When the Wind Blows - James Patterson [7]
Tinkerbell was a code name, and it was what he’d always called her. Peter Pan was young Matthew’s code. He was Uncle Tommy.
“Tinkerbell, where are you? Come out, come out. We’re not going to hurt you, sweetheart. I’m not even angry at you. This is Uncle Tommy. You can trust me. If you can’t trust me, who can you trust?
“Can you hear me? C’mon, kiddo. I know you’re there. Trust Uncle Thomas. There’s no one else who can help you.”
Chapter 5
SHE WAS ALIVE. Amazing, amazing, amazing!
But Max was hurt, shot, and she didn’t know how bad the wound was. Probably not too bad, since she hadn’t passed out yet, and there didn’t seem to be much blood.
She’d been hanging on to the top of a tree for hours, hidden in thick branches. At least she hoped she was hidden. She tried to be still. Silent, too. Invisible, three.
Max was shivering, and the whole thing was crashing out of control.
She really, really wished Matthew was with her. They would give each other strength and hope and words of wisdom. It had always been that way with the two of them. They were inseparable at the School. Mrs. Beattie, the only truly nice one there, called them “inseparable at birth,” and the “Bobbsey Twins”—whoever the heck they were. When Mrs. Beattie died, everything had gone bad. Real bad. This bad.
The woods were crawling with men. Bad ones—the worst creatures imaginable. There were at least a half dozen of them. Hunters—killers. They were frantically searching for her, and also for Matthew. They had rifles and flashlights.
Uncle Thomas was one of them, and he was the worst. He had pretended to be their friend… but he was the one who would put you to sleep. He had been a teacher, a scientist, and now he was just a killer.
“We’re not going to hurt you, sweetheart.” She mimicked his voice, his phony, insincere manner.
The one good part was that she didn’t need to see them walking in the woods. Her hearing was incredibly acute. It was capable of separating sounds as close together as a thousandth of a second. It was one of her very coolest gifts. She could hear the tiny hum of distant mosquitoes, and the angry twitter of a wren. She heard aspen leaves rustling a half mile away. She wondered if Matthew was anywhere nearby. Was he listening, too?
“Tinkerbell, can you hear me?”
Yes, she could hear the pathetic sickos as they hunted for her. She had heard them when they were far away. She heard every footstep, every little cough and sniffle, every hot, smelly breath they took, wishing it would be their last.
One of them spoke, and she recognized a particularly insensitive guard from the School. “We shoulda brought dogs with us.”
“Shoulda, coulda, woulda.” One of the others ranked on him and laughed. “She’s a kid. They both are. If we can’t find a little kid we better pack it in.”
Dogs! Max bit down on a cry. Dogs would find her. Dogs were better at this than men. Dogs had special powers, too. Humans were the weakest species. Maybe that was why they could be the meanest animals.
The wind came up again, angry and howling, and she was reminded of how cold it got out here. She gripped the tree hard, listening intently, until she couldn’t hear the hunters at all. For the moment, they were gone.
Slowly, painfully, she shimmied down the pine tree and stepped cautiously out into the woods.
Then she ran. She had to find cover. She had to find Matthew before it was too late.
Chapter 6
HIS THREE-YEAR-OLD BOY, little Mike, used to like to say that he was “sore afraid of the dark.” Kit had just loved that expression.
He would roar and hug Mike the Tyke against his chest whenever he said it. He could still feel those sweet baby hugs. The thought of it all left him sick and empty, as if he’d been hollowed out and the core of his being tossed away.
Of course, he was feeling all kinds of things right now. He was investigating what he believed was the most important case of his career—and he wasn’t supposed to be here. He had been taken off the damn thing. He wasn’t even sure if