I’m on my own and I’m getting out of here no matter what.
Chapter 22
Where Things Go Well (Until They Don’t).
I SLEEP FOR A WHILE and when I wake up, I notice my backpack is in a different spot. Someone came in here and dug through it. But my phone is still tucked into the back of my pants, and now it’s charged. I sneak a peek down the hallway to make sure no one is around. Voices drift from another room, so I figure I’m safe. Quietly, I close the door and press my back to it. When I pull up the radio icon, perfectly connected now, I see Toby’s sleeping face squished against his laptop camera. He’s down in the catacombs, and the view of his nose is particularly impressive.
“Wake up!” I whisper. Three thousand miles away, Toby jolts to life and rubs his eyes. When he sees me, he shouts, “Where have you been, Abby?” I muffle the phone under my armpit.
“Be quiet!” I say.
“The car came for you in the Headlands,” he says. “Where were you?”
“Well, I got in the first car that came along,” I hiss. “It was Tinker Bell or the Headless Prius.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he says. “Why did you turn off the phone?”
“It died.”
“I told you to keep it charged,” he huffs. “I thought you were dead.”
Is he kidding me with this? I’m trapped in a mountain prison with two lunatics, and he’s giving me grief about charging my phone? “If you don’t help me get out of here, your wish of me being dead might come true.”
He visibly bristles. His jaw tightens. “I didn’t say I wished that.”
“Just get me out of here!” I whisper-shout.
“Hold on, will you?” he says. “I can’t get a definite location on you. Must be interference.”
“This system of yours really stinks.”
“I’m going to ignore that,” he says. “Anyway, the plan has changed. They’re coming to get you.”
“‘They’?” I’m not sure I like the sound of that.
“Mrs. Smith and Veronica.” I was right. I don’t like the sound of that.
“Great,” I mutter.
“Okay,” he says. “So instructions are to sit tight and wait.”
“No.”
“No?”
“Every time I follow the instructions, bad things happen. Help me get out of here. I’ll take my chances with the bears.”
“The bears are hibernating,” Toby says. “It’s winter. Instructions are to wait.”
“You sound like a robot,” I say.
“I do not,” he says. “You just don’t like what I’m telling you to do.”
I don’t want to talk to him because he’s a brat, but I also don’t want to be alone in Popsicle-ville, so I change the subject. “There’s a triangle here,” I say.
“Huh?”
“Remember I told you that Lotus Man had a triangle tattoo on his forearm? And then you guys just kind of forgot to tell me what it means? So what does it mean? Because it’s on a plaque outside the front door.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure.”
“That’s a problem,” he says, grim.
“What does it mean?”
“All of the Ghost’s people supposedly have an equilateral triangle tattoo. All sides are equal, meaning everyone in his network needs everyone else. Until he’s mad at you. Then it’s pretty much game over.”
Did he need to tell me that while I’m trapped in the crazy man’s house? No, he did not. “Thanks for that,” I say.
“Oh, don’t worry about it,” Toby says quickly. “You’ll be fine.”
“No, I won’t. When they realize Jennifer’s not going to swoop in here and rescue me and their plan is a total failure, then what? You think they’re just going to call me a taxi and let me go home? You live in a fantasy world, Toby.”
Before Toby can work up an answer to that, I hear heavy footsteps coming down the hallway. “I have to go,” I say, and power down the phone. I can’t risk it beeping and singing and chirping at me. This phone is my lifeline. I shove it down the back of my pants and throw myself onto the bed. I pull my knees up to my chest and close my eyes. Sleeping just like a baby. Tom gently pushes open the door and peers in.
“Abby?”
I open one eye just a crack, give a fake yawn, and curl back into a ball. Tom sits on the side of the bed and rests a hand on my shoulder.
“Abby?” he says again. “I thought I heard you talking. Do you need something?”
I yawn again. “Nope,” I say. “Just sleeping up here. That’s all.” The phone digs uncomfortably into my back, but I don’t dare adjust it.
“Bronwyn made some spaghetti,” he says, “if you’re hungry.” The truth is I’m starving. I haven’t had anything to eat since this morning’s oatmeal, and running for your life burns a lot of calories.
“Has anyone talked to Mrs. Smith?” I ask as innocently as possible.
Tom shifts on the bed, removing his hand from my shoulder. Does he look sheepish, embarrassed? I’d like to think so.
“Yes,” he mumbles. “We’re supposed to sit tight and wait. You’ll be safe here. This isn’t an easy house to get into.” Or out of, I’m sure.
I get out of bed, making a big production of stretching and rubbing my eyes, and we head to the kitchen for pasta. Bronwyn’s pasta is like her oatmeal: full of all sorts of nutritious and unidentifiable green stuff. It’s a little strange that she is presumably putting me in harm’s way but feeding me healthy meals. Why not chain me in a corner and throw crusts of bread at me every twelve hours?
I eat the pasta because it’s delicious and I’m hungry. Plus, I’ll need energy for my escape. I could be walking for days out there in the frozen tundra. During the meal, I ask lots of questions about the house in what I hope is a subtle way. When they start looking at me funny, I stop and inquire about the weather.
This works out better. As Bronwyn and Tom go on about the megadrought and extreme temperature fluctuations, I take the opportunity to scan the room. Over the sink is a small rectangular window without bars. Probably because it’s too small for an adult to squeeze through. But not a kid. I grin. I’m going through that window. I don’t know how or when or what will happen on the other side, but at least I have an idea of how to implement step one of my escape plan.
I’m so pleased with my progress I help myself to another heaping bowl of spaghetti and green stuff, after which we shuffle to the family room to watch television like this is all so very normal. After an hour, Bronwyn sends us to bed. I lie on the thin mattress and pinch my thigh every time my eyes threaten to close. I will not fall asleep. I will stay awake and wait for an opportunity to make my move out that window.
My thigh burns and stings, but eventually I hear Bronwyn honking like a goose and Tom muttering in his sleep. They obviously don’t see me as a flight risk. The coast is as clear as it’s going to get.
Slowly and cautiously, I slip on my backpack and tiptoe from my room. I take the stairs, quiet as a mouse. By the time I reach the kitchen, my heart races and my palms are damp. Can I really pull this off?
I climb quietly up on the counter and peer out the small window. A full moon casts long shadows. The house is built into a mountain, so although I’m on the first floor, I’m still twenty-five feet above the ground, which means I can’t jump. An escape cannot be called successful if it ends with me as a heap of broken bones.
To the left of the window, about five feet away, is the big wooden back deck. There are a few snow-covered lounge chairs and a barbecue grill still out there. Maybe in summer, when she’s not busy kidnapping innocent people, Fake Bronwyn enjoys hanging on the deck admiring the scenery? Either way, I can’t make it to the deck from the window, and I can’t jump.
But before true despair sets in, I notic
e a long gutter pipe that goes from roof to ground. It’s between the small window and the deck. If I can get out the window and grab on to the pipe, I can get close enough to swing over the rail of the deck, and then I’m home free. Unless the pipe detaches from the house or I fall or Fake Bronwyn catches me, in which case I’m back to the heap-of-broken-bones situation.
Opening the window takes some effort and each time metal scrapes metal, I wince, sure I’m about to be busted for what I’m starting to think is my very lame attempt to flee. Finally, the window pops open. Leaning my arm out, I fling the backpack onto the deck. It lands with a thud. I should be so lucky.
I give myself a quick pep talk. You can totally do this, Abby! It’s time to get out of the Ghost’s house! Piece of cake! Jennifer could do this with her eyes closed and her hands tied behind her back! Or at least that’s what everyone seems to think. Go, go, go!
It still takes me a minute to actually climb through the window. Back at McKinsey House I could cling to my bedsheets. This feels more freestyle. My heart pounds so loudly I worry it will wake the terrible twosome sleeping upstairs. I slide my legs, one at a time, through the window. Holding on for dear life, I work my torso over the window ledge so I’m hanging by my elbows.
Balanced precariously, I swing my right leg out to try to catch the pipe. I miss. My arms start to twitch, and despite the freezing temperature and my chattering teeth, I break out in a cold sweat. This was a bad idea, but pulling myself back in the window is no longer an option. I kick my leg out again, harder. This time, I get purchase on the pipe. But it makes a loud clank, and I freeze, listening for footsteps in the house. All remains quiet. To grab onto the pipe Koala-bear-style, I first dangle from the window ledge with my fingers. This is followed by a lunge for the pipe. If I miss, splat.
Everything goes in slow motion. I let go on the window and pull with my leg. Desperately, I grab the pipe with both arms and hug it for dear life. It’s a second before I realize I’m fine. Not slipping. Not falling. Just clinging. And I’m halfway to the deck!
I stretch my arm out for the icy deck railing. I could really use some gloves. Don’t think about the cold, just hold on. In an instant, I’m hanging there for dear life. Inch by inch, I pull my legs up until I can slide between the rails, landing safely on solid ground.
I roll over in the snow, grab my backpack, and search for the stairs down from the deck. Except there aren’t any. I may have gotten out of the house, but now I’m trapped on the deck. I lean out over the deck railing. The structure is supported by several upright wooden columns. The only way down is by way of wooden column.
I stuff the contents of my backpack into my jacket pockets and unzip the pack entirely. Climbing over the deck railing, I crouch low and wrap the unzipped pack around the top of a column and then wrap my arms and legs around the pack so I can slide down without a world of splintery pain. My arms ache, but I hug that column like we’re BFFs and slowly shimmy my way to the ground.
When I finally land in the snow, I want to cry with joy. Quickly, I make my way around the house toward the road. I’m just about there when I hear, “Abby? What are you doing out here?”
This is a problem.
Chapter 23
Where I Go Swimming By the Light of the Moon.
GOING FOR A WALK. GETTING some fresh air. Stretching my legs. Sleepwalking. Howling at the moon. Escaping? In the end I stand there mute. It was going so well! Why is Tom out here all of a sudden?
“Um,” I finally manage. “I thought I might just, you know, get some air.”
“I told you about the bears,” he says, his gaze falling on my pack. A minute ago he looked sleepy. Not anymore. He takes a step toward me. I step back. He’s not wearing shoes and begins hopping from foot to foot on the icy ground.
This makes me think I can run.
“Abby?” he says.
It’s now or never. I turn and sprint, scrambling over a snowbank and crashing down the other side into the woods. I get to my feet and push deeper into the trees, but it’s slow going. Thigh-high snow in tennis shoes and jeans is a challenge.
“Suzie!” I hear Tom shouting. “She’s getting away!”
I reach another wall of snow and haul myself up and over it, spilling out onto a narrow empty road. In the moonlight, I cast long eerie shadows. At least it’s easier to run on the road, but it’s slippery, and twice I go down hard. My knees sing with pain.
A little ways down the road, I spy a rack storing several canoes and kayaks for the winter. Beyond the rack is a frozen lake. Only when I’m safely tucked in among the hibernating boats do I realize I’ve left a trail of tracks in the fresh snow, like a giant neon sign announcing, I am right here. Come and get me!
So maybe I don’t get an A+ in Escaping on Foot in the Frozen Tundra? Before I can come up with a fix or call Toby and ask him what I should do, Suzie (at least I know that now) and Tom come running down the road right toward me.
“Why didn’t you grab her?” Suzie yells at Tom.
“I was barefoot!”
“So what? I’m not paying you to be a wimp about your feet.”
“It’s twelve degrees out here!”
“I don’t care. I’m going to have to pass this on to the boss. And he’s not going to like it.”
I make myself small. I try to stop breathing. I even close my eyes so they won’t glow in a sweeping flashlight beam. And they run right by me! They actually miss the footprints and keep on going down the road. How lucky am I? So lucky! I mean, if you don’t count the incredibly bad luck that landed me here in the first place, of course. I experience a surge of joy and happiness until I hear crunching in the snow right behind me. And my joy and happiness evaporate just like that.
“Did you really think you could run?” Suzie snarls.
I stay low. She comes closer.
“You left footprints,” she says. “Your mother would be so proud.”
I really don’t like this Suzie. I shoot my leg out and hook her behind the ankles. Planting my arms in the snow for leverage, I snap my leg and she goes flying over backward. I didn’t practice Snake in the Grass four thousand times for nothing. Suzie lands with a thud. The air rushes from her lungs.
“You are so dead,” she groans.
I have a ten-second head start toward the lake before Suzie is back on her feet, gunning for me like a bee-stung bull. She closes the distance between us in no time.
“Just give up,” she pants, right behind me. “That thing back there was pretty good, but it’s probably all you’ve got, right? Where are you going to go anyway?”
I don’t know, but I do know I won’t stop until they catch me or I collapse. I pick up speed, the frosty air searing my lungs. And suddenly, there’s a loud crack and the world under my feet shifts violently.
The water is up to my ankles before I realize we’re on a patch of thin ice. A second later, the whole shelf collapses and both of us plunge into the freezing water.
I gasp as the water seeps quickly through my clothes. It’s so cold my extremities go instantly numb. My jacket acts as an anchor and drags me under. I wrestle it off. On the other side of the gaping hole from where we fell in, the ice looks thicker. It might support my weight if I can get over there and pull myself out.
But Suzie has other ideas. She grabs me from behind, digging her fingers into my upper arms, and yanks me under.
“I can’t swim, I can’t swim,” she shouts. I wrestle free and spin toward her to find her eyes at full panic. Who doesn’t know how to swim?
“Help me,” she moans, and sinks beneath the surface. Now I panic. Sure, she’s one of the bad guys, but I can’t let her drown, can I? Doesn’t that make me as bad as they are? I grab her by the back of the coat and, paddling frantically with one hand, pull us toward the thick ice ledge. By now I can’t feel anything and my teeth chatter uncontrollably. Plus, I have no idea how
to get the two of us out of here. I give Suzie a shake.
“Hey! Wake up!” I don’t know if it’s fear or she sucked down too much water, but Suzie is out cold. Which limits my options considerably. A bright light in my eyes distracts me from my efforts at not drowning. Tom.
“You shouldn’t have run,” he says. Is it the water in my ears, or has his voice gone suddenly much deeper? “It made me look bad.”
“I wasn’t really considering your feelings,” I gasp.
“No,” he says with all sincerity, “you weren’t.”
There’s an important lesson here, and while I’m freezing to death, I think about it. Do not judge a book by its cover. Tom is cute and has nice eyes and a great smile, but none of that makes him a good person.
“Are you just going to stand there or what?” I ask. I’m starting to feel faint, the round moon going all wavy. Suzie starts to slip from my grasp. “Your friend here is in trouble.” Well, we’re both in trouble, but at least I’m conscious. For the moment, anyway.
“I don’t know what I’m going to do yet,” Tom says.
“They’re not going to like it if you let Suzie drown,” I say, almost biting off my tongue. Tom shrugs. Suzie slips. My fingers are blue. Another minute in here and I’m a goner.
“She’ll tell everyone I messed up,” he says.
“No,” I gurgle. “She’ll owe you for saving her life. You’ll be a hero.” Tom furrows his brow. My vision narrows to a tunnel. “Hero.”
Suzie wakes up with a start. “Tom,” she gasps. “Get. Me. Out. Leave. The. Girl.”
Wait a minute! I was saving your life! And I don’t even like you! Without a word, Tom reaches down and takes Suzie by the scruff of the neck as if she’s a newborn kitten. But as he goes to pull her out, I grab the sleeve of his jacket and haul him over into the water. He bellows with surprise. Scrambling, I use his body for leverage, propelling myself out of the water. I flop like a fish on the ice ledge and roll beyond Tom’s grasp. Leave the girl? I think not.
Mrs. Smith's Spy School for Girls Page 12
