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  Back out on the street, it was now close to full daylight. The small town was still, silent. It looked as though it was deserted, but she knew that there were sick—dying—people behind almost every window. Scraps of litter blew lazily along the gutters and twenty yards away, a shaggy black-and-white mongrel was sniffing around an overflowing garbage can.

  The dog raised its head, saw Roz, and trotted over, its tongue lolling and tail wagging. It sat down in front of her and slightly lifted its paw. She scratched its head between the ears. “Good boy. Go home. Home, boy!”

  It tilted its head to the side as it stared at her with a look of expectancy in its brown eyes.

  “I don’t have any food for you, boy. Now go on. Go home!” She pointed back down the street.

  The dog looked at her finger for a moment, then back to her face.

  “Listen, dog. Go away, OK? Go off into the fields and find some rabbits to eat. Um . . . Not baby ones, though. Or cute ones. Only eat the evil bunnies.”

  It wagged its tail and raised its paw again.

  “Not getting the message, are you?” Roz crouched down next to it and stroked its back. “There’s going to be a lot more hungry doggies like you in the next few days if they can’t find a cure for this plague.”

  For the first time, the enormity of the situation struck her. If The Helotry’s plague is fatal then . . . That’s pretty much the end of the world as we know it. There’s no way back from that. Max will die. God, he could be dead already!

  She stood up and looked around. “All right. That’s what we need.” At the far end of the street was the familiar white and blue of a police car. With the dog trotting after her, Roz ran toward it. Should be able to drive this most of the way to the power plant, as long as the roads aren’t blocked.

  She slowed as she reached the car. Sitting in the driver’s seat, slumped over the wheel, was a uniformed officer.

  Roz opened the door, put her hand on the man’s shoulder and pulled him back. He was alive, but only barely. He was breathing through his mouth, a ragged and weak uneven gasp. A thick plug of mucus had formed and solidified around his nose. God, he’s going to suffocate!

  Even though the officer wasn’t aware of her and there was no one else around to see, Roz tried not to make a face as she reached out with her telekinesis and pried the crust of mucus away from his nose. Almost instantly, his breathing eased and he groaned softly. His eyes began to flicker, trying to open—but they were gummed shut.

  “Take it easy,” Roz said. “Just stay calm. . . .” She placed her gloved palms on either side of his face and used her thumbs to gently wipe away the sticky substance that was gumming his eyes shut.

  The officer’s eyes darted around wildly for a moment, before settling on Roz. “Who . . . ?”

  “My name is Roz Dalton. Max Dalton’s sister. . . . Look, I need to borrow your car.”

  He shook his head. “No gas.”

  “All right,” Roz said. “Your radio, then.” She reached in past him and grabbed hold of the radio handset, its coiled cable stretching out past the officer.

  There was a brief click from the speaker, then Roz pressed the button on the handset. “Can anyone hear me? Is anyone listening?”

  The radio hissed static. Come on, come on. . . . The police bands are always monitored. She tried again. “Hello? If there’s anyone listening please respond!”

  Still nothing. She switched the frequency dial from channel 1 to channel 2. “Hello? Is anyone listening?”

  For a moment there was only static, then a woman’s voice said, “I hear you! Who are you? Where are you?”

  “My name is Roz Dalton. I’m trying to get in touch with someone in the Centers for Disease Control in Atlanta. Who am I speaking to?”

  “Oh thank God, thank God! Listen, this is Doctor Janine Gertler at CDC. We’re in a sealed environment here and we’ve been working all night on decoding the virus. We’re pretty much one hundred percent sure that it’s Orthomyxoviridae Class H3N2 modified by an artificially induced antigenic shift!”

  “Uh, right,” Roz said. “You sound excited to have discovered that, but I’ve no idea what it means.”

  “What? Jeez, where the heck did you study microbiology?”

  “Nowhere, yet. I’m fifteen.”

  “What?”

  Roz raised her eyes and shook her head. “Doctor, can’t you just treat the infection with antibiotics?”

  “Listen, kid . . . The difference between a bacteria and a virus is like the difference between . . . a comatose elephant and a hyperactive rat. It’s much harder to stop a rat from getting into your apartment. It’s also a lot easier to find an elephant. Understand?”

  “Can I speak to someone who doesn’t have an attitude problem?”

  There was a sigh. “OK. Listen carefully. A bacterium is pretty much self-sufficient, but a virus needs a living host in order to survive and multiply. Now do you get it? A virus is really just a bunch of genetic instructions—it changes whatever it infects. To get rid of a bacterial infection it’s often simply a matter of flushing the bacteria out of the system—that’s where antibiotics come in. But to beat a virus you need to develop a set of counter-instructions for the host’s body to adopt.”

  “All right, I get it. So what are you telling me? What’s the prognosis?”

  “The prognosis is that it takes a lot longer to develop a cure for a virus. And since viruses change the host, they also change themselves in the process: Viruses can and often do mutate from one form into another. Which means that by the time we develop a cure for The Helotry’s virus, it could already have changed into something that’s immune to the cure. Most viruses mutate at random—but we’ve been analyzing this one’s RNA and, well . . . a whole section of the genetic structure is designed to only modify itself. It’s continually changing, and at a steady rate. Near as we can tell, it’s a counter.”

  “I don’t like the sound of that.”

  “Nor should you. Whoever constructed this thing is an absolute genius. Every sample we’ve examined has the counter and they’re within seconds of each other. It’s constantly increasing. We can’t tell what number it’s aiming for, or what’ll happen when it reaches it, but they didn’t build it in for no reason. Something is going to happen. But it’s likely that people will start to die before then. The virus primarily infects the host’s respiratory system, causes the body’s immunities to go into overdrive. Their lungs clog up with fluid and mucus. That makes breathing difficult, which puts a huge strain on the heart and brain. When the level of oxygen in the blood drops below—”

  “I don’t need to know all that. How much time do we have?”

  “Some of the infected people are already close to death. The strongest might last a couple of days. That’s the other odd thing. . . . The plague broke out all over the world at pretty much the same time. This suggests it wasn’t just passed from one human host to another—that would take weeks or months. So The Helotry must have had some other method to disseminate it. You and your friends need to find out what that method is. We might be able to use the same trick to spread the cure.”

  “OK. But . . . We got separated. I don’t even know where the others are.”

  “Where are you? I’ll send a copter. We have a couple of pilots here who haven’t been infected.”

  “Don’t. Slaughter is probably still looking for me. If she sees a helicopter approaching she’ll destroy it. I’ll get a car.”

  “Do you know where The Helotry are?”

  “No, but I think I know where they’re going to be.”

  CHAPTER 26

  “Stand back,” Abby said to Brawn as they approached the high wire fence. “I’ll cut a hole big enough for you.”

  He looked at her. “Why?” Before she could stop him, the giant grabbed hold of the fence, ripped out a four-yard-wide section, and tossed it over his shoulder.

  “Oh great!” Abby said. “My way, the prison would at least have looked secure.”
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  “You mean, aside from that great big hole in the wall back there?”

  He stepped through the remains of the fence, and Abby followed him. “Ah, free at last!” He grinned at her. “Well, nice meeting you. I’m outta here.”

  “We had a deal!”

  “So we did. Duh! Supervillain, remember? Good luck saving the world.”

  He took off, moving with surprising speed for someone so huge. He bounded over the fields and in seconds had disappeared into the woods. Abby was tempted to chase after him, but she knew that there was no way she could force him to work with her. Now what do I do?

  Keeping to the trees that lined the road, she started back toward the town. Maybe Thunder or Roz is still around. On a whim, she said, “Thunder? Can you hear me? Hello? Abby calling Thunder? Are you there?”

  There was no response, and she felt like even more of an idiot. Great. Not only did I break a dangerous supervillain out of prison, now I’m talking to myself. Some hero I turned out to be.

  She stopped, ducked down behind a tree. From somewhere ahead came the rumble of approaching engines. Seconds later a small convoy of armored vehicles roared past—Boxers, the same make as the one that had chased her out of the town.

  OK, they haven’t seen me. I can—

  The last Boxer skidded to a stop. Its steel doors rolled open and five of the silver-armored men jumped out. One of them shouted, “Those trees!”

  Farther along the road, the other Boxers were already turning back.

  Abby turned and ran, still keeping to the trees. She ducked under a low branch, leaped over a fallen trunk, and was debating whether it would be faster to move out into the field when she heard gunfire behind her.

  I can lose them in the town. I did it last night and—

  Ahead, four silver-clad men were approaching on foot.

  Abby darted to the right, across the road, and into the field on the opposite side.

  More men.

  Then a low roar came from overhead, and she looked up to see a sleek black helicopter bearing down on her.

  Back into the trees—but they didn’t provide much cover. The one advantage she had over the soldiers was her speed, but the helicopter took care of that.

  There’s no way I can hide from them. What do I do?

  She knew there were only two options: surrender or fight.

  Then a bullet clipped the left shoulder of her jacket, and Abby knew that surrender was no longer on the menu. She pulled the sword from its scabbard and darted in a straight line toward the nearest trio of men. They won’t risk shooting me in case they hit their own—

  There was another bang from somewhere behind her—one of the soldiers clutched his neck and fell backward.

  They don’t even care about their own men! Abby zigged and zagged through the trees as she rushed at the remaining two. They opened fire.

  Abby dropped to the ground, rolled, came up running. She leaped onto a large granite boulder and somersaulted over the soldiers’ heads, landed in a crouch behind them and swung the sword.

  It sliced into their armored legs and they collapsed screaming to the ground.

  She felt like she was going to throw up, but she forced herself to keep going. She’d never hurt anyone before. Now those two men may have lost the use of their legs. God forgive me, what have I done?

  Then gunfire erupted again and she reminded herself that they’d been trying to kill her—she was only acting in self-defense.

  Ahead, the line of trees was coming to an end—beyond that, the open road leading into the town. The copter was almost directly overhead now, its rotors’ down-blast whipping the treetops, and Abby knew that as soon as she left the cover of the trees it was all over.

  She remembered the last words she’d exchanged with Thunder: “If we don’t make it, then we’re going to take down as many of these guys as we can.”

  Too right, she said to herself. She slowed, looked up at the copter. Pulled her arm back.

  And threw the sword.

  The heavy weapon streaked into the air, struck the copter close to its rear rotor, embedded itself deep into the fuselage. The copter shuddered, began to spin out of control. It dipped and wavered, lost height for a moment, and almost recovered before it suddenly tilted to the side and plummeted.

  Abby threw herself to the ground and covered her head with her arms. The ground shook as the copter crashed down. Its main rotors sliced into the dirt field before shattering and filling the air with razor-sharp fragments.

  The men inside were still screaming as Abby scrambled to her feet and ran toward the copter. One of them opened fire, but his aim was off and the bullets plowed harmlessly into the ground to her right.

  She pulled her sword out of the copter’s fuselage and immediately threw herself backward onto the ground—the copter was raked with large-caliber bullets and the men inside were silenced. Abby rolled underneath the copter, got up, and ran. They killed their own men just to get to me!

  Behind her: the roaring engines of the Boxers, shouting and screaming from the soldiers, gunfire.

  Ahead: the open road. Nowhere to hide.

  She kept her head down and ran. Any second now, she thought. A bullet in my back or my head. I wonder if I’ll feel it.

  Then something else roared, and it wasn’t an engine. There was a crash, terrified screaming, more gunfire.

  Abby reached an abandoned car and ducked down behind it, peered around it to see what was going on.

  Two soldiers raced down the road toward her, but they were clearly unarmed and one was even tearing off his armor as he ran. They darted past Abby’s spot and kept going, though she was sure they must have seen her.

  A Boxer rocketed at full speed in her direction, weaving from one side of the road to the other as its occupants leaped clear. One of the soldiers clung desperately to its swinging door and let go seconds before another vehicle—enveloped in a ball of flame—soared through the air and crashed down on it. The tangled mass of steel and rubber scraped along the road for fifty yards and came to a stop in front of Abby.

  Then past the smoke and flames she saw something massive and blue approaching.

  Brawn stepped around the burning Boxers, almost casually dragging a struggling man behind him. His huge blue fist was locked around the man’s head.

  The giant circled slowly around the ruins. “Now, that was a good shot! Did you see that? Pow! Hit it dead-on!” He turned to Abby. “I saw you take down the copter—nice work.”

  Abby swallowed. “God, those men . . . They shot their own people!”

  “Yeah, well, don’t shed any tears over them. They were trying to kill you. Plus, y’know, there’s that whole thing about the plague and trying to take over the world and stuff.” He lifted up his right arm, and the soldier’s arms and legs twitched and flailed. “I kept this one in case we need to interrogate him or something.” He opened his fist and the man collapsed to the ground. Abby didn’t know what to say.

  “So, anyway,” Brawn rumbled. “I came back. You were right. We had a deal. So . . . Let’s break bits off this guy until he tells us what we need to know.”

  Abby started to protest, but Brawn reached down to the soldier’s head and covered the man’s ears with a thumb and forefinger. Quietly, he said, “We’re not really going to torture him. I may be a villain but I’m not a monster. But we want him to think we’ll do it so he’ll talk.”

  Abby nodded dumbly.

  “Cool!” Brawn said. He released the man’s head and straightened up again. “Um . . . What exactly do we need to know?”

  “You need to create some sort of sonic vibration thingy to loosen the knots,” Lance told Thunder.

  “Thanks. I’d never have thought of that on my own.”

  “I’m just saying,” Lance said.

  “Already tried it,” Thunder said.

  Lance sighed. “They haven’t come to interrogate us yet.”

  “What, are you disappointed?”

  Lanc
e ignored that. “Here’s an idea. . . . You have complete control over all forms of sound, right? Does that mean you can mimic voices?”

  Thunder nodded. “Yeah. Anything I hear, I can replicate.” His voice changed. “Like this. No one would be able to tell the difference.”

  “Who’s that supposed to be?”

  “You, you idiot.”

  “Get lost! I don’t sound anything like that! That was all . . .”

  “Nasal and whiny? Trust me, that’s what you sound like.”

  “Whatever. So here’s what you do: There’s a guard outside the door, right? You pretend to be the old woman talking to him on his walkie-talkie, order him to let us go.”

  “That’s nuts! It’ll never work.”

  “You won’t know until you try. Go on, give it a shot. And let me listen in.”

  Lance watched Thunder as the older boy frowned in concentration, then there was a quiet static-filled beep.

  The guard’s voice said, “Talbot.”

  “Have you checked on the boys, Mr. Talbot?” Thunder said. To Lance he sounded exactly like the old woman.

  “Not scheduled for another fifteen, ma’am.”

  “Did I ask when it was scheduled? They’re no longer of any use to us, nor are they any danger. Release them.”

  “Ma’am?”

  “You heard me.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Seconds later, the door opened and the guard entered. “All right, kids. We’re letting you go.” He pulled a small knife from his belt, crouched down next to Thunder, and cut his ropes. “Come on. Get up.”

  Thunder sat up and began to massage his calves. “Give me a minute to get some feeling back.”

  The guard walked around to the back of Lance’s chair. There was a series of snips, and Lance’s arms and legs were free. He jumped up and stretched. “About time!”

  Lance glanced at Thunder, tilted his head slightly toward the guard. A tiny voice next to Lance’s ear whispered, “What now? How do we get out?”

  Lance thought for a moment, then froze. “What was that? Sounded like gunfire downstairs!”