When the Wind Blows

by James Patterson

  Help was supposedly on the way. FBI agents would meet us at the Inn-Patient. Kit had already checked around midnight, but they hadn’t arrived yet.

  We left Carole’s before four and it was incredibly dark and eerie on the back roads. There were no streetlights out in Radcliff, or in Bear Bluff for that matter.

  We were close to the Inn-Patient by four forty-five. We traveled up the familiar road, but Kit passed right by the place. He checked it out as we drove by.

  “I don’t see anybody. Maybe Stricker didn’t believe me after all. That asshole.”

  We turned around and drove back. Everything looked dark and deserted. The FBI wasn’t there yet.

  “Pull in, Kit. I have to look at my house.”

  This had been my home and I couldn’t just let it go. No one was there yet. Kit turned into the driveway.

  I grabbed his flashlight. “I’ll be quick.”

  I hurried out of the Jeep and climbed the front steps. My charbroiled front steps. I was oblivious to everything except that this was my house, my workplace, and my poor animals had been trapped inside, cruelly burned alive.

  The building was still smoldering and the heavy, acrid smell of the fire was overpowering. My house was no more. I barely recognized it.

  I got a surprise when I worked up the nerve to finally look inside. I moved the flashlight around and… the animals were gone. Someone had let them out before they started the fire. I was relieved and also thankful.

  “Frannie.” Kit was suddenly there behind me. “You okay?”

  “I had to see it,” I whispered as my throat began to close up. I covered my nose with a handkerchief, but it didn’t help much. A thick, dry taste like charcoal was on my tongue.

  The fire had devoured everything. The furniture, rugs, and curtains were blackened rags and could never be salvaged. The walls and ceilings were blistered black.

  Kit held me from behind. He knew the thing to do. I turned and looked into his eyes.

  “Kit, maybe it’s not the same people. Whoever burned my house let the animals loose. Those bastards at the School wouldn’t have done that.”

  “Maybe some of the doctors from Boulder started the fire,” he offered, “instead of the guards, the hunters.”

  “Maybe those young army guys, like the ones we saw yesterday.” I offered a paranoid thought of my own.

  “Let’s go outside,” he whispered softly. “We’ll wait there. There’s nothing here anymore.”

  “I know. Thanks for letting me see my house,” I whispered. I let him pull me out of the blackened shell of my house, away from my life for the past few years.

  We made it out onto the porch. We stopped moving.

  They were waiting for us. Not the FBI—the hunters, the guards from the School. Half a dozen of the home burners, the child murderers, were standing in my driveway. They had Max and the other kids.

  Chapter 101

  TAKE YOUR HANDS THE HELL OFF them!” Kit called down from the porch. “They’re just kids. They’re children.”

  I liked that, loved it, actually. They had rifles and handguns and here was Kit, barking orders. He was standing up to them.

  The two guards holding Ozymandias and Max actually let them go, and even took a few steps back. They were dressed like local outdoor types—workboots, wrinkled and stained khakis, hunting vests. There was no way to identify who any of them were. Army? FBI? Mercenaries? I’d never seen any of these particular men at Boulder Community Hospital, anyway.

  “Come down here off the porch!” The man who spoke was broad-shouldered, in his late forties or early fifties. His face was scarred and pitted, his eyes black marbles.

  I just knew from Max’s descriptions that he had to be Uncle Thomas.

  “You’ve caused enough trouble already,” he called in a booming voice. “I will shoot you down off the porch.”

  “We’ve caused enough trouble,” I snapped back. “Give me a break.”

  “You’re a murderer!” Max screamed at the man, who clutched her hair with one hand. Her face was bright red and she was struggling in spite of his grasp on her. “And you’re an asshole, too. You’re an even worse asshole than you are a murderer, Uncle Thomas!”

  Thomas smiled, and he almost managed to look avuncular. “Thank you, Tinkerbell.” He looked at us and pushed Max in front of him. “You two, come down here. Come on, or I’ll shoot one of the children right now.”

  “He definitely will, Frannie. He’s a coward and a bully. He’s a useless, worthless pig.”

  Kit and I slowly walked down the porch steps and joined the other captives. We had no choice. The guards had guns aimed at us. We’d hoped to find the FBI here, but we’d found these killers instead.

  A couple of 4x4’s were turning into the driveway behind our Jeep. Then a black RV pulled in.

  “You know these people?” I asked Max.

  “I know them,” she hissed. “I wish I didn’t. They’re guards—keepers. They keep order at the School. They keep everybody in line. They keep you prisoner until they decide to put you to sleep. The head creepkeeper is Uncle Thomas.”

  She snapped her head toward the burly man standing behind her. “You’re the worst of the worst. You betrayed us. You lie every time you open your mouth.”

  “You’re way out of line, Missy,” he warned. His face tightened. He raised his arm to strike her.

  I threw myself at Uncle Thomas. I was in a rage. Thomas was momentarily caught off guard. Kit jumped into the fight. He hit one guy in the nose with an elbow. He knocked down a football-player-sized lug who had been threatening us with the butt of a rifle. Then a third guard put a revolver against the side of Kit’s head.

  Max broke loose. She raced a few yards toward the pine woods clustered on the far side of the house. Then she waved her wings and took off. She seemed to get stronger and smoother every time she flew.

  “Don’t shoot! Please don’t shoot her!” I screamed at the top of my voice. I was yelling into Thomas’s ear.

  “Shoot her down!” he yelled. “Don’t hesitate. Bring her down.”

  Two of the guards fired at Max as she lifted off. She didn’t go straight up, though. Max shot like a dart back into the overhanging fir woods. She disappeared behind a copse of thick evergreen trees.

  Several guards gave chase, but a few stayed with us and the other children.

  “The rest of you—into the van! Now! Go on, or we’ll shoot you right here.” Thomas gave the orders. Then he cuffed me on the side of the skull. My ears were ringing, and I almost went down. I hadn’t expected to be hit.

  “So shoot me! ” Wendy stepped forward. Her chin and her little chest were thrust out boldly. “Shoot me right in my face. Shoot me dead.”

  “Shoot me, too,” Peter said. “Pow, I’m dead! Who the heck cares? Go on and shoot another little kid.”

  “I was thinking I’d start with him.” Thomas pointed his weapon at Icarus. “The blind boy. Ic!”

  “Get in the van,” I said to the kids. “Now! Right this second! Icarus first. Please.”

  The kids looked at me, and I wanted to make it okay somehow. But it wasn’t okay, and maybe it never would be for any of us again. Thomas kept his gun on us as we climbed into the van.

  “Busted,” Icarus whispered from his seat beside Kit. “We’re all dead.”

  Chapter 102

  KIT, THE CHILDREN, AND I were pushed and crowded inside the semidarkened van. I couldn’t help thinking that it was like a hearse. Or remembering what Kit had said before: “they” want everything to disappear. There can’t be any witnesses.

  The hearse coughed once, then started up. It backed out of my driveway. The driver made a right turn, away from the village of Bear Bluff. Heading where?

  “They’re going to put us to sleep,” Oz said matter-of-factly. He bluntly stated my worst fears.

  “Who did they put to sleep at the School?” Kit asked Oz. You could take the agent out of the FBI… he was still trying to collect information, to ge
t at the truth.

  “We’re not supposed to talk about it,” Wendy warned. Her eyes were wide with fear.

  “Lots of little skitters got killed,” Peter chirped back. He shrugged it off.

  “What are skitters?” I asked Peter.

  “Critters who live in the labs. Especially the new babies. They’re called skitters. Or labbies,” Oz answered. “Ask Max about it. She worked there. Oh yeah, Max isn’t here to ask. Don’t worry, she’s smart. Max can take care of herself.”

  I nodded at Oz. “I know she can. What about Adam and Eve?” I asked. “Who were they?”

  “They were our dearest friends.” Peter volunteered more information with a sad little voice, and an even sadder look on his face. “Same age as me, you know. Born in the same year. Nineteen hundred and ninety-four.”

  “Put to sleep,” Oz said. He made a line across his throat and let his tongue hang out to the side. “Best to forget them. Out of sight, out of mind. One sleeps, the others weep.”

  “One sleeps, the others weep,” the kids repeated. “One sleeps, the others weep.”

  I was getting a clearer and even more terrifying picture of the School. The younger children were much more open about it than Max had been. They weren’t as afraid to talk out of School.

  “Jesus, Frannie,” Kit said, resting his hand on mine. “These poor kids. You have any idea where they’re taking us? Which direction we’re headed?”

  I shook my head and blew out air. “Back into the mountains. West, I think. That’s about all I can tell.”

  Meanwhile, the kids’ singsong played in my head. One sleeps, the others weep.

  Or how about—they all sleep, nobody is left to weep.

  Chapter 103

  THE VAN STRUGGLED up a steep, nearly continuous grade for about half an hour. Then it jerked to a sudden stop. The engine shut down and I froze. We were here, wherever that was. Not the School—but where?

  I could hear car doors slamming. Shoes and boots crunching gravel. The static of gruff male voices outside the van.

  “Wherever we are, we’re less than an hour from your place,” Kit whispered. We both sat very still in the rear of the van. There was nothing either or us could do now. It was killing me.

  “You guys all okay?” I asked the kids. I tried to sound confident and somewhat in control. I found I was having powerful maternal feelings since I’d been around them.

  “We’re not anywhere near that shitty School again. I can feel we’re not there,” Oz said with equal parts of boyish conviction and enthusiasm.

  “We’re someplace bad,” Ic said. “It feels real bad. I can always tell.”

  “Feels icky, right Ic?” Oz cracked. He made a face at his blind friend.

  The van’s door was unlocked and it swung open with a high-pitched whirrr. We blinked at the bright sunlight bursting in on us.

  Men with guns were standing outside. They were staring in with faces like moonpies. The odds were hopelessly against us.

  “You don’t have to point those guns,” I said.

  “We come in peace,” Ic said.

  One of the men issued an order. “Step out of the vehicle.” He sounded like a military person, and I wondered, what army? “This will be a lot easier if you follow instructions instead of trying to give them, ma’am. All of you—outside! Do it right now!”

  “These are little kids. The guns scare them,” Kit said. “Do you have any kids, mister? Any of you out there have kids?”

  “Step the hell out of the vehicle, Agent Brennan. We know who you are. And yeah, I have two kids. Now shut up.”

  I looked around at the kids again. Their faces were screwed up pretty tight, but they didn’t show too much of their fear. Perhaps the terrifying atmosphere at the School had conditioned them to accept whatever might happen to them.

  “Okay, we’re coming. Out of the van, boys and girl,” I said. But as I climbed from the van, the words died on the tip of my tongue. If there had been any doubt about it, I had just entered the Twilight Zone. I felt as if I couldn’t move another step.

  I could see where we were. I didn’t understand, and I didn’t think I wanted to, but I knew exactly where I was now. Oh God, I know this place.

  “Oh, Kit,” I muttered.

  “What is it, Frannie?”

  I shook my head back and forth in disbelief. I couldn’t speak. We were at Gillian’s place on the west side of Sugarloaf Mountain. We were at my friend’s house, with the big, shimmery blue pool I’d been swimming in just a couple of days ago. I could see the Continental Divide off to the west, and Four Mile Canyon to the north.

  The large, familiar parking area was filled with trucks, cars, and guards with guns. I also spotted half-a-dozen people I recognized from Boulder Community Hospital.

  One of them caught my attention as I stood rooted to the ground. He was climbing out of a navy blue Land Rover. I noted a hospital sticker in the left corner of the windshield. David and I used to have stickers like that.

  David had been one of Them, though, hadn’t he? David had beenahorrifying creep, too. Oh David, David, how could you?

  “That’s Dr. John Brownhill.” I pointed him out to Kit. Brown-hill wouldn’t even look at me, wouldn’t look our way.

  “We’ve met. What’s his specialty? Infanticide?” Kit asked.

  “He’s the head of the in vitro fertilization clinic at Boulder,” I muttered to myself. The children had human mothers, I couldn’t help thinking again. Real birth mothers were involved, and that’s why Dr. Brownhill was here. It had to be the reason.

  Then I saw Gillian Puris appear on her front porch. My friend. She looked so stern and unapproachable. I could have almost convinced myself that I didn’t know her. Standing next to Gillian was her little boy. Michael was waving from the porch, and I thought he was waving at me.

  He wasn’t!

  Chapter 104

  IT’S ADAM! ADAM’S OKAY! There he is on the front porch. Adam’s alive!” Wendy and Peter crackled and shrieked in their high-pitched voices. They were incredibly animated and excited to see the boy—Gillian’s son.

  They knew him, and I could guess from where—the School! Michael had been at the School, too. Michael was Adam, wasn’t he?

  Suddenly, the little boy twisted back and forth and broke loose from Gillian. He was strong, too. He ran toward Peter and Wendy lickety-split. They continued to holler, “Adam! Adam! Here we are.”

  Gillian looked alarmed at first, but then just angry, infuriated in fact. “Michael, stop!” she yelled, but the slim, blond boy continued to run like a streak toward his friends, his long lost compadres, his School pals.

  Michael was laughing and grinning, and he looked so innocent and free. I’d never seen him act like just a little boy. Then he and Wendy and Peter began to hug and dance for joy in the driveway. They made nonverbal sounds that only they seemed to understand.

  I looked away from them and back at Gillian. She was still watching the scene with such cold, unforgiving eyes. It was a look I’d never seen before, and I wasn’t prepared for it now. Who was this person I thought I’d known? My stomach was falling. She’d only pretended to be my friend, hadn’t she? She was watching me after David’s death.

  “He’s Adam! He’s our friend!” Icarus shrieked in my ear. In his excitement, he flew a few feet off the ground. The amazing little boy hovered. “Adam’s alive! Isn’t it great? Isn’t it the best thing yet?”

  Suddenly, Icarus was struck. One of the guards had punched him on the side of the head. Punched the little boy with a closed fist. Poor Ic fell to the ground and lay in a pathetic heap. He wasn’t moving.

  The blow was more than Kit could stand. He swung out at the attacker, connected solidly with jawbone. Cursing, two other guards began to strike at Kit. Then they held him at gunpoint, but Kit wouldn’t calm down. He screamed at them. The kids were yelling too.

  I was already down on my hands and knees, checking out poor Icarus. I worried about damage to his head, but his
sightless eyes were open. He was shaking it off and seemed alert.

  “Big bully,” he finally taunted the guard. Spit out his fury. Showed what a tough little trooper he was. “Not much of a punch, though.”

  “Attaboy, Ic,” I told him. “But cool it a little.”

  “Flying is forbidden!” the guard screamed at the children, but especially at Icarus. The man’s face was red, even the thick veins on his thick neck stuck out. “You know the rules. Flying is forbidden. You’ve been told a thousand times.”

  Ic snarled at the menacing guard. “Not anymore. The rules have changed.”

  I held Icarus close to me, trying to protect the boy from further harm. My maternal feelings were still coming on strong.

  Gillian was in the driveway now. She was walking briskly toward me. “This wasn’t supposed to happen. None of it,” she said. “I’m sorry, Frannie.”

  “Right. Just bad timing,” I snapped, and realized I was just as furious as she looked. “Too bad for David, and for Frank Mc-Donough. Just bad timing.”

  I wanted to scream at Gillian, and at the horrible monster called Uncle Thomas, but I forced myself to keep calm, not to show my anger, my rage. It was too dangerous now. Guards with guns were standing around everywhere. They seemed to be looking for an excuse to let loose.

  “Hi, Aunt Frannie!” I heard from down close to the ground.

  Michael innocently grabbed me around the legs and hugged me tightly. He was a beautiful little boy. I’d always loved him and raved about him, but now, honestly, he scared me a little. Everything did. Gillian scared me most of all. My so-called friend was an unrepentant monster.

  Nothing was as it appeared to be; everything was part of this ongoing nightmare.

  Michael was Adam.

  Adam was God-only-knew-what.

  Gillian wasn’t my friend, after all. We had talked and laughed and cried together. All the time she was a horrible enemy, the worst of Them. Maybe she’d even thought about killing me?

  I bent low to Michael and kissed the side of his face. “So you and Peter and Wendy are friends?” I said.