moment he decided to save us.
“And if you hadn’t accidentally stumbled across a field packed with bees?” Enoch said.
Hugh dug something from his pocket and held it up: a peculiar chicken egg. “Plan B,” he said.
Bekhir hobbled to Hugh and shook his hand. “Young man,” he said, “we owe you our lives.”
“What about your peculiar boy?” Millard asked Bekhir.
“He managed to escape with two of my men, thank God. We lost three fine animals today, but no people.” Bekhir bowed to Hugh, and I thought for a moment he might even take Hugh’s hand and kiss it. “You must allow us to repay you!”
Hugh blushed. “There’s no need, I assure you—”
“And no time, either,” said Emma, pushing Hugh out the door.
“We have a train to catch!”
Those of us who hadn’t yet realized Miss Peregrine was gone went pale.
“We’ll take their jeep,” said Millard. “If we’re lucky—and if that wight was correct—we might just be able to catch the train during its stopover in Porthmadog.”
“I know a shortcut,” Bekhir said, and he drew a simple map in the dirt with his shoe.
We thanked the Gyspies. I told Bekhir we were sorry we’d caused them so much trouble, and he unleashed a big, booming laugh and waved us on down the path. “We’ll meet again,
* * *
We squeezed into the wights’ jeep, eight kids packed like sardines into a vehicle built for three. Because I was the only one who’d driven a car before, I took the wheel. I spent way too long figuring out how to start the damn thing—not with a key, it turned out, but by pushing a button on the floor—and then there was the matter of shifting gears; I’d only driven a manual transmission a few times, and always with my dad coaching me from the passenger seat. Despite all that, after a minute or two we were—bumpily, jerkily, somewhat hesitatingly—on our way.
I stomped the accelerator and drove as fast as the overloaded jeep would take us, while Millard shouted directions and everyone else held on for dear life. We reached the town of Porthmadog twenty minutes later, the train’s whistle blowing as we sped down the main street toward the station. We came to a skidding stop by the depot and tumbled out. I didn’t even bother to kill the engine. Racing through the station like cheetahs after a gazelle, we leapt on board the last car of the train just as it was pulling out of the station.
We stood doubled over and panting in the aisle while astonished passengers pretended not to stare. Sweating, dirty, and disheveled—we must’ve been a sight.
