There was a gully ahead. Matthew ran along its edge, his eyes searching for any sign of the estate’s wall. But how to climb the damned thing, even if it was anywhere near? He ducked under low branches, Berry at his heels, and suddenly one of the hawks flashed past his face. He kept going, into a dense thicket where vines and thorns clutched at his suit. Another hawk came zooming down through the branches and skreeled so loud it was a sure call to the young killers. Matthew realized that even if he and Berry found a place to hide, the hawks would either attack or give them away. There was no stopping.
He heard crashing through the woods over on their left, but he couldn’t yet see anyone. Then a damned hawk went screaming over his head and he felt its talons go through his hair like razors.
Suddenly the forest thinned and parted and Matthew and Berry emerged onto the road that led from the vineyard to the main house. As he stood for a second thinking what direction they ought to go, the two hawks flew in almost side-by-side and left Berry staggering from another gash across the cheek. The hawks went up and started circling for a renewed attack. Matthew looked toward the vineyard, then in the direction of the house. He was aware of shouting in the woods behind them and the shadows of the hawks on the road. It came to him that Chapel had asked Lawrence Evans a question: Who’s on the gate today?
Enoch Speck, sir, was the answer.
On the way out, tell Mr. Speck he may join in the game after he locks up tight.
The gate, Matthew thought. It was unguarded.
The gatehouse had windows.
Glass.
“Come on!” he told Berry, whose face-like his own-was well-marked under the lamb’s blood. He began running at full speed toward the house, his knees starting to go wobbly. He could hear her breathing harshly behind him, or was that his own breath? The road curved to the right. A glance back. The pack hadn’t yet come out of the woods. Then around the curve, the hawks flew at them again and once more the largest chose Matthew as a target. It came down like the devil’s own fury, the beak stabbing for his eyes. He thought he’d been struck again, or at least grazed, but everything was hurting now from chin to hairline and as he ducked his face down he knew it was just a matter of time-and seconds, at that-before a beak or claw rendered him if not completely blind then one-eyed. The hawks climbed, trailing their eerie cries.
Matthew took three more strides and then saw on the road before him the mounds of fresh horse manure he’d stepped into. When he abruptly stopped, Berry slammed into his back.
He had very clearly remembered the taunting voice of Eben Ausley.
You might even scare the carrion birds away with that face, Corbett!
The hawks were circling. Their shadows, growing larger.
“What are you doing?” Berry asked through gashed and swollen lips, her eyes bright blue against the glistening red.
They’re trained to go for the color, Chapel had said.
“Trust me,” Matthew said, and heard his own mangled voice. He dropped to his knees, pressed his lips together, and squeezed his eyes shut. He pushed his face into the pile. When he struggled up again, his face was freighted with a mask of manure.
“You have gone mad,” said Berry, who was backing away from him.
“We’ll find out,” came Matthew’s answer, as he looked up and saw the hawks coming down.
Berry realized what he was doing. The hawks were almost upon them, shrieking as they came.
“Oh, sh-!” she started to say, but then she dropped down as he had done, leaned forward, and with a muffled groan applied her own grassy brown mask.
The large hawk darted in first, its talons extended. Matthew stood his ground, his eyes half-slitted. He was ready to dodge if his stratagem turned out to be a stinking failure.
The bird’s wings spread. It was about to strike. Matthew caught the red gleam of the predator’s eyes. He tensed, his heart hammering.
A few feet from Matthew’s face, the hawk suddenly pulled its claws in and accelerated. He felt the wind of its passage as it streaked by with a blur of wings. The second hawk skimmed over Matthew’s head but its talons had also retracted. Berry got up off the ground, the blood on her face covered by muddy dung. They saw the two hawks make a ragged searching circle above them and then, in the manner of any practical killer, call off the hunt. The birds flew back toward the vineyard, in the direction of their aerie.
If the boys were watching the hawks to lead them, this might offer some time. But very little. “The gatehouse,” Matthew said, and together the two dirty crows flew along the road toward the only way out.
There was no one around the house. Dragonflies flitted over the lily pond, which enticed Matthew and Berry to wash their faces yet they both knew there was no time to pause. They kept running past the pond, both of them sweating and their lungs afire. A hundred yards farther on, and there stood the white gatehouse with its multi- paned windows. The gate itself was secured by an iron rod. Matthew tried the gatehouse’s door and it swung open. Inside there was a small desk, a chair, and on the wall some clothes pegs. A brown coat hung from one of the pegs, and from another dangled a canteen with a leather strap. Matthew judged how best to break the nearest window. His mind felt sludgy. The upper lid of his left eye was swollen and his lips felt shredded. He said to Berry, “Put your back against mine and stand firm.”
In that position he put his foot through the window, careful not to break out all the glass at the bottom. Then, after the explosion of breakage that he thought surely must bring the deathpack running, he said, “Guide me!” and Berry directed him as he twisted his body and leaned backward to rub the cords against the edges of glass.
He worked with haste but not without pain, for glass cut skin as well as rope. If he sliced an artery, all was for naught. He did cut himself but it wasn’t bad enough to stop. He just gritted his teeth, shifted his position, and kept sawing.
“That’s it!” Berry said. “You’ve got it!”
Not yet. Damn these cords, they were as strong as Hudson Greathouse’s breath.
What are you going to do, moonbeam?
“I’ll show you what I’m going to damned do,” he said, and Berry asked, “What?” but he shook his head and concentrated on the cutting. Something foul crept into Berry’s mouth and she spat violently.
“Keep watch!” he told her, but he thought-hoped-the boys were still searching the woods for them. His shoulders were about to burst from their sockets. Was anything happening? This was like trying to get through the Gordian Knot with a butterknife. Ow, that was skin! Come on, come on! Damn the pain, keep cutting!
He wrenched at his bonds. Nothing yet. Then he felt the pressure lessen just a fraction and he sawed with a maniacal fury. He imagined he heard the cords part with a quick pop, but whether he’d actually heard that or not, suddenly his wrists were coming unbound and he fought them free. The blood roared back into his hands as the cords fell away. He immediately went to work on Berry’s ropes, though his fingers were still mostly long lengths of dead meat.
When Berry’s hands were free, she gave a deep sob and began to cry but Matthew caught her filthy, beautiful face by the chin. “Stop that. No time.” She stopped. He reached for the canteen, uncorked it, and poured some liquid into his palm but it was not water. Rum, he thought as he took a taste. There had to be some reward for the gate-watcher. He drank a swallow that burned his mind crystal clear and passed it to Berry, who in spite of a glob of horse shit on the canteen’s mouth also took a drink. Matthew restrained himself from going through the coat and the desk drawers. He said urgently, “Come on,” and led Berry to the gate. The iron rod was not so heavy that one older boy couldn’t pull it free from the wooden guides on which it rested. He pulled the gate open.
“Stay off the road,” he told her, as he stared into her eyes. “Just keep going, no matter what. I’ll be along as soon as I can.”
“You’re coming too,” she said; a statement.
“Not yet. I’m going back for the notebook.”
“Matthew! You’re mad! They’ll-”
“Shut,” he ordered. “Don’t waste time.” He pushed her out with his new-found and much-appreciated hands.
“You can’t go back! If they-”
“I’m leaving the gate open. If they see it they’ll think we’re both out. That’s why I say you’ve got to stay off the road, because they’ll send riders. Go!”
