The whomp-whomp-whomp sound of the approaching helicopter pounded within my chest and beat through my veins. I felt more human in that instant than I had in my entire life. More mortal. More defenseless and exposed, even within the suddenly-too-cramped walls of my father’s trailer.
“I have to go,” I said. I bundled the missing-person flyer and the map and the prints of the fireflies into a roll and stuffed them into my back pocket, right next to the envelope Simon had given me.
I made my way to the front of the trailer, where it was gloomier now that the sun had set. I didn’t turn on any lights along the way. Tyler was right on my heels, following me closely, and he’d noticed my slip. “You said ‘I.’ You said ‘I have to go,’ Kyra, and I don’t care what you think, but you’re not leaving me behind.”
Reaching the front door, I pulled back the musty-smelling curtain that drooped limply over the glass and realized how useless the windows in my dad’s crappy trailer were. They were textured. The surface of the glass was bumpy, meant for privacy rather than for visibility. He might as well have covered them with newspaper or tinfoil. All I could make out was the darkness beyond.
“I don’t have time to argue,” I shot back. “But you can’t go with me. Stay here and tell them this was all some sort of mix-up. That you didn’t know anything about me and what I am.” I dropped the curtain, ignoring the dust that puffed up when I did.
Tyler grabbed my arm and forced me to face him. “Kyra, stop being so stubborn.” When I opened my mouth to argue, he cut me off. “No. I mean it. You’re being stupid again, and this time not the good kind. You’re out of your mind if you think I’m not going with you.”
Bright lights filtered in through the impractical privacy windows and filled the darkened trailer, casting blurred beams along the wood-paneled walls. Others came from above, accompanied by the louder, and much closer, whomp-whomp noises of the helicopter, which was right on top of us now. They came from the window over the sink and the opaque skylight that was obscured by layers of fir needles and caked-on dirt.
I reached for Tyler’s hand, deciding that now wasn’t the time to argue over whether I would let him stay with me or not, because I didn’t think either of us was getting out of this mess anyway.
Red and blue lights washed over Tyler’s skin as his lips tightened. “Come on.” He hauled me back toward my dad’s trashed office. He ripped the curtain rod off the wall, where it had hung above the window, and pressed his face to the rough-surfaced glass. “I don’t see any lights out there. If we hurry, we might be able to slip out back before they catch us.”
“And then what? What will we do? Where are we gonna go?” I hated that I was saying this, but it needed to be said. “Tyler, please. Just stay here. You’ll be safer that way.”
He ignored me. Flat-out acted like he hadn’t even heard me.
“Here,” he ordered, tugging the crank on the window, because that was the kind of window it was. It didn’t move, not even an inch, as if it were glued in place. “Shit,” he cursed, growing more agitated by the second. The helicopter sounded like it was right on top of us now, making it almost impossible to hear ourselves.
No longer uncertain, Tyler reached for the broken computer monitor. Without skipping a beat, he hurled it through the window. The noise of shattering glass was swallowed by the helicopter that was right overhead. I kept looking behind us, checking the hallway, and the door beyond, waiting to be swarmed by the agents outside. My entire body was shaking, and I thought I was going to hyperventilate as I wheezed for each breath.
Tyler, though, was single-minded. Shielding his eyes, he used a heavy book to break out the remaining shards and then pulled off his hoodie, spreading it over the bottom edge of the opening.
“Come on,” he told me, cupping his hands together beneath the windowsill and motioning for me to step into them so he could hoist me over the edge.
Without the window’s glass in place, the sounds from outside echoed all around us. Not only could we hear the helicopter, with its constantly rotating blades, but we could make out voices shouting and car doors slamming. They were coming.
Behind us, the sound of the trailer’s front door crashing made me jump, and without waiting, or looking back, I went for it, lunging toward Tyler. I dropped my foot into his hands and let him throw me through the broken window. I didn’t have my balance, though, and when I landed on the other side, I fell on my hands and knees in the pool of broken glass. My heart was trying to pound its way out of my chest, and I barely had time to glance at my hands to see if I’d been hurt when Tyler was coming through the window right behind me, landing more gracefully than I had.
Somewhat shakily, I stood upright, relieved that we’d made it.
Until I heard Agent Truman, and my skin prickled. “We’ve got you surrounded. There’s no point trying to run.”
Even if he hadn’t said we were surrounded, I saw his gun. And he aimed it the same way the agent from the bookstore had. At Tyler.
I sagged, letting his frigid words settle over me. Letting the weight of their meaning—like an iceberg—crush me.
This was it. There was no more hope of leaving Tyler behind, because now all I could do was turn myself in and hope Simon was wrong.
“Kyra!” Tyler had to shout to be heard above the helicopter overhead.
When I turned to him, in the darkness behind the trailer, I was confused about why he’d said my name in the first place, because he wasn’t even looking at me. His eyes never strayed from Agent Truman.
I felt him slip something into my hand. Agent Truman continued to stare Tyler down, unaware of what had just passed between us.
And then, buried in the constant whomp-whomp of the helicopter’s blades, I thought I heard Tyler say, “You know what to do.”
I wasn’t sure I did at first, but then I squeezed my fingers around the laces of the ball Tyler had placed there, and I remembered that night at the ball field, when I’d tossed the ball at Tyler . . . when I’d nearly ripped a hole through the backstop.
Without a word, Tyler’s eyes slipped to mine. I don’t know how he conveyed it, or even if he did, but I swear he told me You can do this with that look.
And I believed him.
Agent Truman’s expression narrowed suspiciously as he surveyed us, and his gun moved to me. “Don’t do anything stupid,” he commanded. “I won’t shoot you,” he added, making a disgusted sound like a grunt. “But I will kill him.” The light from the helicopter landed on us, falling in a wide, spectral circle that encompassed all three of us, and Agent Truman moved the gun then, aiming it directly at Tyler’s head while a ruthless expression distorted his face, and I had no doubt that he meant what he said.
I didn’t think then; I only reacted. Like when I was on the mound. Like when the stands were filled with people cheering but I couldn’t hear a single one of them because all that mattered was me and the person holding the bat.
I focused on the gun.
The gun and the ball in my hand and the beating of my heart.
I breathed, and then I moved.
And I was fast. Man, was I fast.
Agent Truman couldn’t have dodged the ball even if I’d have given him fair warning. The ball was out of my hand like a shot. And any control I thought I was lacking had all been in my head.
I was precise. Crazy, uncanny, laser-like precise.
The ball, when it hit Agent Truman’s gun, and the fingers he had wrapped around its grip, exploded. It came apart—the laces, the leather—exposing the layer of worm-like yarns underneath the leather skin.