When the Wind Blows - James Patterson [113]
No sooner had Max and the smaller kids landed, when she and Matthew began to race across the manicured patch of lawn. Their stamina was incredible. They took off again, shot straight up toward the shimmering morning sun.
I saw what they were up to; at least I thought I understood. They were following a grayish Mercedes sedan. It was moving at high speed along a dirt road, a back way to the main house. I had been on that poor excuse for a road a couple of times in the past.
I knew who was crammed inside the gray S600. I’d seen them climb in: Gillian, Dr. Peyser, little Michael, a driver, and Harding Thomas. Except for Michael, it was the family from Hell. Thomas was riding shotgun. They were getting away again.
A dusty Land Rover was idling a couple of yards from where I stood. I had no idea whose vehicle it was—but for now I decided it was mine. I borrowed the car.
I got in and chased after the speeding sedan. I didn’t want to be a hero, didn’t want any part of that. I just wanted to stop Max and Matthew somehow. I didn’t want them to die.
Chapter 121
I GUESS I WAS TRYING to follow the sage advice of Sophie Tucker: keep breathing. The Rover was built to handle most of the deep ruts and bumps in the dirt road. Almost fifty yards ahead I could see the Mercedes speeding away. The S600 was severely punishing its suspension. The driver was trying to go faster than he should on the mottled, makeshift road.
Max and Matthew were diving and swooping too close to the car. They were like angry gnats. Without a doubt, though, they were disturbing and irritating the driver.
Then Max did a power-dive. She struck the center strut on the roof of the Mercedes. A caroming hit that made a dent. She and Matthew were acting crazy, acting like children.
“Max, no!” I yelled out the side window. I stuck my head and shoulders out as far as I could. Wind whipped into my face, making me squint. I drove the Land Rover as best I could from the scary position.
I hit the horn hard with the heel of my hand. I sounded the alarm, the warning, over and over.
Max never looked back. Neither did Matthew. They must have heard my car horn. They must have known I was there. They just didn’t care anymore.
I pressed down on the gas, had it to the floor. Trees rocketed past me on either side of the narrow, twisting road. I was going too fast, double the speed that would have been safe.
Max finally turned. She saw the Land Rover, with me hanging unceremoniously out the side window. I hadn’t known how really connected I was to Max until that moment. All my maternal feelings had been building up, layering on, thickening around my heart. I couldn’t bear it if she got hurt, if I lost her or Matthew or any of the children.
I saw what was about to happen, but Max couldn’t. She was busy looking back at me.
“The car window. Max!” I was screaming at the top of my voice again. “Look out! Max—turn around!”
She couldn’t hear me. Couldn’t, or wouldn’t. She was smiling, laughing at the danger around her.
The side front window of the sedan was sliding down. Harding Thomas stuck his head out. Then I could see his hand. He had a gun outside the window. He was taking aim at Max or Matthew, who were both flying too close to the car.
Max finally saw Thomas. She and Matthew darted off toward the thick evergreens and pines on the side of the road. The daring kids whipped back through the trees at a tremendous, dangerous speed. They were laughing at Uncle Thomas, taunting and mocking him.
Thomas fired his gun, anyway. He blew a huge, furry branch off a tree. The S600 picked up more speed.
So did I. I was ready to do anything to stop them, to protect Max and Matthew if I could. They had suffered far too much from the monsters inside the car. Gillian, Dr. Peyser, Thomas—they shouldn’t escape again, shouldn’t get away with this.
But they were getting away. The Mercedes was roaring down the mountainside