He took a step forward and raised his arm. Moonlight glinted off something that looked kind of like a gun, but not one Eric had ever seen before. There was a pfffft, and something flew out of the barrel just slow enough for Eric to follow it.
The Peter surrogate must have seen it, too. He rolled to his left and ducked down. The object — a dart — sailed just a few inches above his back, then smacked into the upper left arm of the surrogate standing behind him.
Peter then took off running down the street, but his friend wasn’t so lucky. He stumbled forward, trying to pull the object out of his arm. When he finally got it out, he was only able to stare at it for a second before collapsing to the ground.
“Ronan!” Fiona yelled.
The two other surrogates were no longer walking toward the front door. They were running.
“Ronan!”
Mr. Trouble looked like he wanted to take off after Peter, but he looked back at the sound of his name and quickly changed directions. As he passed Uncle Carl, he motioned toward the rapidly departing Peter Garr. “Get him!”
Uncle Carl looked nervous, but did as he was told.
“Hey, over here!” Mr. Trouble yelled at the two surrogates rushing across the lawn.
Neither turned.
“Hey, I’m talking to you!”
Mr. Trouble raised his weapon and fired twice.
Pfffft. Pfffft.
The surrogate closest to the door suddenly arched his back and fell to the ground, unconscious. But the dart intended for the other one just missed its target, sailing through the air until it hit the door with a thwap.
Eric staggered back. “Close it!” he yelled at Fiona.
The remaining surrogate leapt onto the small porch and got a hand on the door just before Fiona was able to shut it all the way. As the door started opening again, she put her shoulder against it and tried to force it closed.
“Help me!” she shouted.
Eric jumped up next to her, turning so that he could put his back against the door and use his legs for leverage.
But instead of closing, the door opened further.
“We need to push harder,” she said.
Eric grunted as he shoved harder, but to no use. The door kept moving toward them, finally opening enough to allow the surrogate to stick his head inside. His eyes were open so wide Eric could see a large band of white all around each iris, but as creepy as that was, the smile on the surrogate’s face was worse.
As soon as he caught sight of Eric, he wedged his shoulders through the gap and grabbed Eric’s arm.
“You’re coming with me,” he announced, pulling Eric toward him.
“Let go of him!” Fiona yelled. She grabbed Eric’s other arm and pulled him in the opposite direction.
The surrogate laughed and gave Eric a hard tug. Fiona cried out as she lost her grip and slipped to the floor.
“I believe she told you to let go of him,” Mr. Trouble said calmly from outside.
The surrogate whipped his head around. “Get ba—”
Pfffft.
The surrogate went rigid, hanging between the door and the jamb for a second, and then, as if in slow motion, he slid all the way down to the floor.
“Anybody home?” Mr. Trouble asked, knocking on the door.
Eric stepped out of the way as Fiona pulled it open. “Ha, ha. Very funny. Can we go now?”
Mr. Trouble glanced over at Eric. “Hanging in there?”
“I guess,” Eric said, still in shock.
“That’s good enough for me.” His gaze moved down to the girls on the floor. “If you two take Maggie, I’ll get Keira.”
Mr. Trouble dragged the unconscious surrogate out of the way and pulled a large dart out of the guy’s back.
Eric and Fiona then picked up Maggie and carried her out the door. Mr. Trouble followed a second later with Keira in his arms. As they walked toward the sedan, two dark shadows stepped from across the street into the light.
Uncle Carl and Peter Garr.
Peter stood behind Uncle Carl, holding a small, odd-looking gun that Uncle Carl must have been carrying. He raised it into the air and placed it against Uncle Carl’s neck.
“Ca…careful with that,” Uncle Carl said.
The surrogate paid him no attention. “Stop walking,” he said to the others.
Mr. Trouble moved around Eric and Fiona, and didn’t stop until he was ten feet away from the surrogate. Eric and Fiona waited a couple of feet behind him.
“I’m sorry,” Uncle Carl said.
Mr. Trouble smiled. “Don’t worry, Uncle Carl. At least you tried.”
“What kind of gun is that?” Eric whispered to Fiona.
“Injection gun,” she whispered back. “You know, gives you a shot without using a needle.”
“The boy,” Peter said. “Give him to me, and you can have this one back.”
Eric heard the gate to Maggie’s backyard open. “I think the others are coming,” he said.
“No problem.” Mr. Trouble winked at Eric, then said, “It’s Peter, right? Look, Peter, I’d love to hang around and haggle with you, but I just don’t have time.”
In a single, sudden movement, he flipped Keira over his shoulder and brought up his dart gun.
Pfffft.
Peter had been hunched down behind Uncle Carl, using him as a shield.
It was a good plan, but not perfect.
The dart flew low, only a few feet above the ground, then passed between Uncle Carl’s legs and smacked into Peter’s thigh.
“No!” Peter screamed, and then, like the other surrogates, he dropped to the ground.
“Everybody in,” Mr. Trouble ordered, as two more surrogates came running around the side of the house. “Quickly.”
Mr. Trouble twisted his body around and fired off two more darts, each hitting their targets. At the same time, Eric, Fiona, and Uncle Carl climbed into the back of the sedan and laid Maggie across their laps.
Mr. Trouble got the front passenger door open and tried to quickly shove Keira inside. He banged his sister’s head against the doorframe on the first try, but got her in on the second. He then retrieved the injection gun from Peter and passed it through the window to Uncle Carl. “Yours, I believe.”
“Oh. Yes. Sorry about that. He just—”
“Uncle Carl, it’s not your fault. It’s mine.”
“Here comes some more!” Eric yelled, pointing at a group of surrogates that had appeared from around the side of the house.
Mr. Trouble slid across the hood of the car and opened the driver’s door.
Pfffft. Pfffft. Pfffft. Pfffft. Click. Click.
He jumped into the car and tossed his gun back to Fiona. “There’s a box of darts under my seat.”
As he started the engine, Eric looked at Maggie’s front yard. Half a dozen surrogates were sprawled on the lawn, taken out by Mr. Trouble’s dart gun.
“What’s going to happen when someone sees all of them lying there?”
Mr. Trouble pulled the car away from the curb, shoving the accelerator to the floor. “No one will see them. The stuff in the darts only lasts an hour or so. They’ll be up and gone before anyone else wakes up.”
“But we made a lot of noise. Someone’s probably called the police by now. They’ve got to be on their way.”
“If anyone had called the police, they would have been there already. The stupor Keira and Maggie are still under? The Makers did that to the whole neighborhood.”
“How do you know that?”
“We were in the car three blocks away and it got Uncle Carl.”
Uncle Carl looked embarrassed.
“Had to give him a shot to wake him up,” Mr. Trouble said.
“But, then, what about you? It didn’t put you to sleep?” Eric said.
“No,” Mr. Trouble replied, but didn’t explain further. “I’m sorry, everyone. I should have known they’d try something like this. We should have been prepared. That was my fault.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Uncle Carl said. “We’ve never seen anything on a scale like this before. One or two people put under at the same time, yes. Four, once, if the records are to be believed. But a whole neighborhood? Even your father wouldn’t have expected it.”
Mr. Trouble looked unconvinced, but he said nothing.
Fiona had Ronan’s dart gun propped on Maggie’s legs and was refilling it from the box that had been under the seat. Without pausing what she was doing, she said, “Uncle Carl’s right. Your plan was fine. How could any of us expect to encounter this many of them at one time? No one ever has before.”
“This many what? Surrogates?” Eric asked.
“Well, yeah, but that’s not what I meant,” Fiona said. “Makers can only control a few surrogates at a time. And we’ve never encountered more than three Makers working together. So that means we should never face more than seven or eight surrogates at one time.”
“Nine is possible,” Uncle Carl corrected her.
“But there were ten at the house,” Eric said.
“And at least six others Ronan and Uncle Carl saw wandering the neighborhood.”
“Sixteen?” Eric said. “That means there are at least, what, six Makers?”
“Unprecedented,” Uncle Carl said to himself. “Impossible.”
“Not impossible, apparently,” Mr. Trouble said, glancing at Keira. “Uncle Carl, why don’t you wake up the girls?”
“What? Oh, yes. Good idea.” Uncle Carl looked down at his jacket, realized he was holding the injection gun, and shoved it into Eric’s hands. “Hold that.”
He then searched inside his jacket for several seconds. “I thought it was right here.”
“I threw it into the glove compartment after I got what I needed to wake you,” Mr. Trouble said.
“I’ll get it,” Fiona said.
She handed Mr. Trouble’s dart gun to Eric, then scooted under Maggie’s legs and squeezed between the two front seats. Stretching, she reached for the glove compartment.
Just as she popped it open, a car shot onto the road ahead of them. Mr. Trouble stamped on the brakes and jerked the wheel to the left to get around it. But the other driver immediately pulled in front of them again.
“Hey,” Fiona said. “Hold it steady.”
“We’ve got company,” her brother explained.
She pushed herself up and glanced over the dashboard. “Oh, great.”
“Not just them,” he said, pointing at the rear window with his thumb.
Everyone looked out the back.
Two cars.
One was directly behind them, and another was coming up fast on their side.
22
Fiona made another try for the glove compartment.
“Got it,” she said, holding up a small rectangular box.
“They’re trying to block us in,” Mr. Trouble said. “Everyone, grab onto something. I’m taking the next right turn.”
But before they even got close to the next street, the other three cars slowed as one, forcing Mr. Trouble to do the same.
“This is not helping us get away,” Fiona said.
Mr. Trouble shot her a quick look. “I’m well aware of that.”
He eased the sedan forward until their bumper tapped the car in front of them.
“Brace yourselves,” he warned, then he slammed the gas pedal to the floor.
Whatever the person driving the front car had been expecting, that wasn’t it. The car jumped forward, creating just enough of a gap for Mr. Trouble to squeeze the sedan through.
“Here we go!”
Eric leaned to the side, anticipating the turn. But instead of racing left into the gap, Mr. Trouble went right, into a driveway entrance, then made a sharp turn back to the left, and ended up half on and half off the sidewalk that paralleled the road. The sedan bounced wildly on the uneven ground.
“Not…exactly…comfortable,” Fiona said, still stuck between the front seats.
On the street, the other cars had slowed to pace them, knowing Mr. Trouble would have to come back onto the road at some point. Mr. Trouble increased his speed just a little bit. Instantly, the other three cars did the same. He increased again, and they copied him once more.
“I’m going to try something,” he announced. “So whatever you’re hanging on to, don’t let go.”
He increased his speed one last time. As soon as the others followed his lead, he slammed on the brakes and pulled the wheel to the left just as they reached another driveway. The other cars were going too fast and had already passed the opening.
The sedan flew into the street, then Mr. Trouble whipped the wheel to the left again and they were racing off in the opposite direction.
Eric grinned broadly. “You did it!”
“Don’t get too excited yet.” Mr. Trouble nodded toward the back window. “They’re turning around and coming back.”
Eric took a look. Sure enough, the other cars were doing just that.
“Eric,” Mr. Trouble said. “This is your town. We need someplace where we can make a few random turns and come out in another part of town, preferably the north end. The road coming up — should I turn on that?”
Eric studied the road then shook his head. “Not that one. That’ll just take you around so that you come out behind us a couple of streets.”
“Okay. What about the one right after that? What do you think?”
Eric shook again. “That one’s not so good, either.”
“We do need to turn somewhere.”
“I know,” Eric said.
He scanned ahead, playing where they were against the map of the town in his mind.
“I hate to be Miss Negative,” Fiona said, “but those cars are getting closer.”
“Since when do you hate being Miss Negative?” Mr. Trouble asked.
“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that.”
“There,” Eric said, pointing down the road. “The one on the left after the house with the minivan in the driveway.”
“You’re sure?” Mr. Trouble asked.
“Yes. It goes into this big neighborhood with lots of twisty streets. There’s a way through it that’ll bring us out next to Riegel’s Pizza Parlor near the north side of town.”
Mr. Trouble smiled. “Perfect. Everyone, do I need to tell you to brace yourselves again?”
“Please don’t,” Fiona said.
For the next five minutes, they took turn after turn, sometimes doubling back, sometimes racing ahead. Finally, when Mr. Trouble was satisfied, Eric guided him toward the way out.
Once it seemed they weren’t going to be making any more sudden turns, Fiona settled back into the rear seat and gave the box she’d taken out of the glove compartment to Uncle Carl. He removed a glass tube from inside and inserted it into the injection gun Eric had happily returned to him. “Who’s first?” he asked.
Fiona gave him a long, hard look. “You’re sure that’s the right stuff? You’re not going to just make them sleep longer, are you?”
“Of course, it’s the right stuff,” he said. “I don’t make those kinds of mistakes.”
She continued to stare at him.
“I don’t make those kinds of mistake any more,” he said this time.
“Use it on Keira first,” Fiona told him. “Just in case.”
“Perfectly logical as always,” Uncle Carl said.
He leaned around the front passenger seat and placed the gun against Keira’s upper arm. When he pulled the trigger, the pfffft sound it made was remarkably similar to the one Mr. Trouble’s dart gun had made, only quieter.
Uncle Carl moved the gun away, but stayed between the seats and watched his niece.
It took about thirty seconds, but then she twitched. A few seconds later, she moved her arm, then her head began to roll, and sigh-like grunts seeped out of her mouth.
“I think it’s working,” Uncle Carl said.
“Give it to Maggie,” Mr. Trouble told him.
U
ncle Carl happily placed the gun against Maggie’s arm and pulled the trigger.
In a few minutes, both girls were groggy, but awake.
“Ow!” Keira exclaimed, her hand rubbing the side of her head. “Did someone hit me?”
Eric shared a look with Fiona, both of them remembering Mr. Trouble knocking his sister’s head against the side of the car.
“Hit you? Not that I know of,” Mr. Trouble said.
Keira rubbed some more, then looked out the window. “When did we get in the car?”
Between Eric, Fiona, Uncle Carl, and Mr. Trouble, they filled the girls in on what they’d missed.
When they finished, Maggie did not look happy. “You kidnapped me out of my house while my parents were sleeping?”
“Technically, I’m not sure you can call what they’re doing sleeping,” Uncle Carl said.
“Technically, it doesn’t matter what they were doing. This is still kidnapping,” she shot back.
“You weren’t kidnapped,” Eric said. “You were rescued.”
“Like I’m really going to believe a bunch of zombies are lying all over my front lawn.”
“Technically, they’re not zombies,” Uncle Carl said. “They’re surrogates.”
“Enough with the technically, already!”
“Maggie, trust me,” Eric jumped in. “It happened. I saw it.”
She glared at him. “Okay, tell me this. If you left my parents a note saying we’re doing homework at these…” she looked at Fiona, “…people’s house, then where are our books?”
Eric stared at her for a moment, then turned and glanced at Fiona. “She’s right. We only brought my backpack.”
“You left our books?” Keira asked, no doubt more concerned about her copy of Noriko’s Revenge than any of her textbooks, Eric thought.
“We can’t worry about it now,” Mr. Trouble said. “If it becomes a problem later, we’ll figure something out.”
Maggie groaned and began rubbing her temple.
“Are you all right?” Eric asked.
She frowned. “All of this is giving me a headache.”
“It’s probably a reaction to the sleep,” Uncle Carl told her. “And then what I gave you to pull you out of it, of course.”
“Can you please just take me home?”
When they’d first woken her, she’d just looked annoyed. Now she looked miserable.
Here Comes Mr. Trouble tfc-1 Page 16
