The Blood Guard (The Blood Guard series)

by Carter Roy

  The man named Henry called out, “Sammy? Come on out, sit a spell!”

  A lanky kid with light-brown skin and an afro appeared in the doorway. He looked like he was ten or so, dressed in jeans and a yellow T-shirt. “There are only two chairs,” he said. “Where am I supposed to sit?”

  “I’ve seen enough,” Greta whispered. “They are completely harmless.”

  We stood and walked side by side out of the darkness.

  “Hello!” Greta called, waving and smiling broadly. I copied her. We probably looked like a couple of crazies, grinning and sweeping our hands back and forth through the air like we were trying to flag down a taxicab.

  Henry and Izzy squinted at us. Their faces were wrinkled and tanned, and I guessed they were in their late sixties. “Now what have we here?” Henry said.

  “We’re lost,” I said.

  “We were with a school group,” Greta explained, “and we kind of wandered off. And then they left without us! Anyway, could we use your phone? I need to call my dad and let him know I’m safe.”

  As we talked, the kid named Sammy shook his head. He looked disappointed for some reason.

  A smile burst out across Izzy’s face, and it was clear where her wrinkles had come from: She probably grinned a lot. “I’ll go and dig out our cellular telephone.” She heaved herself up the stairs into the RV.

  Henry rubbed his chin and stared between us. “Did you two fall in the river? Because you look like a couple of drowned rats.” He chuckled.

  “We swam across the river,” I said. I noticed the RV was super shiny and new. There wasn’t a scratch or a smudge on it. Not even the mud flaps were dirty.

  The man stuck out his hand. “I’m Henry, my wife is Izzy, and that beanpole you see there is our nephew, Sammy. He’s taken pity on a couple of old geezers and decided to spend some of his summer vacation with us.”

  “Hi,” Sammy mumbled. And then, seeming embarrassed, he looked down at something in his lap: a handheld GameZMaster IV.

  “I’m Ronan,” I told them all, “and my friend’s name is Greta.” I didn’t think it was polite to point out that summer vacation hadn’t begun yet—maybe Sammy had a different setup where he went to school.

  Izzy reappeared with a smartphone. “There you go, honey,” she told Greta. “You feel free to call whoever you want. We have a good plan, so it shouldn’t cost us nothing.”

  Greta stared at the phone, smiled tightly, and said, “We’re not getting a signal.”

  “Tell you what,” Izzy said, “we only just got here, and there’s not so much to see that we’d be missing anything if we gave you two a lift somewheres. What say we pack up and head toward Baltimore? Once we find a signal, you can call your dad.”

  “We couldn’t trouble you—” Greta began, but Henry cut her off.

  “It’s no trouble at all to help two souls in need. Besides, we want to set a good example for Sammy here.” The boy rolled his eyes. “Let me put up the chairs, and we’ll be on the road before you can say Benedict Arnold.”

  Ten minutes later, we were packed into the RV and rolling out of the lot. Henry had wedged himself into a huge caramel-colored leather swivel chair behind the steering wheel and kept chattering nonstop about the motor home’s HD video monitors that acted like rearview and side-view mirrors. Behind him in the kitchen, Izzy was tying on an apron, and farther back, toward the middle of the motor home, Greta and I were sitting with Sammy in a fake leather dining booth. He ignored us, jabbing away at the buttons on his GameZMaster IV.

  The clock above the fridge said it was nearly 10 p.m. “What a crazy day,” I said to Greta. I felt relaxed for the first time since my mom had come to get me at school.

  Greta slouched back against the bench. “Seriously. But we’re safe now.”

  Beside us, Sammy clucked his tongue.

  Weird kid, I thought.

  The RV was kind of nice. It had everything—oven, fake fireplace, even a stacked washer/dryer, and through a door at the back was a bedroom with a full-size bed. It was like a house on wheels, if you wanted to live in the sort of place that had wall-to-wall carpeting and carpet on the walls, too. Everything looked spotless and brand-new. “You guys really keep this thing clean,” I said.

  “It even smells new,” Greta said. “Did you all just buy it?”

  “Sort of.” Izzy smiled and turned to us, a loaf of bread in her hands. “Have you had dinner yet? Why don’t I make you kids some sandwiches?” She pulled open one drawer after another until she finally found a butter knife.

  “Thanks,” Greta said. “A sandwich would be great.” And then she launched into some story about a magnet school in Baltimore: “We’re both students there. I’m in the sciences but Ronan’s more of a drama geek.”

  I tucked my hands in my jeans and shrugged like I was shy, because I didn’t have any idea what to say—I didn’t know the first thing about the drama club. I felt something hard and round in my pocket.

  The purple glass disk. I’d totally forgotten to give it to Dawkins. I fished it out and turned it over a few times. It was pretty, just a few inches around and collared with a twisted strand of tarnished silver. My mom had written that it was valuable—why? Sammy watched me while his fingers moved over his GameZMaster IV. I held it to my eye and looked at him.

  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 thi—”

  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 there—Izzy 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 hand—“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.”

  CHAPTER 12:

  THE PERFECT FAMILY GETAWAY

  Greta 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 admit—with 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 see—”

  “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 sure—the 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 grimace—like 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, and—”

  “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 like—” 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 someon
e 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.

  CHAPTER 13:

  A NOT-SO-GREAT ESCAPE

  “The 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.