We sped out of town—I had to get away from all this traffic. My adrenaline was pumping, my arms felt like corded cables on the steering wheel. We had to ditch this van.
“I’m gonna stop!” I yelled over the noise of the engine. “Jump out and get into the air as fast as you can!”
“Okay!” the flock yelled back.
A glance in the rearview mirror showed three black cars following us, catching up to us. They were going a lot faster than we were. I had to buy time.
Gritting my teeth, I swung off road suddenly, right into a field of corn. We plowed through the dry stalks, wincing as they smacked the windshield. I tried to zigzag as best I could, and then a bit of light up ahead made me hopeful for a road.
I didn’t see anything in the rearview mirror, and the sound of crunching cornstalks was too loud for me to hear other engines. Had we lost them? And yes, here was a road! Excellent!
The van tumbled heavily out onto the road, with bone-jolting bumps. As soon as the front tires hit asphalt, I gunned the motor again—
Just as a sedan leaped out in front of us.
I hit it head-on at sixty miles an hour.
58
Note to self: Disable the air bags on the next car you steal.
The thing about airbags is that when you hit something at fifty or sixty miles an hour, they inflate with enough raw force to slam you back against your seat like a rag doll, possibly breaking your face. Which is what this one had done to me, I concluded, trying to stem the gush of blood from my nose.
“Report,” I called weakly.
“Okay here,” Fang said next to me. His neck was scraped raw by the seat belt, which had almost decapitated him.
“Okay here,” Nudge said from the backseat, sounding young and scared. I craned around to see her. She was pale, except where her forehead was bruised from hitting Fang’s seat. Her eyes widened with shock when she saw my bloody face.
“It’s just my nose,” I quickly assured her. “Head wounds always bleed a lot. Look, it’s already stopping.” A lie.
“I feel like, like pudding,” Iggy groaned. “Pudding with nerve endings. Pudding in great pain.”
“I feel sick,” the Gasman said, his face white, lips pale and bloodless.
Crash!
All around us, windows smashed, and we jumped and threw our arms over our faces. I saw a gun hammering at the glass, then hairy hands with ragged claws popped the doors open.
There was no time even to get a good kick in—Fang and I were hauled out of the van and thrown to the ground.
“Run!” I bawled, then hissed in a breath as my nose took another jarring blow.
I glanced up in time to see the rear doors of the van open and Iggy and the Gasman shoot into the air. A rush of pure joy made me beam, then gag as fresh blood ran into my mouth.
I spit it out as the Erasers roared with fury and started shooting at the boys. But Iggy and Gazzy continued to soar into the air. Yes, yes, yes!
A kicking and shrieking Nudge was yanked from the back of the van and tossed down next to me. Tears were in her eyes, and I reached out to hold her.
An Eraser kicked me hard with his hand-sewn Italian boot. Ow!
“Tag. You’re it,” Ari cracked, and the others laughed, almost dancing with monstrous excitement and glee.
“It’s almost like you don’t want to go back to School,” he went on, showing his razor-sharp yellow teeth, dripping Eraser drool on me.
There were five Erasers and three of us. I’m weirdly, incredibly strong for my size, but Ari outweighed me by about 160 pounds, and he kept his booted foot pressed hard against my forehead. I wanted a shot at him—just one lethal, brain-splattering shot.
I met Fang’s eyes, which were dark and expressionless, and then Nudge’s. I tried to give her a reassuring smile, but since my face was one big gore-fest, it didn’t have the cheering effect I’d hoped for.