, hoping I’d found the Bomb’s Breath, but I wasn’t close enough. Mickelson was almost on me.
I took the sack of Ameiphus from my schoolbag right as Arabelle caught up to me. Mickelson reached down and grabbed my hair. “Give it to me,” he growled.
I hucked the bag as high and as far as I could manage. With my hair in Mickelson’s hand, I had to sq
uirm to keep my eyes on it, but I breathed a sigh of relief when its descent slowed, because that meant it made it into the Bomb’s Breath before it landed in the snow.
Mickelson must have known enough about the Bomb’s Breath to recognize the bag had fallen there, because he instantly understood what had happened. He slid off Arabelle and yanked my hair so hard, I fell flat on my back in the snow. The shock froze me in place. I didn’t even reach up to rub my pained scalp.
Mickelson took a step to stand over me. “Get it.” His voice came out like it was barely contained inside a bomb, about to explode.
I let out a hysterical squeak as I realized I should have ridden toward our guard when I got the Ameiphus instead of going to the Bomb’s Breath, because then I’d have had help. As it was, I lay there all alone in the cold snow and couldn’t think what to do. I could only think of the way the vein on Mickelson’s forehead pulsed, and the way his warm breath came out of his nostrils in puffs, making little clouds in the cold air. Like a picture I saw once of an angry bull.
The sun had just begun to set, filling a huge swath of the sky with a million shades of pink. It reflected off the snow and colored everything, like the air itself had an eerie, unreal shade.
Mickelson took several long breaths before he spoke. “I don’t need to remind you that your entire town is trapped in the community center. Or that your guard is busy with my men. Your horse is long gone. If you don’t give me the Ameiphus, I will ride down to the community center and throw a torch inside. My men have already boarded the doors, so they won’t be able to escape. The fire will kill everyone. There’d be no one to stop me.”
He pulled me to a standing position as if I weighed nothing. “Get the Ameiphus now. If you value the life of your town, your friends, your parents, you’ll find a way to throw it to me, even if it’s with your dying breath.”
I’d never been so scared in all my life. Not when the bandits first came to the community center, not when they chased us, not when the snowstorm was at its worst, not even when I saw the fighting. Every part of me shook with fear. My hands, my legs, my chin, my stomach, my heart. By the look on his face, I knew he’d kill all of us if I didn’t get him the Ameiphus.
His eyes drilled into mine, angry and determined and demanding. I nodded and walked toward the Bomb’s Breath. I had no other choice. I waved my arms until I found the start of the pressurized air, then took a deep breath and stepped into it.
I couldn’t find the bag of Ameiphus. My head was bent back when I threw it, but I thought I knew where it landed. I pushed my hands into the snow and felt all around until I couldn’t hold my breath another second, then I ran up the mountain to get out of the Bomb’s Breath. Over and over, and I still couldn’t find it.
With every second, Mickelson’s anger grew, and I worried more and more what would happen if I couldn’t find the bag. Maybe one of my million footprints had buried it completely. When I ran back above the Bomb’s Breath again, I thought about how finding a white bag hidden in white snow was much worse than finding a needle in a haystack.
Then I saw a shadow fifteen feet to the left of where I’d been searching. A shadow from a hole in the snow, where the sunset hit one side differently.
I ran to the shadow. The bag had gone in at an angle and was completely hidden. I almost cried in relief when my fingers closed around the sack. I ran up the mountainside to get out of the Bomb’s Breath and took a shaky breath. My hands held the sack that represented the lives of people I cared about. My dad’s life. Mr. Hudson’s life. Melina’s life. The lives of everyone who would get Shadel’s Sickness or some other bad infection.
I couldn’t hand it to Mickelson. I couldn’t watch person after person die because of my decision. But did I have a choice? I could give it to him, and people would die. Or I could keep it, and he’d set the community center on fire and people would die.
I couldn’t win.
“Bring it to me now,” Mickelson said. I didn’t move, not even to breathe. He watched me for a long while, then said, “Your dad’s the one I shot, right?” His voice was calm and controlled again.
I could barely nod.
“Tell you what. I’ll give you a dose of the Ameiphus for your dad. You’ll save him. I’ll even give you a dose for that other man.”
“Mr. Hudson?”
Mickelson nodded. “The girl, too. Give it to me, and I won’t set the community center on fire. Not only will you save your dad, but you’ll save your whole town. You’ll go back a hero.”
We stared at each other for a long minute. Then he spoke again. “You don’t have to worry whether I’ll hold up my end of the bargain. Take out three doses, then toss the bag to me.” He nodded to the left. “I’ll go that way to the mines, away from everyone. Your town will carry you home on their shoulders, singing your praises.”
The phrases I’d chanted on the mountain—Save Brenna, save my dad, save White Rock—echoed in my thoughts. This was the only way to win. It wasn’t a perfect option, but it was definitely the least bad one.
Except, I realized, it didn’t really save my town. It was just three doses of Ameiphus better than if I’d never left to get the guard in the first place. And the battle I’d witnessed from the Johnsons’ rooftop would be for nothing. The men I’d seen lying on the ground in the snow would be for nothing.
You’re more of a leader than you realize. My dad’s voice popped into my head, which was weird, since there wasn’t anyone around for me to lead. Then my mom’s voice: You find yourself in any situation and instantly know what to do.
I froze. They were right. People followed me, just like they followed my dad. Not because they thought I was good at inventing—they followed because they knew I’d figure out what to do. If we were bored, I’d figure out how to have fun. If we were lost or in trouble, even if it happened because of how I’d helped us have fun, I’d find a way out of it.
So I should be able to find my way out of this, too.
I looked down at the bag in my hands. Shadel’s Sickness didn’t exist before the bombs, and neither did Ameiphus. They came together—a great weakness and a great strength. Like they were balancing each other out. Standing there, I realized that I’d been trying to contribute to my town by using my biggest weakness, just because it was how everyone else contributed. I should have been using my biggest strength.
I faced Mickelson with a determination I’d never felt before. I studied his face, trying to figure out what went on in his head, while he studied my face back. My gut told me it was more important to him to get the Ameiphus than to light the community center on fire. If I ran on my side of the Bomb’s Breath toward our guard, it might take a couple of hours to reach them, but I guessed Mickelson would follow just below the Bomb’s Breath, matching every step I took. If I got lucky, in an hour or so when it was completely dark, I’d lose him.
And that was when Mickelson took a deep breath and stepped right into the Bomb’s Breath.
Nobody went through the Bomb’s Breath but Aaren, Brock, Brenna, and me. Nobody. Mickelson tromped through it with disbelief and anxiety on his face that pretty much matched mine. When he hiked as high as me, he took a few big gasps of air and looked like he couldn’t believe he was still alive.
I pushed aside my shock and tried to think. Even with the snow, I knew the area well enough. Up ahead, the ground split into a crevice right before the terrain really got rough. The crevice wasn’t more than eight feet deep and the other side was just close enough to grab when you jumped—but to go around it, you had to hike several hundred yards. I ran, building speed as I neared a huge pine tree next to the crevice that kept the ground around it free of snow.
At the edge, I planted my foot and leapt as far across the opening as I could. My body smacked into the wall of the crevice as I caught the top of it with my hands. It took all my strength to pull myself up without footholds. I knew Mickelson would follow, and I hoped it was a lot harder for him to lift a man-sized body. I hoisted my legs o
nto the ground just in time to see Mickelson take a running jump across the crevice and land on his feet on my side.
I hadn’t planned for his longer legs! I scrambled to my feet and ran, taking the only good path. Cliffs rose on my right, and large boulders filled almost every space of the sloping mountainside leading to a drop-off on my left. I cringed when I heard Mickelson’s long string of swearwords and threats behind me. He was following me too well. I had to leave the path.
I pushed my hands into the snow on one of the boulders, swung my feet over it, and landed below the path on another boulder. Tons of rocks of every size ran between the path and the ledge. I skipped from boulder to boulder. It felt like I was getting away, but in reality, Mickelson and his constant threats were close behind me.
He leapt and landed on a rock so close he could almost reach me. He held my eyes as he panted, a look of victory on his face. “You can’t outrun me,” he said.
He was right.
The realization hit me like a boulder slamming into my stomach. I wasn’t going to win. No matter what I did, he got closer. My plan to lose him or go where he couldn’t had failed.
That meant I had two options. I could leap across a couple more boulders before Mickelson grabbed me, or I could jump off the ledge. I looked over the side and gulped. The cliff was higher than anything I’d jumped off without the Bomb’s Breath to catch me.
But if I couldn’t outrun Mickelson, my only choice was to outjump him.
And I actually, truly, had science on my side. A year ago, Mrs. Romanek had taught us about the Law of Conservation of Energy, which said energy couldn’t be destroyed, only transferred. Normally, I tuned out science without even trying to, but that lesson felt made for me. In a Pay attention, Hope—this is how you’ll be able to jump from higher distances without getting hurt kind of way. So I paid attention and found out that if I tucked and rolled as I landed, the force of the fall wouldn’t go squarely to my legs—it would be displaced through the roll. I tried it dozens of times in the week after the lesson. This was much higher than I’d ever tried, but at least I had the snow as a cushion.
Sky Jumpers Series, Book 1 Page 16
