Everyone hurried to pile into the bus. Mr. Hudson and Uncle Chuck appeared at the same time, both of them out of breath and covered with dirt.
Uncle Chuck started Blossom’s engine. He slowly pulled out of the house. The roof groaned and scraped against the top of Blossom as they backed up. Matt could see the Vermillion in the side mirror.
“Yo, bro,” Corey said. “You going to get us out of here or what?”
Matt searched hopelessly around for the little piece. What could he do?
“Hello?” Gaga said. “Hello, yes, we were cut off before. I said my house is on fire!” She was talking on her phone again. It was an old flip phone. Totally outdated. Matt zeroed in on it, an idea forming. It was probably a stupid idea, probably wouldn’t work at all, but he had to try something. He felt a wild desperation overtake him, survival instincts kicking in. “Yes, my address is—Ah!”
Matt snatched the phone out of Gaga’s hands and cracked it in two pieces.
“Mateo, what are you doing?!”
He ripped open the case, searched the innards until he found what he was looking for. The transmitter. It was basically the right shape and design. He knew it was a Hail Mary, but it was his only shot. Matt popped it out and handed the broken phone back to Gaga, who stared at it in disbelief.
The airship was descending.
“Bro, get us out of here!” Corey shouted.
Matt shoved the transmitter inside the compass. He replaced the central dial and clicked it into place, then turned the dials as fast as he could.
Please work, please work . . .
Blossom revved her engine and spun her wheels. Dirt shot up in angry sprays all around them. There was a low growl, like some giant beast was opening its maw to swallow them. Matt grasped on to his mom as they shot away.
4Bad Day
1611
Hudson Bay, Canada
Henry Hudson was having a bad day. One for the books, as his own father would have put it. It had all started when Gloria kicked him out of the house. Or maybe he’d kicked himself out. He wasn’t sure anymore. They’d been fighting. It was the usual stuff—work, money, leaving the cap off the toothpaste. Just regular fights that regular couples have. Gloria had told him he was a hard man to live with, and he told her that if he was such a hard man to live with maybe she’d be better off without him. He knew this was the wrong thing to say. He had a bad habit of saying the wrong things at precisely the right moment.
“Maybe I would be better off,” Gloria said coldly. “Maybe you’d be better off on your own as well.”
“I’ll go take a hike, then,” he said.
“Make it a good long one! You can hike your way to Patagonia for all I care.”
So he did. Well, he didn’t hike to Patagonia. He didn’t even know where that was, though he’d never admit that to Gloria. He went to the Catskills, trying to find some peace in the trees and fresh air. Nature was his church, he always said. On Sundays when Gloria took the boys to church to pray and sing, he’d head for the hills. Gloria said that was just fine by her so long as he came home in time for dinner.
Henry had a feeling he was not going to make it home for dinner.
He’d noticed the strange man about halfway through his hike. He didn’t think anything of it at first. Plenty of people hiked around these trails. It was when he went off the trail that he started to worry. The man followed him. Henry even made random and unreasonable turns, but still the man followed. Finally, Henry turned back and confronted the man.
“Excuse me, are you lost?” Henry asked.
“I don’t believe I am, not if you are Mr. Hudson.”
Henry was startled. The man spoke in a British accent. He was younger than Henry, late twenties or early thirties, dark-haired and ruggedly handsome. He looked and sounded like one of those actors on the British dramas that Gloria was always watching that Henry couldn’t stand. (Though he wouldn’t dare say that to Gloria.) The man wore all black, except for his shoes, which were red. Henry thought that was an odd fashion choice, but not as odd as the sword hanging on his waist. That wasn’t something you saw around these parts. A rifle, maybe. But a sword?
“You are Mr. Hudson, aren’t you?” the man asked.
Henry got a bad feeling in his stomach. “No, I’m not. Wrong guy. I don’t know any Hudson.” He turned away from the strange man, ready to hightail it out of there. But he didn’t get a chance. The instant he turned around, something hard came down on his head and he was out.
When he woke, he found himself on a ship. An old ship, something he’d seen in pirate movies. Three tall masts of white sails. Henry tried to sit up. He groaned. His head felt like it had been split in two by a jackhammer. He couldn’t remember what had happened. How did he get here?
“I apologize for the inconvenience,” said a voice. “I’m afraid I have to relocate you now. It won’t take long.” Henry turned and saw the strange man who had followed him on his hike, the one with the sword and the red shoes.
“Relocate me . . .” Henry looked around. They were in some kind of lake or inlet of the ocean. He saw bits of land and rock, but no signs of civilization. Not so much as a telephone wire. And it was cold, very cold. He started to shiver.
“What do you want?” said Henry. “You want money?
