“He needs to come closer,” Ivan said, tugging at his left glove.
The creatures advanced toward the cake, the male leading. Beatriz said, “Of course the boy’s going to hog the food.”
The male reached the cake, about three inches back. He snatched it in his pincers, then chomped it with his black, venom-packed fangs. The female continued forward.
“Ivan!” I cried. “Catch him before she gets close! Quick!”
Ivan seemed paralyzed. “Hurry, Ivan!” Max urged him. “Do you want me to do it?” He gave Ivan’s arm a nudge. The female kept advancing.
“I’m okay—I’m doing it. Stand right here to hand me the pill bottle, and be ready with the cap.” He slowly began putting his gloved left hand through the hole. The male vinegaroon dropped the crumb and waved his claws menacingly, poising his tail.
I could feel Beatriz shaking, or maybe it was me.
Just as Ivan’s hand neared the male, the female rushed forward, claws raised. “Ivan!” I cried. He seized the male and tried to withdraw his hand, but the hole was too small for his clenched fist. He dropped the vinegaroon, and the creature scuttled backward toward his mate. “Mierda!” Ivan cried. All his bravado evaporated. He was on the verge of tears.
“Look! I thought we might need this!” From her sweater, Beatriz drew a small green net, its wire handle bent to fit in her sweater pocket. Her voice trembling, she said, “I use it for my fish when I clean their tank. Do you want to try it?”
But Ivan was through. “No—you do it. Maybe your hands are smaller.” He took off the red gloves and Beatriz put them on, then bent the wire so that the net was at a right angle to its handle. Max and I exchanged a glance, and I know he was as relieved as I was that he and I were spared.
“Ready with the bottle and cap?” Beatriz asked me. I nodded, wanting badly to clutch my pants.
Beatriz extended her hand, holding the little net, until it passed through the square hole. She steadily moved toward the vinegaroons. They both raised their whiptails and sprayed. Beatriz gently flicked the female away, then rapidly dropped the net over the male. Slowly, slowly, she dragged him along the gravelly bottom, then over to the edge of the hole. “Give me the bottle. Have the tape and paper bag ready.” She took the green bottle from me with her free hand and held it next to the trapped vinegaroon. With one swift move, she scooched him into the bottle, then snatched the cap from me and screwed it on. I held the paper bag open, and she dropped the pill bottle inside, then rolled the bag into a tight cigar. Max jumped over with the duct-tape strips he’d readied on his sleeve and quickly patched the hole. There was the sharp smell of vinegar.
“Get away from the case!” I said, backing off.
“Take this thing, Ivan!” Beatriz thrust the rolled-up bag at him and tore off Elena’s gloves.
We scurried to gather up our stuff, jamming everything into Max’s book bag. The Kotex pads were slipping down off our faces, and I all but shouted, “Hold your breath! Pull the caps over your faces!”
With the caps pulled over our goggles, we were blind, stumbling and bumping into each other. Someone fell heavily against me and crashed to the floor, crying “Mierda!” again. I yanked Ivan up and we slammed into a wall.
Max yanked up his cap for a second, looking around, and said, “Everybody hold hands. We’re going back the way we came. Stay against the wall.”
We followed Sergeant Max’s directions like kindergarteners. I was between Beatriz and Ivan, our hands slick with sweat. Still blind, we spilled down the steps, groping along the basement hall. At the back door, we ripped off our goggles and caps, Beatriz’s braids tumbling out. “My head is boiled!”
Ivan whimpered, “I think I might’ve smushed him when I fell!”
We looked at each other in horror. I said, “We have to check him.”
Ivan withdrew the paper sack jammed in his pocket, opening it cautiously. The vinegar smell was overpowering. “Pew!” I said, an elbow over my face. Ivan held up the intact pill bottle, and I shined my light on it. In the limited space the vinegaroon had, he moved his claws.
“Graças a Deus!” Beatriz whispered.
“Let’s get the aitch outta here,” Max said urgently. “Put him on top of the junk in my book bag, so if something happens on the way home, I can just ditch it if I have to.” We threw in our headgear, placing the vinegaroon on top. Max said, “Just leave the mouse mattresses so they’ll think some girls stole the vinegaroon.”
Beatriz said huffily, “Some girl did steal it!”
“Let’s go.” I looked at the push bar of the door for a second and went cold. “You guys—what if we’re locked in, or the door sets off an alarm?”
Max cried impatiently, “Just do it!” I cranked the bar down slowly, pushing. It didn’t open. I looked back at everybody, all their mouths agape, eyes wide. My heart thundered in my ears. Max stepped up and leaned against the door, pushing the bar harder. It didn’t give. His face was dripping, and he stopped to wipe it on his sleeve.
“We didn’t think about fingerprints,” Ivan whispered.
“The FBI doesn’t keep kids’ fingerprints,” Max said. “Do they?” Then, heaving his whole weight against the door, he cranked the bar powerfully, grunting with the effort. The door opened. We froze, waiting for an alarm, but heard only our breathing.
“I knew the angels would look out for us!” Beatriz whispered.
“Let’s go!” said Max. We burst out the door and scrabbled around the corner to our bikes by the boxwood, hearing the door slam behind us. Max said, “We’ll ride back the way we came, but remember, if someone’s after us, split up!” We hopped on our bikes, quickly pedaling to the street.
With new energy fueled by fear and adrenaline, we zipped a couple blocks along Constitution Avenue, avoiding the streetlights. Suddenly there were headlights behind us. I looked back. “It’s Hampton’s truck!” I called out. Max was leading, and we veered off onto the Mall, where we stopped in the shadows behind a tree. The truck slowed down, but we couldn’t make out whether or not Hampton was looking our way.
Max said, “If he gets out and comes for us, I’m dumping the vinegaroon!” The truck came flush with us and stopped. “Damn!” I whispered, afraid I might wet my pants. “We’re doomed!”
A match flared in the blackness inside the cab. “He’s just lighting a cigarette, Advice Lady,” Max hissed at me. The truck rolled on by. We waited until it picked up speed and turned out of sight. Then we were off again.
The return trip seemed much faster. There were practically no cars at all, not even at DuPont Circle or the Taft Bridge. I desperately longed for my bed, or at least Max’s. I was still terrified, but felt less so with every block. Whizzing up Connecticut Avenue, closing in on Chevy Chase, we were traveling so fast I felt like I was having one of those flying dreams. I was just beginning to relish our triumph when there was a shriek, a whump, and a crash as Beatriz, riding ahead of me, flew into the air and came down with her bike on top of her, its wheels spinning. “Help!” she cried as I slammed to a stop where she lay on the edge of someone’s lawn.
“Beatriz!” I shouted, too loud.
Max and Ivan, far ahead, skidded to a stop. “What happened?” Max called. I was trying to pull the bike off her and help her up.
“Ow! Ow! Don’t pull on me! I’m stuck!” she said, crying a little. “The sidewalk—I hit that big hump.” Just behind her, a huge tree root heaved up the sidewalk. Max and Ivan had jumped it, or swerved around it in time. They came running back to help. We saw that one of her long braids was tangled in her front bike wheel, wound tightly around the center of the spokes. Max tried to work it free but got nowhere. Beatriz cried, “Guys—I’ll untangle it somehow! Go on!”