When the Wind Blows - James Patterson [104]
She had gorged herself, eaten too fast. Now she was sick to her stomach. Her tummy was cramped and she felt nauseated, just plain awful. But it was time to go, anyway, time to rock and roll, time to live life to the fullest, and probably time to die.
That wasn’t so great, but it was okay with her, Max was thinking. At least she’d been free for a while. She’d been able to fly and see a little corner of the world. Most people never got to do that. Not as she had.
The morning sun was coming up fast and she was so happy to view it one more time. She wanted to fly right into the glorious sunrise, to be one with the great orange and yellow ball of sun. She felt incredibly connected to the rest of the universe. Did that make sense—was she more connected than most people? She thought that she was. Maybe because she could fly.
God she felt stiff and achy all over. She needed to take a hot shower. Needed to have Frannie comb out her hair, preen her feathers. She wanted to be with her friends, and for once, have everyone else leave them alone.
Damn them all! She hated Uncle Thomas, the other guards, the strange men in the business suits, whoever they were. Hated them with all of her heart.
Max crept up onto a bluff that overlooked the upper part of the valley. She figured she was about two miles from the house. Kittytoes, she thought to herself. Don’t make any noise now. Don’t blow it and get caught. You can’t get caught now.
Max lifted her head, peered out over the valley, and her heart nearly stopped. Oh no! She could see an army of men and women looking for her. She quickly ducked back down behind the rockface.
She raised her head again. Just a peek. She saw one of the helicopters, and it gave her an idea. She didn’t know whether her idea was stupid or pretty cool or totally insane. She concentrated on the distant whirlybird, cleared her brain of everything else.
Yes, it was a pretty cool idea! Maybe because she didn’t have too many other choices. At least it was a plan. Something to get her through the next few minutes.
She stretched out her limbs and wicked pain punched through her body. She ignored it. She got herself as limber and loose as possible. She prepared herself mentally. God she still felt nauseated. The food she’d found must have been partly spoiled.
She warned herself: Get up in the air fast. No fear. No hesitation. Stay inside the trees.
Fly very, very fast.
No fear!
Stay low!
God save anybody who gets in my way!
Max stood up quickly, and started to run to beat the brass band. Her heart was beating fast and very hard. Too hard, in fact. It was threatening to break right out of her chest. She felt as if she might blow apart.
She saw no one as she lifted off the ground. Where were the searchers? She expected to be shot at. She winced at the thought, wanted to shut her eyes, but didn’t.
Stay low, fly very fast.
Please don’t let them shoot me down again. Just let me be okay for a few minutes. Let me fly for a minute more. Let me fly for ten more seconds.
Oh no! It was too late to slip in behind the trees. The guard was right there, so freaking close he could almost grab her.
He must have been sneaking up on her, silent and deadly as an Icarus fart. As he raised his rifle from hip level, Max dived like a bomber. She had no choice.
Try as she might, she couldn’t knock him down. She was too achy and sore, too exhausted, and sick!
So she let it all go! Her insides, her sickness, her nausea. Gross times two!
Whatever she’d eaten at the summer house: cold beef stew, chocolate-chocolate-chip ice cream, lots of milk that smelled a little sour, ham and provolone cheese and red pickle relish without any bread, whatever she’d found in the fridge—she returned the favor.
She threw up on the guard. All over his face and his dumb Colorado Rockies ball cap. His hands shot to his eyes. He probably didn’t know what had hit him. He dropped his gun and let out a loud