“Tyler?” the stockiest one called up to him. “That you, man? Oh, boy, this house goes on forever. We thought we were never going to find you.”
“Steve Carrillo!” Tyler said in a loud whisper. “What are you guys doing here? No, don’t answer. Just don’t move, stay quiet, and I’ll be down in a second. And turn off those flashlights!”
Tyler pulled his clothes on right over his pajamas, then hurried across the corridor and woke up Lucinda. She followed him on tiptoes down the stairs. Outside, they found all three Carrillos, Steven and his sisters, Carmen and Alma, wearing dark hooded sweatshirts and dark pants and carrying flashlights.
“You look like you’re going to the ninja convention or something,” Tyler whispered. He looked back at the house to see if anyone was obviously watching, but the only lights were at the far end, the kitchen and dining room. “Why are you here?”
“Dude, we only came to find out if you were dead or not!” said Steve.
“I told him we shouldn’t do this, but Steven thinks he’s a spy or something,” said Carmen. “He said we could find you guys’ rooms easy,” she added. “My brother, the genius.”
Steve said, “Actually, yeah, we were about to give up when we saw you hanging out the window. How come you two never called us back?”
“What do you mean, called you back?” asked Lucinda.
“We left, like, twenty messages,” Steven said. “She always said you were out somewhere, doing chores.”
“She?” asked Lucinda. “You mean Mrs. Needle?”
Tyler was getting nervous now. “Lucinda, we have get them out of here before someone hears us.”
“We didn’t mean to get you in trouble,” said Alma. “But Steven kept saying maybe they murdered you or something.”
“No, we’re fine, but we’ve got to get you away from the house or we’re all definitely in a lot of trouble.” Tyler couldn’t even guess what Uncle Gideon would do if he knew the Carrillo kids were on the property-go crazy, just for starters.
He was about to lead them around the back of the house toward the Sick Barn when he saw a movement at the corner of his eye, something slinking by above their heads. He looked up, and with a sinking heart saw a dark shape hunkering down along the roofline-the squirrel, that rotten, nasty squirrel.
And it’s probably not really happy with me, either, after last time, he thought. Wonder how long it was stuck in the fruit picker?
How did the thing communicate with Mrs. Needle? Could it be telling her right now that there were strangers on the property? Was it too late already-was she fetching Gideon?
It didn’t matter, Tyler realized. They had to assume she didn’t know. He leaned close to Lucinda. “Take ’em to the library-but give me about five minutes first.”
“I don’t want to go there, Tyler.”
“We have to. It’s the only place that’s far enough from the house that no one’s going to know they’re here.”
“We could just send them back the way they ca-”
“No! They must have been incredibly lucky to get here without Mr. Walkwell or Ragnar spotting them-they wouldn’t be that lucky twice.”
“Mr. Walkwell wouldn’t hurt us,” said Alma confidently. “He likes us.”
“It’s a little more complicated than that,” Tyler told her. “Look, Luce, just do it. Give me five minutes. I’ll meet you there.” And without waiting for any more conversation, he took off at a trot in the opposite direction from the library, across the farm toward the pastures and animal barns.
Tyler had only put a few hundred feet between himself and the house when something ran up his leg from behind and bit him on the back between his shirt and pants. He let out a muffled shriek and tripped, crashing to the ground and rolling, the scratching, nipping thing still trapped against his body by his own clothing.
As he struggled to get away, it was all Tyler could manage not to scream at the top of his lungs, but he knew that if he did that there would be no turning back-the Carrillos would be found, Uncle Gideon would go thermonuclear, and he and Lucinda would be sent away never to return. He managed to pull his shirt up enough to get his hands around the scratching, struggling thing and throw it away from him. It hit the ground and rolled, and by the single dull light above the door of a nearby barn he saw the black squirrel spring back onto its feet, its tail held high behind its back, its yellow eyes almost glowing with malice. It was by far the biggest squirrel he’d ever seen, big as a large house cat. It took a few skittering steps toward him and hissed like a snake.
Tyler turned and ran.
At first he thought the squirrel would only follow him a little ways, then go back to the trees and rooftops where it felt comfortable, but when he looked back the thing was digging along the ground after him like a mad black rabbit. Tyler swore under his breath. He didn’t think the creature could actually kill him-could it?-but it could sure rip him up with those vicious claws and teeth, and it already had him bleeding in a half dozen places, wounds that were now beginning to sting with every step.
Tyler was headed toward the big stretch of open land where the unicorns lived, trying frantically to think of ways he could escape the creature but not coming up with any. He scrambled over a fence, but had gone only a few more steps before the squirrel caught up and leaped onto him again, scrabbling its way up his side and back and shoulder, straight onto his head.
Now Tyler did scream and threw up his arms, managing by pure luck to dislodge the creature before it got its claws sunk into his scalp. It hissed again as it fell, and when it hit the ground it turned and came after him. He could almost swear its chatter was a language, and the words were not friendly ones.
At the last moment he found a fallen branch from one of the live oaks, and just as the black squirrel took a bounding leap toward him again he swung and managed to smack it hard. The squirrel fell but got up, leaping up his arm so quickly that it was halfway through the twigs and dried leaves at the end of the stick before he could throw the branch away with the squirrel in it. This time he did not bother to look back but simply ran across the pasture as fast as he could.
I’m going to be murdered-by a squirrel! He was too frightened even to be embarrassed, but it was certainly going to be the stupidest death of any student in the history of Chavez Middle School.
Tyler was out into open land now, with dry knee-high grass and only an occasional stunted tree. Just before him was the long, low trough where the unicorns came to feed, rushing in like a hurricane when Mr. Walkwell or one of the herdsmen summoned them.
And there, at last, was a gleam of an idea. As he ran through the grass he bent and picked up the first stick he passed, but it was so thin he threw it away. The second one was too heavy to be much use in defending himself from something as small and quick as the squirrel, but Tyler had a different idea.
When he reached the trough he ran around it in a tight circle, banging on it with the stick as hard as he could, over and over. A dozen yards away the dark, compact shape of the squirrel appeared from a clump of high grass and hopped toward him, little more than a shadow in the light of a partial summer moon.
Tyler put the trough between him and the squirrel and waited. It hopped closer. Now he could hear its hiss, loud as a teakettle. He held the stick up in front of him and the squirrel stopped, waiting to see what he would do. They stared at each other, and Tyler felt as if he was looking at something that was more than a mere animal-there was a nasty, cruel little intelligence behind those slotted eyes.