Witch and Wizard - James Patterson [54]
And then I did feel something coursing through me, unpleasant and weird, as if I’d stuck a wet finger in a light socket. My hands felt as if they were aflame as a physical force flew through my fingers and into the van’s key.
I had to admit: I felt like… I was a wizard. Like I had superpowers. Like I was guilty as charged by The One Who Judges.
Suddenly the engine roared to life like it was the Lazarus of minivans.
Everyone went silent. A hopeful silence. Of course, we were still on the subway tracks with a train barreling down on us.
I slammed my foot down on the gas pedal. The wheels spun, spitting rocks and garbage out behind us. The train’s headlight flooded our van, its horn so loud that it filled every inch of space inside my head.
And the van’s wheels continued to churn in place. Hope, crushed.
Good-bye, Wisty, I thought. So long, Mom and Dad.
Then there was a lurching, the bottom of the vehicle screeching against the metal tracks. We surged forward.
Margo was shouting, “Go! Go! Go!”
“Thanks for the tip!” I shouted back.
Chapter 87
Wisty
THE ROPE I TRIPPED OVER also saved my life. It gave me a mean friction burn, but I managed to grab it as I plunged past the pipe. I quickly wrapped my legs around its downward-stretched length.
From there—given that my name’s not Whit and I’m not exactly oversupplied with upper-body strength—climbing back up was out of the question. So I started sliding down, hopeful that the rope would take me close enough to the ground to jump off.
I heard a scuffle of boots and gooney guard voices shouting at one another from above. They’d witnessed my acrobatic feat and were heading back downstairs to tackle me from the courtyard.
This chase would be over if I didn’t get there first.
I didn’t even look down. I didn’t want to see how far I had to fall—and also I didn’t want to discover that I was going to run out of rope. Instead, I focused on the rows of cell-block window slits as I twisted my way down. Four stories to go, three stories to go, two stories to go—
But now my feet encountered something solid and cloth-covered, and I couldn’t keep sliding on my merry way.
In hindsight, I wish I hadn’t looked to see what it was. I wish I’d just jumped the remaining few yards to the ground and taken off running without a glance back. Because as I peered down, I saw that my feet were now resting on the sagging shoulders of the Visitor.
Or, at least, the shoulders of his bloated, long-dead body.
Chapter 88
Whit
UNFORTUNATELY, THE CHARGING TRAIN didn’t stop at the abandoned station we’d just left in the dust. The race was still on. The scraping, screeching sound of metal on metal made my jawbone rattle, but I continued to stomp on the gas pedal as hard as I could, the track’s cross timbers making the van jolt unbearably.
It was starting to dawn on me that we’d never be able to outrun that train. In a few seconds, it would slam into us, probably spinning us sideways, then smashing us flat against the tunnel’s cement wall.
I need another tunnel, I thought. I need a turnoff.
Problem was, I had no idea how to create one magically, and Wisty was busy being a mouse. I couldn’t think straight. Every bit of energy I had was focused on just holding on to the jouncing, jerking steering wheel and pressing the gas pedal almost through the floor.
“There!” Emmet shouted, pointing. “There! Whit, look!”
I saw it—a turnoff. The track actually split into two up ahead.
“Which way?” I yelled. “We don’t know which one the train will take!”
Emmet’s face was bone white as he stared wildly at the fork. I knew he had no way of knowing any more than I did. The train’s whistle continued to blare, as if the driver thought it would make us come to our senses and get the heck out of his way.
“Okay!” I yelled over the crazy din. “Okay! I think I know what to do!”
We sped toward the split, the train’s light filling our van like those overexposed scenes on TV where somebody always dies. I jerked into the right-hand tunnel, then flicked my left hand in