27

Way up

Lights came at us from every direction until the house and the yard and the street were bright as day. The whole neighborhood was crawling with BETI personnel! Some were dressed like the hazardous-materials guys from the movie E.T. in bulky, head-to-toe coveralls with protective helmets.

“Get in and lock the doors!” Lars yelled.

Brit stumbled in the snow so Albert and I grabbed her and dragged her to the car. The BETI guys were moving in on us from the front of the house and from over by the garbage cans. I could see the Partner slumped in the snow, his head against a trash can, still unconscious, or worse. We jumped into the Volkswagen, Lars in front, and me and Albert and Brit in the back. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Agent Saunders in hot pursuit. He was almost to the car, but it was hard for him to run in that snow; he had on those dumb shoes that had no tread. He started to slip. I shut and locked the door just as he skidded into the side of the car. The tall agent smacked the window in frustration, then he darted around to the other side trying to get in the passenger door but Lars had already locked it. The SMHRs had left the engine running; I recognized the hum. Lars shifted into first.

The same incredibly thick fog that had insulated the cul-de-sac earlier in the day returned. It puffed and billowed, obscuring the big lights that the BETI guys were using.

“Go, Lars!” Brit screeched.

“I’m punching it but nothing’s happening. Dang it! I can’t see a thing.”

The car buzzed louder.

“I’ll put it in second, but I’m not getting any traction,” he said, mostly to himself.

THWACK! We all jumped when a palm slapped the window glass on the front passenger side. “Help!” a muffled voice cried out. “Kids, you gotta let me in!” It was Agent Saunders.

“Sorry, Saunders,” I said. “Brit thinks you BETI guys are going to, like, detain us, and we’ve got research to do.”

Brit nodded and gave me an approving look.

There was a clunk and a scraping noise from the outside the car.

“Saunders, just let go or you’re gonna get hurt!” I yelled.

“If I let go, I’ll die!” he yelled back. “We’re way up.”

“It’s probably a trick,” Lars said, “but I don’t want the guy to get hurt. Brit, roll down the window and see what’s going on.”

Brit climbed over the seat to the front and cranked the chrome window handle. She rolled it down all the way and a blast of snow and frozen air rushed in. A cold-knuckled Saunders grabbed the rim of the door and his other hand reached for the side. “Help me,” he begged. I rolled down my window and stuck my head out. Saunders was actually hanging there. I caught a glimpse of something through the fog—searchlights!—far, far below.

“What?—How?—Agent Saunders, what are you doing?” I asked, which come to think of it, was sort of a dumb question.

“Hanging on!” he barked.

“Kick your legs up!” I shouted.

He obeyed and kicked up a foot, which I grabbed. Bit by bit he managed to scoot his legs in through the window. Once, he slipped, and was hanging by his knees, arms dangling toward the frozen ground so many deadly feet below.

With a last burst of strength, he threw his body up so he was sitting on the window rim, and then he slithered inside until he was sitting on Albert’s lap and mine. It was pretty awkward.

I felt his fingers; they were like frozen hotdogs. “You sure got cold out there,” I said, pointing out the obvious. I rubbed his hands briskly, trying to warm them up.

From the front seat, Lars said, “Sorry, Saunders, I didn’t realize your predicament.”

“You know how to drive this thing?” Saunders asked.

“Well, I know how to drive a stick. I didn’t exactly expect this kind of performance. Who’d a thought we’d gain so much elevation?” Lars gave a little half-grin.

“Pretty good for this make and model,” Saunders said with the tiniest of smirks.

“Normally, I’m not a huge fan of German cars,” Lars returned.

“Nor am I,” Saunders agreed.

Their wry car talk was interrupted—again—by the noisy SCHRAAUCH! from Saunders’s earpiece.

“Holy sh—shiplap!” Saunders cried, snatching the device out of his ear.

All I could think about was holy shiplap, which made me want to giggle, but I appreciated his effort to not swear in front of us.

From the earpiece we could hear a tinny refrain. “Agent Saunders, the Commodore here. Please direct young Lars to pick us up at these coordinates.”

At once, a rectangle on the dashboard lit up with numbers.

“What do I do, Commodore?” Lars yelled.

Saunders was holding the earpiece and pointing it toward Lars. A scratchy-sounding Commodore said, “Drive.”

Lars put the thing in fourth and “drove.” Our view was still choked by the fog which seemed to be following us. We couldn’t see where we were and Lars was just driving blind. We were all shocked when something went THUMP! on the windshield and black feathers exploded. We’d collided with a crow, and the poor bird slid down the glass and then fell off to one side.

“Oh, man,” Brit said. “Lars, watch out for birds!”

“I would, Brit, if I could see anything at all,” Lars said testily.