“On three?”
“No. Let’s just keep backing up. When they reach the path, we make our move,” he said.
“What about Pluto?” she asked.
“He’s a dog. He’ll figure it out.”
The two backed up slowly. The alligators slithered forward. Pluto retreated. Step by step, they all moved in a choreographed manner.
“Ready…” Finn whispered.
“Set…” she said.
The first alligator—Louis—placed his paw on the path.
Finn and Amanda turned and ran.
* * *
With her arms and legs wrapped around the pipe like a koala bear hugging a tree, Charlene slid down another three feet, finally stopped by a junction clamp. The temperature in the main building was warm, as were some of the pipes she touched. The turbines screamed in a high-pitched whine. Half-deaf, she didn’t hear the sound of flapping wings, didn’t sense the attack until it was upon her: a shadow sweeping across her face.
Charlene ducked, and swung out with her left arm, catching a bird’s wing. It struck a pipe and fell, feathers fluttering.
A second jay dive-bombed and sank its small talons into her scalp, tearing loose two large clumps of hair. Charlene cried out. Her scalp was bleeding. She sought a toehold but missed, catching herself at the last second. Now a third jay, wings tucked, came at her like a missile. She swung her arm like a baseball bat and sent it into the outfield. The bird struck the wall and was knocked unconscious.
It tumbled and landed atop one of the turbines with a thunk.
The voices stopped. Only the whine of the turbines persisted. The jay that had torn her hair out cawed and dove once more. Charlene deftly switched pipes, dropped lower, and switched back, using the elbow in the bigger pipe to shield her.
A glowing image appeared on the floor below. Maybeck? she wondered. Fearing it might not be, she adjusted to the far side of the pipe, putting an intersection of steel and PVC between her and the glow.
Charlene was looking down on a head of dark hair surrounded by a crown. The Evil Queen. Charlene reared back as the Queen looked up. A diving blue jay suddenly altered course and flew past Charlene—the Queen had redirected it. It landed on an electrical conduit below. The wounded jay atop the turbine managed to fly off.
The jays cawed furiously.
Over the roar of the turbines, a woman’s low voice shouted, “Hurry up! There’s no time to waste!”
Charlene moved quickly lower, down the pipes, using clamps and valves as toeholds. With speed and agility she descended, desperate to overhear more of what was being said.
How she regretted having separated from Maybeck. They could be working together; worse, Maybeck was something of a wild horse without a bit or bridle when left on his own.
She slid down the final few feet of pipe, arriving onto the facility floor—concrete with a thick layer of gray epoxy paint. She settled herself and dared to look past the pipe she hid behind.
Directly in front of her were more pipes and machinery. Just past these was a walkway designated by wide lines of bright yellow paint, one side of which was a concrete wall with windows looking in on a control room, the door to which was propped open, its center glass pane broken; cubes of safety glass littered the floor. Inside, she saw a bald guy in a chair, who looked either asleep or dead. There was a redheaded woman in a similar condition next to him. Cruella De Vil, the Evil Queen. And a…kid! Charlene could only see the back of his head—he was hunched over a computer—but there was no mistaking him for anything but a teenager. She couldn’t see his face.
Charlene was distracted by movement to her right—the jays flying like jets in formation. They banked right and disappeared behind the machinery. Something moved in the shadows, escaping.
Maybeck.
The Evil Queen sensed Maybeck and abruptly turned around. She and Maybeck were on opposite sides of a cinder block wall.
Charlene ducked behind the pipe, her back to its warmth. She had no way to warn Maybeck, no way to monitor what was happening. Then, overhead, a blue flash—the jays diving for Maybeck again.
She heard a series of caws. Maybeck shouting.
Then, the Evil Queen growling, “Bring him to me!”
* * *
It took Philby time to settle down. He’d never seen his mother quite like that. She’d stayed a few feet behind him and had marched him to his room like he was a convict. He’d wanted to ask her for the computer back but thought she’d have probably hit him with it—definitely not worth the risk.
His bedside clock read 12:51.
He couldn’t leave his friends stuck in Epcot and the Cogeneration Facility as DHIs. He needed Web access—and he needed it now. He possessed a dirty secret: a fifth DHI had been added to the Queen’s growing team. He’d spotted the addition in the log—it was still rocking him with aftershocks.