Страница 25 из 41
46
IT TURNED OUT that Gazzy had been stung by a Portuguese man-of-war, an incredibly dangerous and even deadly jellyfish.
“Actually, it’s not a real jellyfish,” the navy doctor explained. “So its toxins are different, and we treat it differently.”
“I offered to pee on him, but they said no,” Iggy said, sounding disappointed.
The navy doctor smiled. “That was once thought to be acceptable treatment. Vinegar too. But actually, it’s most important to remove any tentacles to prevent further discharge of venom. Rinsing the sting thoroughly with salt water can help.”
All of us bird kids have had days when we looked like we’d been put in a blender set to “whip.” As many fights as we’ve been in, as many hard places we’ve been – odds are that someone has at least a black eye, if not broken bones, on any given day.
But Gazzy really looked bad. They’d removed the man-of-war with gloved hands, dunked Gazzy in salt water, slathered him with goo, and given him a bunch of shots, and he still looked like he’d been dragged behind a chariot for a couple miles.
Of course, seeing the wings had freaked everyone out, but this was the U.S. military, and they got over it real fast. I mean, if they can deal with Area 51, they can handle anything, right? Including Total, who had left Akila back at the hut and come at Angel’s request.
“He’s going to sleep for about a day,” the navy doctor said with a smile. “These stings really take it out of you.”
I glanced at the wall clock. “We’re getting on a sub in six hours.”
“Oh, no,” said the doctor. “He can’t go anywhere. Trust me, he’s going to feel terrible when he wakes up. There’s no way he’s getting on a submarine.”
It’s taken me a while, but I’ve learned not to pointlessly butt heads about dumb decisions that I don’t have to follow anyway. It’s been a real step of personal growth for me. So now, for instance, I didn’t even argue with the doctor.
Instead, I got organized: I sent Fang and Iggy off to find food, got a debriefing from Angel about the adventures they’d had under water while they were supposed to be tucked into bed, and finally, finally, curled up in the hospital armchair with Nudge, while she told us all about being a real kid at school.
“It was awesome,” Nudge admitted. “I loved it. In just a few days, I learned more than I’d learned from weeks of watching TV.”
“That’s good,” I forced myself to say, and given my highly developed skills of deception, I even sounded very sincere. “And I’m glad to see you’re still among the winged.”
Nudge looked embarrassed. “Yeah. But anyway. I realized I just missed you guys so much. And I was too worried about your mom,” she told me. “I had to be here to help, if I could.”
I hugged her. “I’m so glad to have you back! Although you missed all the BS.”
“Whaaat?”
The others filled her in while I checked on Gazzy and watched the clock. The doctor said the Gasman would sleep for a day, which I took to be about four hours in bird-kid time. Sure enough, along about four-thirty in the morning, he woke up.
It was time to head down to the dock – I wasn’t going to risk missing the sub. It felt like a month ago that my mom had been kidnapped. Who knew what had happened by now?
“You good to go?” I asked Gazzy, fluffing his saltwater-sticky hair with my fingers.
He did a systems check, then nodded. “Yep. Feel like crap, but I’m okay.”
“You look pretty tough with that face,” I said admiringly, and he gave a pleased smile.
“Okay, troops, let’s mobilize,” I said. We were all a little punchy from lack of sleep, but I knew a couple cups of coffee would perk us right up.
“Whoa, hold it!” said a voice. It was the nice doctor, standing in the doorway, holding Gazzy’s chart.
“Sorry,” I said briskly. “We’ve got a sub to catch.”
“He can’t go anywhere!” The doctor looked appalled. “People stay in bed for days from a man-of-war sting!”
“We heal fast,” Gazzy said modestly.
“We were hoping for a chance to study you some more,” the doc admitted.
I sighed. “If I got a nickel every time I heard that… Okay, guys, let’s go.”
The doctor planted his feet, crossed his arms, and blocked the door to the hallway.
“I’m sorry. I can’t let you leave.”
“Uh-huh.” I looked at Fang. In seconds he’d crossed the room, opened the casement window, and jumped out. Total jumped out after him. A nurse, passing by in the hallway, screamed and dropped an armful of files.
Gazzy was next. “Thanks for everything, doc,” he said, then leaped lightly out. He dropped out of sight, but soon rose, working his wings powerfully, looking good.
Someone yelled, “There goes another one!” as I was busy hustling Iggy and Nudge out the window. Finally, it was my turn, and I hopped up to the window ledge.
“Thanks again,” I said politely. “But like I said, we’ve got a sub to catch.” Then I let myself fall out the window, watching the ground rush up from six stories below.
I spread my wings and felt the air press against them as I soared with the flock. I loved that feeling, relished that freedom. The sky was still predawn dark, the wind fresh but not cool.
Finally, it was time.
I’m coming, Mom. I’m coming to rescue you.
47
HERE ARE TWO THINGS I hadn’t thought about when I’d insisted that the navy lend us a sub for the rescue:
1) The flock and I are just about the most claustrophobic life-forms you’ll ever meet; and
2) We would be trapped in a relatively small, airtight space with the Gasman.
Now I was on the dock, staring at the open hatch, with its narrow ladder leading straight down.
We’d spent a lot of time on the Wendy K., the research boat in Antarctica. So we knew that boat interiors were small and compact. But I hadn’t really thought about how much more compact a submarine would be.
The U.S.S. Mi
“Um, Max, you go
It looked like I’d be climbing into a huge coffin.
It felt like that too.
I could not be a total wuss in front of all these people. Especially the flock.
I flicked a glance at Fang, and his face showed me that he understood what I was feeling, but he knew that I knew that I just had to suck it up and get on the dang sub.
I felt a cold sweat break out on the back of my neck. My throat was closing. My chest felt tight. I had an image of me trapped on the sub, under water, crying and clawing at the metal walls to get out. Oh, geez. I was wishing I hadn’t had that third espresso.
I swallowed hard and tried to draw in a breath. I remembered that we were doing this to rescue my mom, who had saved my own life more than once. I remembered that she was being held captive in a sub probably not half as nice as this one.
“It’s a sub, Max,” urged Total, who was suffering from a bad case of missing-Akila blues, “not a vat of boiling oil. Get on already, and let’s see if they have any croissants. I’m starving.”
I took a big step forward, off the dock and onto the metal walkway that led to the top of the sub, not the sticking-up part of the sub, but the topside of its nose. I don’t know the technical term.
There was an open hatch there, and I strode toward it, trying to keep abject terror from showing on my face. I began to climb down the ladder, managing a smile and a wave that I hoped was at least in the neighborhood of jaunty. Then Gazzy stepped on the walkway, followed by Total, and I knew the others weren’t far behind.
There was no going back now.