Hear the Children Calling (36 page)

Michael shook his head with small, jerky movements.

The balloonist smiled.

“Didn’t realize how high up we go, did you?” Max asked. “Don’t worry, I haven’t had an accident yet, and I don’t intend to start now. We’ll be descending in a moment and you’ll be on good old terra firma before you know it.”

Mrs. Mira opened her purse again. “We aren’t going anywhere,” she said.

“What’re you talking about, ma’am?”

The balloonist’s cry of protest and Jenny’s scream were both drowned out by the roar of the burner overhead. No one below could know the drama taking place hundreds of feet in the air. The man at the end of the tether rope saw the basket above jerk a little, and he swore under his breath at the ornery kids who were shaking it. He couldn’t know that Mrs. Mira had pulled a hypodermic needle from her purse and had jabbed the balloonist in the neck with it. Max fell to the floor of the basket in a heap. Mrs. Mira picked up his walkie-talkie and threw it over the edge.

“Why did you do that?” Jenny asked.

“I told you we shouldn’t have trusted her,” Tommy cried. He leaned over the edge of the carriage. “Help! Help!”

But Mrs. Mira jerked him back quickly before his words could travel to the ground below.

“You trusted me, Laura,” Mrs. Mira said.

Jenny backed up a step, bumping into Michael. She felt his hand take hers and squeeze it tightly.

“Why—why did you call me that? My name is Jenny Segal.”

“Your real name is Laura Emerson.”

She knows the thoughts that have been in my mind. She’s saying the same things as that other woman.

“Don’t you remember me, dear?” Mrs. Mira said. “It’s been a long time, I know, since I last saw you. You were waving good-bye to me from the ferry on Great Gull Bay.”

Jenny shook her head. Great Gull Bay? Ferry?

“Oh, I’m certain they’ve erased much of your memory, sweetheart,” Mrs. Mira said. “But if you dig back into that amazing brain of yours, you’ll find my face. A younger face, of course. Six years younger. I was your nanny, Laura. I took care of you until the center was ready for you.”

“You’re nuts,” Tommy growled. “Her name isn’t Laura. You’re working for Dr. Adams and you just want to get Jenny upset so she can’t read your mind and learn what you’re really up to.”

The old woman smiled. “No need to read my mind. My real name is Mrs. Ginmoor. Ring a bell yet, Laura?”

“My name is Jenny,” the little girl protested weakly. There was something so comfortable to her about the name “Laura.” The more she heard it applied to her, the more it began to fit. Like a shoe worn until it almost molded to the shape of the foot. And there was something equally familiar about Mrs. Ginmoor, an even stronger feeling than the one Jenny had sensed when she first saw her in front of the concession stand.

No! Stay away from her. Stay away.

The voice cut so sharply into Jenny’s mind that she squeezed her eyes shut. She envisioned the younger woman with brown hair and glasses. The woman was shaking her head like crazy, her fingers entwined as if in beseechment. Jenny realized she was being sent a
warning, and she tried hard to send her own thoughts back.

Who is she?

Someone who once cared for you, but someone who will hurt you now. Get away from her!

I can’t. We’re up in a balloon. What do I do?

“What do I do?” Jenny spoke the words aloud without realizing it.

“No,” Mrs. Ginmoor cried. “I won’t allow it. You can’t talk with Kate.”

Jenny felt something strike her hard across the face, and she tumbled to the floor, against the prone form of the balloonist. She opened her eyes to see Mrs. Ginmoor’s arm drawn back and Tommy jumping on the woman. As if possessed by supernatural strength, she shoved Tommy to the floor, too, and turned to challenge Michael. The red-haired boy had leapt to his feet, but now he stood frozen.

“I came all the way from Massachusetts because Dr. Adams called me here,” she said. “He knew where you children were heading and he needed someone you didn’t know to finish his work. Well, it isn’t exactly that you don’t know me, Laura. You remembered enough of me subconsciously to trust me. And now I’ve got all three of you trapped. Won’t Dr. Adams be proud of me when he learns I’ve got you? That I’ve prevented you from revealing the truth about his experiments?”

“Ex-periments?” Michael whispered in a choking voice. He thought of the files in his backpack.

Tommy flew at the woman, knocking her to the ground. “You aren’t going to kill us,” he roared. “We aren’t going to die.”

Mrs. Ginmoor laughed maniacally, kicking him away from her. She reached into her purse yet again and pulled out a glimmering kitchen knife. Jenny screamed as the woman headed toward her . . .

But Mrs. Ginmoor did not thrust the knife toward the child. Instead, she began to cut away at the knot of the tether rope.

Down below, the balloonist’s partner saw the basket jerking crazily again. The next people in line were complaining about the wait, and he realized this group had been up there an unusually long time. Maybe something was wrong . . .

He picked up the walkie-talkie, which allowed him to communicate with his partner.

“Max? Max, Neal here. Come in, please.”

Nothing but static.

“Max?” the man’s voice was more urgent now. He was about to call his partner again when a young boy on line pointed skyward with a shout.

The balloon had broken free!

Everyone on the ground gazed upward in amazement as the wind carried the balloon off. It seemed to be moving lazily, but Neal knew it was moving with unusual speed. And heading straight toward another one. If a crash ripped the gore seams open . . .

He wouldn’t let himself dwell on that possibility, but ran off to get help.

In the balloon, Tommy cried out. “We’re gonna crash. You gotta steer us. You gotta move us in between the other balloons.”

Mrs. Ginmoor laughed. “How silly! I don’t know how to steer a balloon.”

“But we’re gonna die,” Tommy screamed.

Jenny was still on the floor, wailing. Michael hadn’t budged from his spot.

Tommy looked at his friends, an expression of disgust coming over his face. “Quit acting like babies,” he demanded. “Don’t let her do this to us. We gotta help ourselves.”

“You’re going to die,” Mrs. Ginmoor shouted. She began to saw away at one of the suspension ropes.

Tommy understood immediately that she intended to free the gondola from the support of the balloon above.

“No,” he shouted, racing toward the control panel. He recognized a compass, but the other gauges were completely foreign to him. Wasn’t there something
here he could use to bring them down? The next balloon was coming closer and closer. The people in it were on the opposite side, unaware of imminent disaster. If only he could warn them, make them move . . .

He scanned the next balloon frantically. Its gores were orange-and-black-striped, emblazoned with the graphic of an eagle. Tommy’s eyes caught a small stuffed eagle hanging from one of the burner supports. He was taken back to the clinic, to the animals he had brought to life. He stared at the toy, willing it to move into the basket. The platform of his own gondola jerked a few times as the first of the suspension ropes was cut free.

As she moved to another, Mrs. Ginmoor saw the little creature open its beak and spread wings that should have been sewn to its plush feathers. It broke free of its string, reared up, and curled its talons like a real eagle in search of prey. Mrs. Ginmoor knew what Tommy was up to and jerked him away before the spell could be completed. Halfway to the back of the balloonist, the little eagle became a toy once more and thumped to the floor of the carriage.

“You won’t stop me. We’ll fall to the ground, and you’ll die.”

Michael had suddenly found his voice. “If we crash, you’ll die, too.” His tone was as matter-of-fact as if he were reciting arithmetic tables.

Mrs. Ginmoor let go of Tommy and turned to the smaller boy. “I know that,” she said. “I have known I might be called to the ultimate self-sacrifice since the day I agreed to join Dr. Adams’ team. Yes, I’ll die. But I’ll go down in the glory of his magnificent work, knowing I prevented you from stopping its progress.”

“Yeah, you’ll go down,” Michael said, his tone dark. “But you’ll go down alone.”

Jenny and Tommy looked up at their friend. Somehow, he had come out of his trance of fear. What was he going to do?

Michael stared at Mrs. Ginmoor, his eyes seeming to grow dark. Or was that just the shadow of a cloud passing overhead?

“Go to the edge, Mrs. Ginmoor.”

Something about his voice sent chills through his friends. Jenny sidled over to Tommy and put her arms around him. Michael’s was a voice that could not be disobeyed, it seemed.

“Don’t do that,” Mrs. Ginmoor said. “I know all about your powers and they won’t work on me.”

“Go to the edge, Mrs. Ginmoor.”

She was backing up in spite of her protests. She stopped abruptly at the back end of the basket, grabbing hold of a rope.

“Climb over and jump, Mrs. Ginmoor.”

The child’s voice had a deep, almost guttural quality. Jenny watched in amazement as Mrs. Ginmoor lifted one foot up. Tommy looked behind them at the ever-nearing orange-and-black balloon.

“Climb over. Climb over and jump.”

“No! No!” Mrs. Ginmoor was fighting with all her might.

“I told you to jump, you stupid old witch.”

Michael was suddenly running toward the old woman, arms outstretched. Just as he reached her, she obeyed the command she could not have ignored anyway. She threw her leg over the side, leaned far forward, and flew from the edge of the basket. Michael slammed into the wicker side, grabbing hold of the padded-leather rim, watching dizzily as Mrs. Ginmoor grabbed desperately for the basket handle, then the scuff leather around the bottom. In less than ten seconds her body was whirling down into the screaming crowds below.

And he saw himself falling, falling from the watch tower, spinning like an airplane out of control, spinning around and around . . .

My name is Peter Morse. My name is Peter Morse. It’s not Michael Colpan. It isn’t!

Say your name is Michael or I’ll drop you.

Peter Morse!

Michael Colpan!

I don’t wanna fall. I don’t wanna fall.

“I’m not Peter Morse,” Michael screamed. “I’m Michael Colpan.”

Jenny and Tommy leapt to their feet and pulled him away from the side. His screams had alerted the balloonist, who worked with lightning speed to open the rip panel and duck his balloon down. Word spread through walkie-talkies and soon a path cleared for the runaway balloon. As if they’d been synchronized, dozens of colorful balloons sank to the ground to give way. And now the wind was carrying children’s balloon toward the massive walls of the mountains, toward the top of trees that could easily rip the balloon to shreds . . .

Tommy knelt down beside the unconscious balloonist and began to slap his cheeks in a desperate attempt to wake him.

Michael tried to will the balloon to open air, finding to his frustration that his talents did not work.

Jenny closed her eyes and began to call out to the brown-haired woman, using words she sensed all along but hadn’t had the courage to believe in.

Mommy? Mommy, help us. We ‘re going to crash and I don’t want to die.

53

K
ATE
’
S
KNEES BUCKLED AS IF THEY
’
D BEEN SNAPPED
in two, and she sank to the floor of her kitchen. Dorothy helped her into a chair, feeling the violent trembling
of her friend’s body. Kate was as pale as a ghost, her green eyes wild.

“Laura’s going to die,” Kate cried. “Mrs. Ginmoor’s trying to kill my little girl.”

“How do you know?” Dorothy demanded, beyond questioning the reality of what was happening. Kate’s distress was no game. “Can you see her? Do you know where she is?”

Kate nodded. “She—Laura said she’s up in a balloon. Some kind of hot-air balloon, I think. She said the old woman is trying to kill her. Dorothy, why doesn’t Danny call? Why doesn’t he call?”

Her voice was so panic-stricken that Dorothy had to hold her firmly by the shoulders to calm her. “Kate, if you believe this so strongly,” she said, “we’ll contact Information and get the number of the police down there.”

“No,” Kate cried. “They won’t believe us. It’s just too crazy a story. Even Danny took a long time to believe I was really in contact with our little girl, that she was alive.” She gazed at the phone. “Call me, Danny,” she whisper-cried. “Please call me.”

If only she could contact her husband the way she contacted Laura . . .

Like a miracle, as if Danny really had received her message, the phone rang and he was on the other end. He started telling her about the deserted LaMane Center, but she cut him off.

“Danny, I had contact with Laura a few minutes ago,” Kate said breathlessly. “She’s in a hot-air balloon somewhere. Danny, Mrs. Ginmoor was one of them. They planted her here to spy on us.”

Thousands of miles away, Danny closed his eyes in disbelief at his own gullibility. But there was no time for that now.

“Kate, I know where to look for her,” he said. “There’s a balloon festival in Albuquerque right now. Kate, I swear to you when I call back, I’ll have our little girl.”

Without waiting for a good-bye, he hung up and
went to find Lou and the others. “We’ve got to get to the balloon fair,” Danny said. “The kids are in a balloon somewhere, with a crazy woman who’s trying to kill them.”

“How do you know?” Lou demanded.

“Don’t ask,” Danny said. “It’s too complicated and we don’t have time to waste.”

Lou nodded, having come to the point that he just accepted anything these people said. The whole thing was insane. Quickly, followed by the others, he went to the squad car and put in a call. When he came back, his ruddy complexion had gone pale.

“There’s a report of a runaway balloon, all right,” he said, gazing at Danny in awe and fear. “Fellow at the end of a tether line said an old woman and three kids got on board. The—the old woman fell over the side of the basket and ended straight up and hip-deep in the mud. She’s dead.”