"Thanks," I muttered, not knowing yet if I meant it.
Room 7 had a solid door, and I opened it without knocking. Four pairs of worried bird-kid eyes looked up at me. Relief-however temporary-made my knees weak.
"You must be Max," said a voice.
My stomach seized up. Oh, no, I thought, taking in the guy's dark gray suit, the short, regulation hair, the almost invisible earpiece of his comm system. Eraser? It was getting harder to tell with each new batch. This guy lacked a feral gleam in his eyes-but I wasn't going to let down my guard.
"Please, sit down," said another voice.
13
There were three of them, two men and a woman, looking very governmenty, sitting around a fake-wood conference table.
Iggy, Nudge, Gazzy, and Angel were also sitting there, with plastic cafeteria trays of food in front of them. I realized that none of them had touched their food, despite the fact that they must be starving, and I was so proud of their caution that tears almost started in my eyes.
"Who are you?" I asked. Amazingly, my voice was calm and even. Points to me.
"We're from the Federal Bureau of Investigation," one man said, reaching out to hand me his business card. It had a little federal seal and everything. Not that that meant squat. "And we're on your side. We just became aware that you were having some trouble here, and we came to see if we could help."
He sounded so sincere.
"How nice of you!" I said, sinking into a chair before I fainted. "But aren't most people in a hospital, uh, having some trouble? I doubt the FBI comes calling on them. So what do you want with us?"
I saw one agent stifle a grin, and their eyes all met for a second.
The first man, Dean Mickelson according to his card, smiled ruefully. "We know you've been through a lot, Max. And we're sorry that... Nick got hurt. You're in a bad spot here, and we can help."
I was really tired and needed to think. My flock was watching me, and I could smell their hot breakfasts from where I sat. "Angel," I said, "give Total some of your food and see if he keels over. If he doesn't, you all can go ahead and eat."
As if he knew his name, Total leaped up onto a chair next to Angel and wagged his tail. Angel hesitated-she didn't want to take a chance.
"Look," said the female agent. She stood up and took a bite of Angel's scrambled eggs.
The other two agents followed her lead, sampling the three other trays. Just then there was a tap on the door, and a younger agent handed in a fifth tray, for me. An agent took a bite off my plate, then set the tray on the table. "Okay?" he asked.
We watched the agents with interest, waiting to see if they would suddenly clutch their throats and fall gasping to the floor.
They didn't.
"Okay, dig in, guys," I said, and the flock fell on their food like, um, Erasers.
Gazzy was done first-he'd practically inhaled his. "Can I have maybe two more trays?" he asked.
Startled, Dean nodded and went to give the order.
"So, how are you here to help us?" I said between bites. "How did you know we were here?"
"We'll answer all your questions," said the other guy. "But we need you to answer some questions too. We thought it might be easier if we went one-on-one-less distracting. If you're done eating, we can move into here."
He opened a door behind him leading into a larger conference room. Several more agents were milling around, and they stopped talking to look at us.
"You're not separating us," I said.
"No, just separate tables," said the woman. "All in the same room, see?"
I groaned inwardly. When was the last time we had slept? Was it only two days ago we were escaping through the sewer tunnels in New York? Now Fang was under the knife, we were surrounded by God knows who these people really were, and I didn't see a way out of it. Not without leaving Fang behind. Which I wouldn't do.
Sighing, I pushed away my empty tray and nodded to the others.
Let the questioning begin.
14
"And what's your name, sweetie?"
"Ariel," said Angel.
"Okay, Ariel. Have you ever heard of anyone named Jeb Batchelder?"
The agent held up a photograph, and Angel looked at it. Jeb's familiar face looked back at her, and it hurt her heart.
"No," she said.
"Um, okay... can you tell me what your relationship is to Max?"
"She's my sister. You know, because of the missionaries. Our parents."
"Okay, I see. And where did you get your dog?"
"I found him in the park." Angel fidgeted and looked over at Max. She thought, Okay, enough questions. You can go.
The agent sitting across from her paused and looked blankly at the notes she was writing.
"Uh-I guess that's enough questions," the agent said, looking confused. "You can go."
"Thanks," said Angel, slipping out of her chair. She snapped her fingers for Total, and he trotted after her.
"And how do you spell that?" the agent asked.
"Captain, like the captain of a ship," the Gasman explained. "And then Terror, you know, T-E-R-O-R."
"Your name is Captain Terror."
"That's right," the Gasman said, shifting in his chair. He glanced at Max, who was speaking very quietly to her agent. "Are you really FBI?"
The agent smiled briefly. "Yes. How old are you?"
"Eight. How old are you?"
The agent looked startled. "Uh... um, you're kind of tall for an eight-year-old, aren't you?"
"Uh-huh. We're all tall. And skinny. And we eat a lot. When we can get it."
"Yes, I see. Tell me... Captain, have you ever seen anything like this?" The agent held up a blurry black-and-white photo of an Eraser, half-morphed.
"Gosh, no," said the Gasman, opening his blue eyes wide. "What is that?"
The agent seemed at a loss for words.
"And you're blind?"
"Uh-huh," Iggy said, trying to sound bored.
"Were you born that way?"
"No."
"How did you become blind, uh, Jeff, is it?"
"Yeah, Jeff. Well, I looked directly at the sun, you know, the way they always tell you not to. If only I had listened."
"And then I had, like, three cheeseburgers, and they were awesome, you know? And those fried pie things? Those apple pies? They're really great. Have you ever tried them?" Nudge looked hopefully at the woman sitting across from her.
"Uh, I don't think so. Can you spell your name for me, sweetie?"
"Uh-huh. It's K-R-Y-S-T-A-L. I like my name. It's pretty. What's your name?"
"Sarah. Sarah McCauley."
"Well, that's an okay name too. Do you wish it was something different? Like, sometimes I wish my name was kind of fancier, you know? Like-Cleopatra. Or Marie-Sophie-Therese. Did you know that the queen of England has, like, six names? Her name is Elizabeth Alexandra Mary. Her last name is Windsor. But she's so famous she just signs her name 'Elizabeth R,' and everyone knows who it is. I'd like to be that famous someday. I would just sign 'Krystal.'"
The agent was silent for a moment, then she seemed to recover herself. "Have you ever heard of a place called the School?" she asked. "We think it's in California. Have you ever been to California?"
Nudge looked thoughtfully at the ceiling. "California? Like, surfers and movie stars and earthquakes? No. I'd like to go. Is it pretty?" Her large brown eyes looked innocently at the agent.
"You can call me Agent Mickelson," he told me with a smile. "What about you? Is Max short for something? Maxine?"
"No, Dean. It's just Max."
He blinked once, then referred back to his notes. "I see. Now, Max, I think we both know your parents aren't missionaries."
I opened my eyes wide. "No? Well, for God's sake, don't tell them. They'd be crushed. Thinking they're doing the Lord's work and all."
Dean looked at me, I dunno, as if a hamster had just snarled at him. He tried another tack. "Max, we're looking for a man named Jeb Batchelder. Do you have any knowledge of his whereabouts?" The agent held up a picture of Jeb, and my heart constricted. For a second I was torn: give that lying, betraying jerk up to the FBI, which would be fun, or keep my mouth shut about anything important, which would be smart.