The foot soldiers of the Vanguard of Peace were not, for the most part, morons. Or at least they weren’t morons about being foot soldiers. As such, they tended to know where their vehicles were at any given moment and what they were doing. They also tended to notice if a vehicle was one of theirs and not, say, a rented yellow moving van with the sunny VOP logo hastily attached to the side. They further would notice if another guard was equipped with officially issued gear, or if they were wearing an improvised uniform and carrying a wildly unofficial railgun.
The young man in the Zoey costume in the back of the vehicle could not have been expected to notice these differences, not in the middle of a heart-pounding escape from what must have seemed like a nerve gas attack from an oddly whimsical terrorist. The eight pursuing guards, however, emerged from the pink smoke and knew exactly what had occurred: their ward had been abducted into a strange vehicle and, for all they knew, was already dead.
Inside the van, Zoey peered out the rear window and saw several guards rushing toward them, screaming orders.
“Guys! We need to move!”
Their own yellow-jacketed guard climbed into the passenger seat, turned, and said to the kid, “Let me see your hands.”
He did, and was confused to see they were suddenly in handcuffs. The guard ripped off the helmet to reveal Echo’s face.
Trying to sound intimidating, she said, “These are pacification cuffs. If they detect you struggling, you’ll get a shock. If you run, you’ll get a shock so hard that it will paralyze you for the next half hour. Just sit still and we won’t hurt you.”
The kid said, “Wha—who are you?”
Zoey said, “Damn it! They’re already here! All of them.”
Wu pulled off his cat costume head, his hair matted with sweat. He peered out the window, but didn’t need his fancy threat-assessment glasses to tell him the obvious. “We didn’t get enough separation from the guards.”
“What do we do? Guys?”
From the driver’s seat, Will said, “Hang on.”
He hit the accelerator, but while the rear wheels were still spinning in the grass, the two nearest guards fired their weapons, aiming low. The impact shook the vehicle and the van sank several inches on one side. Smoke drifted up past the windows, as if the wheels were being melted from under them. The electric engine whined, but with half the wheels disabled, the van only skidded around in a sad, wobbly donut.
Will muttered a curse.
The rest of the guards quickly encircled them. Wu unzipped the cat costume and peeled it off using his one good arm. Underneath were black fatigues and a vest that he had told Zoey could stop most bullets. She probably should have asked for one of those. He checked the projectile bracelet on his wrist, probably counting his shots.
Outside, two of the guards fired again, taking out the other two wheels. For the third time in two days, Zoey was trapped in a completely immobile metal box and surrounded by enemies. That was the kind of thing that used to almost never happen to her.
Will punched away at controls and, almost sounding calm, said, “Buy us more time. I don’t care how.”
Echo brought up her phone. “What else can the, uh, cat do?”
Zoey watched the ring of guards close around them and said, “Uh, not much? Hit the last button. The puke thing.”
Echo tapped her phone.
A pair of guards approached the rear doors, tested to see if they were locked. They were. Same with the side door. Instructions were shouted back and forth and they jogged away, presumably to get equipment to cut their way in.
The nearest guard shouted, “Exit the vehicle with your hands in the air and lie flat on the ground! Leave all weapons behind. If we have to enter the vehicle, we can and will use lethal force. This is your final warning and your final opportunity to end this without bloodshed.”
Zoey looked nervously back at Will. “Should we … say something?”
He glanced into the side mirror. “Looks like they’re about to get their answer.”
Moments later, Stench Reo came bounding through the pink smoke.
The guards turned to face the giant cat-bot and shot at it some more. It was now so full of holes that it would probably whistle when the wind blew. The cat opened its mechanical mouth.
Zoey’s electronic voice said, “OH NO! I HOPE THIS ISN’T AN EXPENSIVE RUG! BLECH!”
Five hundred small plastic tubes came flying out, like a spray of vomit.
“MEOW! PLEASE GIVE YOUR MOMS THESE FREE TUBES OF CRAZY DAISY MOOD ENHANCING CREAM OR WHATEVER IT’S CALLED! THESE HAVE NOT BEEN TESTED BY THE FDA!”
The guards fell back and took cover behind the van, presumably thinking the tubes would explode or something. But no, they were just skin cream, that, at the moment, seemed to be doing nothing to enhance anyone’s mood.
The hostage watched all this happen from inside, eyes wide. “Who are you people?”
The VOP team spent several minutes analyzing the projectiles before deciding it was safe to refocus their attention on the van. The guard who’d left earlier returned with a small tool.
Echo said, “We’ve got about thirty seconds before they cut their way in.” She pulled a blade out of her boot. Zoey had no weapons.
The guy with the tool pressed it to the back door and there was a hiss and smoke. Blue light reflected off his faceplate.
Zoey looked back to Will and said, “If we just toss the kid back out there…”
“That won’t matter. Not now.”
The noise from the cutting tool stopped. The guards approached in formation. They yelled their warning again, demanded they all surrender, lie down, take the peaceful way out.
Zoey backed away from the door. “Somebody? Will, go talk to them! Do your thing!”
Will said nothing, didn’t even turn to look back at her. The lead guard came up and yanked open the door.
He aimed a gun at them and said, “COME OUT AND—”
Someone shouted from behind him. He looked up.
Wind was kicking up dust around them again, the mini-hurricane that accompanied the helicopter wherever it went. Zoey couldn’t see the aircraft itself from inside the vehicle, but knew what it was there to do. Finally.
There was a heavy metallic thunk above them—magnetic hooks clamping onto the roof of the van.
Will said, “Grab something.”
There was a hard, upward jolt and then they were rising, hauled up and away by the helicopter. The rear doors were wide open, air rushing in. Then the van abruptly tilted backward, threatening to spill everyone out onto the ground below. Zoey grabbed the nearest rigid object she could find.
They continued to rise. Zoey happened to register something skidding along the floor and she realized with terror that it was the cat crate. She reached out, missed it—
Echo stopped it with a foot, hooking it just before it reached the open door.
Zoey stared out, watching the train wreck party falling away below them, the guards shrinking into a little circle of yellow specks, zombie vultures circling overhead.
Their hostage yelled over the howling wind. “What is happening?”
The helicopter lurched forward and the van tilted in the other direction, gravity sliding everyone toward the front. The door slammed shut but wouldn’t latch, as that mechanism had been destroyed by the guards. Wu reached out and held the doors shut with his one good hand and used the other arm to hook a cargo strap with his elbow.
After several minutes they leveled out and in the relative calm, everyone stared at each other as if to reassure themselves that they had somehow pulled that off. Wu actually barked out a laugh and Zoey was suddenly reminded that, contrary to what he may say, the man lived for this kind of thing.
Echo surveyed the interior and said, “Everyone okay? Do we need to do a roll call, make sure nobody fell out?”
Zoey crawled back toward the plastic cat carrier. But already she knew. She sensed it, but also, she smelled it. She pulled open the latch and inside saw a random, skinny white cat. Maybe a stray they’d caught. Zoey looked back at Echo and just shook her head.
The hostage kid looked more confused than ever. Will, no longer needing to operate the now-airborne van, left the driver’s seat and braced himself against the wall. The kid turned and registered who he was seeing.
Blood drained from his face. Urine pooled around his shoes.
The kid tore his gaze off of Will to look at Wu, then Zoey. Piecing it together. Zoey had never seen anyone as afraid as that teenager was in that moment. She almost felt bad for him. Almost. She peeled the itchy latex makeup off of her face. The helicopter apparently was turning in the air, the whole van tilting sideways. She had to reach out to brace herself once more.
She said to the hostage, “We may not have Stench Machine. But we have you. Tell me where he is.”
The kid looked back and forth between Zoey and Will. “Where who is?”
“Fine.” To Will, she said, “If someone else has him down at the park … I wouldn’t even know where to start. Tell Budd and Andre it’s on them now. They’re our last hope.”
She stared down the hostage.
“And his last hope, too.”