“Okay,” said Iggy. “We’re being very careful. Hello? Gazzy? We’re being very careful?”

“Check,” said the Gasman, patting the explosive package they called Big Boy.

“Nails?”

The Gasman rattled the jar. “Check.”

“Tarp? Cooking oil?”

“Check, check.” The Gasman nodded. “We are geniuses. Those Erasers’ll never know what hit ‘em. If only we had time to dig a pit.”

“Yeah, and put poison stakes at the bottom,” Iggy agreed. “But I think what we’ve got is good. Now we need to fly out, stay out of sight, and check on how the roads run, and whether the Erasers have made camp anywhere.”

“Okay. Then we can seed the roads with the nails and set up the tarp and oil.” The Gasman grinned. “We just have to make sure not to get caught.”

“Yes. That would be bad,” Iggy said with a straight face. “Now, is it night yet?”

“Pretty much. I found you some dark clothes.” The Gasman pressed a shirt and pants into Iggy’s hands. “And I’ve got some too. So, you ready to roll?” He hoped Iggy couldn’t hear how nervous he was. This was a great plan; they had to do it-but failure would be disastrous. And probably deadly.

“Yeah. I’m bringing Big Boy in case an opportunity arises.” Iggy changed his clothes, then put their homemade bomb into a backpack and slung it onto his shoulders. “Don’t worry,” he said, as if he could see the Gasman’s expression. “It can’t go off till I set the timer. It’s, like, a safety bomb.”

The Gasman tried to smile. He cranked open the hall window as wide as it would go and perched on the ledge. His palms were sweating, and his stomach was all flut-tery. But he had no choice-this was for Angel. This was to show people what would happen if they messed with his family.

He swallowed hard and launched himself out into the night air. It was amazing, to be able to spread his wings and fly. It was great. As he felt the night wind against his face, the Gasman’s spirits rose. He felt strong, powerful, and dangerous. Not at all like an eight-year-old mutant freak.

“Um, Ella?”

The girl stiffened and jumped back.

I stepped forward a bit, out of the underbrush, so she could see my face. “It’s me,” I said, feeling even stupider. “The girl from before.”

It was getting dark and still raining, and I hoped she could recognize me. The dog trotted over, saw me, and gave a halfhearted woof of warning.

“Oh, yeah. Hey, thanks-for helping me,” said Ella, squinting at me through the rain. “Are you okay? What are you doing?” She sounded wary and glanced around, like maybe in the time since she’d last seen me I had gone over to the side of evil.

“I’m okay,” I said lamely. “Well, actually, I guess I need help.” Those words had never left my lips before. Thank God Jeb wasn’t here to see me doing something so incredibly boneheaded and weak.

“Oh,” said Ella. “Gosh. Okay. Did those guys…”

“One of them managed to clip me with some shot, if you can believe that,” I said, inching closer.

Ella gasped and put her hand over her mouth. “Oh, no! Why didn’t you tell me? You’re hurt? Why didn’t you go to the hospital? Oh, my gosh, come on in!”

She stepped back to give me room and urged Magnolia, who had lumbered over and started sniffing my wet clothes with interest, away from me.

Guess what. I hesitated. Here was the moment of decision. Until I stepped into that house, I could still turn and run, escape. Once I was in that house, it would be much harder. Call it a little quirk of my personality, but I tend to freak out if I feel trapped anywhere. We all do-the flock, I mean. Living in a cage during your formative years can do that.

But I was honest enough with myself to know that I really couldn’t go on like this-wet, cold, starving, and a little wonky from loss of blood. I had to suck it up and accept help. From strangers.

“Are your parents home?” I asked.

“There’s just my mom,” said Ella. “No dad. Come on, let’s get you inside. My mom can help. Magnolia, here, girl.” Ella turned and strode toward the house. She clomped up wooden steps, then turned and looked for me. “Can you walk okay?”

“Uh-huh.” Slowly, I headed toward Ella’s small house, which was glowing with warmth and light. I felt light-headed and panicky. This could be the last huge mistake in a long line of huge mistakes I had already made today.

I cradled my hurt arm with my good one.

“Oh, my God-is that blood?” Ella said, staring at my pale blue sweatshirt. “Oh, no, come on, we have to get you inside quick!” She shoved the door open with her shoulder, almost tripping on Magnolia, who trotted in quickly. “Mom! Mom! This girl needs help!”

I felt frozen. Stay or run. Stay or run. Stay?

“You think that wire will hold?” the Gasman whispered.

Iggy nodded, frowning as he twisted the two cable ends together with pliers. He leaned against a pine tree for leverage, and when the wire was tight, he snapped on a cable clamp and pinched it shut. “That’ll hold a bit,” he whispered back. “Until a certain Hummer hits it at top speed.”

The Gasman nodded grimly. What a night. They had gotten so much done-Max couldn’t have done better herself. He hoped Max had already rescued Angel by now. He hoped nothing had gone wrong. If the whitecoats had gotten hold of Angel… For just an instant he saw her, white and lifeless, laid on a cold steel slab while whitecoats lectured about her unusual bone structure. He swallowed and shook the dreadful image off. Once more, he glanced around, listening.

“Back home?” Iggy whispered.

“Yeah.” Standing up, the Gasman pushed off from the ground, staying close to the trees. He followed Iggy’s dark shadow as he braked and headed back west, toward home. From up here, the Gasman couldn’t see any of their handiwork-which was a good thing. They didn’t want the Erasers’ chopper to be able to pick out the tarp or the trip wire until it was too late.

“We covered the ways in and out,” he said to Iggy once they were at cruising height. “Oil slick, nails in the road, trip wire. That should do it.”

Iggy nodded. “I’m bummed we couldn’t use Big Boy,” he said. “But I don’t want to waste it. We have to actually see them first. I mean, you do.”

“Maybe tomorrow,” the Gasman said encouragingly. “We’ll go out and see what havoc we’ve wreaked.”

“Wrought,” said Iggy.

“Whatever,” said the Gasman, breathing deeply in the cool night air. Wait till Max found out how cool they had been.

A dark-haired woman with worried eyes opened the door wider. “What is it, Ella? What’s wrong?”

“Mom, this is-” Ella stopped, her hand in midair.

“Max,” I said. Why didn’t I give a fake name? Because I didn’t think of it.

“My friend Max. She’s the girl I told you about, the one who saved me from Jose and Dwayne and them. She saved me. But they shot her.”

“Oh, no!” exclaimed Ella’s mother. “Please, Max, come in. Do you want me to call your parents?”

I stood on the doormat, reluctant to drip rain, and blood, on their floor. “Um…”

Then Ella’s mom saw my bloodstained sweatshirt, and her eyes flew to my face. My cheek was scratched, one eye was black. The whole situation changed in that instant.

“Let me get my stuff,” she said gently. “Take off your shoes and go with Ella to the bathroom.”

I sloshed down the hallway in my wet socks. “What stuff is she going to get?” I whispered.

Ella turned on a light and ushered me into an old-fashioned bathroom with green tiles and a rust ring around the sink drain.

“Her doctor stuff,” Ella whispered back. “She’s a vet, so she’s good with injuries. Even on people.”