“Want some more raccoon?” he asked.
Nudge paused in midbite. “It is not! You went to the store. Didn’t you? There’s no way this is raccoon.” She examined the meat critically.
Fang shrugged. I rolled my eyes at him.
“Oh, maybe you’re right,” he said seriously. “Maybe this is the raccoon, and I gave you the possum.”
Nudge choked and started coughing.
“Stop it,” I told Fang, reaching over to pat Nudge’s back. He looked at me innocently.
“He’s just kidding, Nudge,” said the Gasman. “Last time I checked, Oscar Mayer wasn’t making squirrel dogs.” He held up an empty package, and Nudge wheezed a bit and swallowed.
I was trying not to laugh, and then I felt the hairs on the back of my neck prickle. I glanced around—we were all here. But I felt like someone was watching us. I see incredibly well in the dark, but the fire was too bright to see much beyond it. Maybe I was imagining it.
Next to me, Angel straightened up. “Someone’s here,” she whispered.
Or maybe not.
107
Well, it had been a whole day without an Eraser crashing—literally—our party.
I snapped my fingers softly twice, and five heads turned toward me, alert and tense.
“Someone’s here,” Angel repeated softly.
Fang kept turning things in the fire, but his back was taut and straight, and I knew he was reviewing escape plans.
“What are you getting?” I asked Angel out of the side of my mouth.
She frowned, her blond curls glinting in the firelight. “Not Erasers.” She cocked her head to one side, concentrating. “Kids?” She looked puzzled.
I got slowly to my feet, scanning the darkness around the fire. Moving to the edge of our little circle, I peered intently into the woods. Then I saw them. Two small, skinny forms, inching toward our fire. Much too small to be Erasers. And human, not animal.
“Who’s there?” I said strongly. I stood tall and put my shoulders back, making myself look bigger. Fang got up and came to stand next to me.
The two little forms slunk nearer, more quickly.
“Who are you?” I asked, sounding mean. “Come closer, where I can see you.”
They crawled into our small area, two dirty, skinny, big-eyed children. I mean, all of us bird kids looked really long and slender compared to other kids our ages, but our bones didn’t really stick out. Theirs did.
They gave us all wary glances but seemed riveted by the fire and the smell of food cooking. One of them actually licked her lips—they were a boy and a girl.
Hmm. They didn’t seem like the biggest threat I’d ever seen. I leaned over, put some hot dogs onto a paper bag, and placed it in front of them.
Yo. I thought Gazzy and Iggy were repulsive eaters. I made a mental note to not ever let them get this close to starving. Those two kids fell on the hot dogs and virtually shoved them whole into their mouths. It made me think of a TV special I’d seen that showed hyenas ripping apart their prey.
I put two slices of bread in front of them, then two more, then two more, then two more hot dogs. They all disappeared in instants. After that I gave them candy bars, and their eyes widened as if I’d just handed them—uh . . . candy bars when they were starving. Finally their chewing slowed. Now they seemed to savor every bite. Fang passed them a canteen of water. They drained it.
They crawled closer to the fire and sat in front of it, looking sleepy and unafraid, as if it would be fine if we killed them now, because they weren’t hungry anymore.
“So—what’s your story?” I asked, wanting some answers before they nodded off.
“We got kidnapped,” said the girl, her dark eyes reflecting the flames.
Well, okay, I hadn’t seen that coming. “Kidnapped?”