A & L Do Summer (18 page)

I DON'T BEGIN TO RELAX UNTIL WE'RE OUT OF THE
EggstraGood driveway and heading toward town. “So, now that we've rescued Cleo, what are you going to do with her?”

Laurel glances into the backseat, where Cleo seems to be resting comfortably inside the carrier. “I'm going to keep her, of course. If I take good care of her, she can live to be fourteen years old. I read that on the internet.”

“That's great, but she can't live in your house. And how are you going to explain her to your dad? I guarantee he won't fall for the old ‘She followed me home. Can I keep her?' line.”

“All right, maybe I haven't quite thought it all the way through,” Laurel says. “But I didn't have a lot of time to plan it out.” As we reach the Cottonwood Creek city limits, she eases off the gas. “For tonight she can stay in the shed where we keep the lawn mower.”

At least Cleo is Laurel's problem now and not mine. I'm still in shock that we actually pulled something off without Officer Sierra catching us and hauling us away to jail. Or Buttferk—

My stomach lurches. “Slow down, Laurel. Isn't that Buster's truck?”

We slow to a crawl alongside the pickup parked on the street. Its scabby paint job looks sickeningly familiar. “What's his truck doing here?” Laurel asks. “The rock he lives under is on the other side of town.”

I flash back to Ferret in the Sub Stop drive-through making threats against my dog and my family. “But my house is just two blocks from here.” What if my bedroom door didn't latch? Carmine could have nosed his way out and gone looking for me.

“Do you think he's after Carmine?” Sometimes Laurel has an uncanny way of reading my mind. She steps on the gas, and a minute later we're pulling into the alley behind my house. I jump out of the car almost before it stops moving.

“I'm coming, too, in case you need help.” Laurel closes the car door behind her and double-checks to make sure it's locked. As we're hurrying to the back gate, I look up at my bedroom window. That was brilliant—I forgot to turn off my lamp.

Someone is leaning on my windowsill, looking out over our backyard. My chest twists with rage. Buster is in my bedroom, going through my stuff, probably trying on my underwear! I'll kill that—

The intruder turns, giving me a clear look at his profile: his long nose, floppy ears, and the little ruff of fur around his neck. I let out a long breath. “They're not here. If something was wrong, Carmine would be going nuts.”

“So everything's okay. Good deal.” Laurel rubs her eyes. “I can't wait to go home and fall into bed. I'm dead on my feet.”

“Our house seems to be okay.” I remember Ferret's greasy smile while he listed the treasures he's sure Miss Simmons is hoarding. “But they may be after Miss Simmons. We've got to check on her.”

“Crap!” Laurel turns on her heels. “You're right!”

We run to the end of the alley, jog to the corner, and start across the street. A black car races from out of nowhere and screeches to a stop in the intersection, cutting us off.

Manny gets out of his car and stands in front of us, looking like a traffic cop with his legs spread and his hands on his hips. “Holy crap, Aspen! Haven't you two been arrested enough this summer?”

“Stuff it, Manny.” I'm too tired and stressed to deal with him now. I sidestep him and ignore Clay, who's gotten out of the passenger seat. Nothing tops off a special evening like running into my crush on his way home from a date at two thirty in the morning.

Laurel blocks me with her arm. “Aspen, tell them what's going on. If Miss Simmons is in trouble, they can help.”

My gaze travels past Manny's self-righteous smirk to Clay, who's watching me with an expression I can't quite read. Concern? Embarrassment because he's been on another date with Wynter?

I can't worry about that now. “Get your car out of the street, and I'll tell you while we walk.”

But when I try to explain my concern about Miss Simmons, Manny shoots me down. “You've been sniffing too much burger grease, Sis. That old beater of Buster's probably broke down, and he doesn't have the bucks to have it towed. There's your big conspiracy.”

“Don't be too quick to blow it off, Manny. I've seen those jerks stalking Miss Simmons, too.” Clay hitches his chinos up on his cute butt. “It won't hurt to check it out.”

Manny grumbles, but it's three against one. Not to mention that we're already standing on Miss Simmons's front walk. No house lights are visible from here, and the only sound is the mosquitoes whining in my ears. One of them lands on my arm, and I smush it.

“See? Nothing's happening.” Manny waves mosquitoes away from his face. “Now can we go?”

“Let's make sure the back door looks okay first.” Clay surprises me by taking my arm. “You should stay close—in case there's trouble.”

I can't argue with that logic.

The four of us slip past the honeysuckle hedge along Miss Simmons's driveway. Until now, I hadn't noticed how overgrown it is. I'll bring our trimmers over tomorrow and give it a few whacks. Miss Simmons may be ready to graduate to a three-pronged cane, but she's not in any shape for yard work.

When we reach her backyard, I hear a muffled thud, but I can't tell where it's coming from. Shiny, odd-shaped pieces of something glitter on the concrete steps leading to her kitchen door. Clay's hand on my arm tenses. My attention moves up the steps, and I see what he sees—Miss Simmons's kitchen door is ajar.

Miss Simmons never leaves her door unlocked.

A weak beam of light glowing from inside the house highlights a still form sprawled on the kitchen floor. Next to the form, a walker lies on its side, just out of reach.

“Call 9-1-1!” I yell as I bound up the stairs. Poor Miss Simmons has had a heart attack or stroke. I hope she's not—

Oof!

Something heavy hits me on the shoulder, dropping me to my knees on the floor next to her. On the way down I see a pair of legs the size of telephone poles. A hand winds in my hair and jerks my head back, and I'm looking into Kong's gigantic, hairy nostrils. Tears of pain fill my eyes.

“Get your hands off her!” Clay yells as he dives over me and into Kong's stomach. Kong stumbles back, releasing my hair—most of it anyway. He and Clay fall to the floor in a grunting tumble of arms and legs.

I crawl to Miss Simmons and put three fingers on her neck the way they do on TV. At first I can't feel anything, but just above her collarbone I find her pulse. I don't know enough to say if it's strong or weak, but her heart is beating.

As I'm about to yell for help to Manny, he sprints past me. Ferret and Buster have appeared from somewhere in the house, and they're trying to kick Clay while Kong holds him down. Manny topples Buster in mid-kick, and Ferret scurries out of the way.

“I called 9-1-1 and asked for the paramedics and the police,” Laurel says between panting breaths. “Is she …?”

“She's alive.” I see a huge bump on Miss Simmons's forehead. Her eyelids are quivering, but I don't know whether she's conscious. “We've got to get her out of here before she gets trampled.”

The guys are shoving and throwing punches. Their bodies slam into each other, the walls, and the furniture. Buster bangs against a cabinet, rattling the dishes in the drainer by the sink. A cup rolls off the countertop and smashes to pieces on the floor. There's no time to lose.

Moving Miss Simmons probably isn't the best idea, but if Kong stomps on her head, she'll be in much worse shape than she is now. “I'll grab her under the arms; you lift her legs.” I lay Miss Simmons's arms across her chest, then squat above her head and slide my arms under her shoulders. Laurel does the same with her knees.

“Okay, one, two, three.” We lift Miss Simmons and carry her outside. Her left arm slips off and drags on the floor. For such a small person, she's really heavy. By the time we get her down the steps and onto the lawn, my arms are trembling.

Now that Miss Simmons is safe, I'm worried about Clay and Manny. In most cases, I'd call it three against two, but Kong counts for a person and a half—probably more since they're all dirty fighters.

Laurel gives me a shake. “OMG, that looks like smoke!” She points toward a half-open window on the far end of the house. A thin trail of smoke wriggles through the screen like a witch's bony finger.

Miss Simmons's eyes flutter open and she gropes for my hand. “Sammy,” she murmurs, “save my Sammy.”

“Is he in his cage?” But her eyes have already closed. “Call the fire department, too!” I tell Laurel as I race back into the house.

Why don't I hear any sirens yet? All summer long we've been tripping over Officer Sierra. Now, when we need him, he's not around.

As soon as I'm in the kitchen, I smell the smoke, which seems to be coming from a room down the hall. Manny is straddling Kong's chest, and Clay is sitting on his legs. Kong is breathing hard, but for the moment he's not putting up a fight. Buster is slumped against the kitchen wall, apparently out cold. Ferret seems to have ducked out during the fighting. No surprise there.

“Are the cops on their way?” Manny asks through swollen lips. “We could use some help here.”

“They should be here any minute. Laurel called them.” I step around the pile of male bodies and stop at the end of the hall. “You guys need to get out of here ASAP. I think there's a fire on the other side of the house.”

“A fire?” Clay raises his head and sniffs. “Go back out where it's safe, Aspen. We'll be there in a second.”

He looks at Manny over Kong's bulging stomach.

“We've got to haul these guys out of here. We should …”

While the guys are discussing how to get Kong and Buster outdoors without letting them escape, I slip into the hallway. It's dark and narrow, with old pictures hanging on the walls. The thickening smoke makes it that much harder to see where I'm going.

The first room on my left is a bathroom. No place for Sammy to hide here. I grab a hand towel hanging by the sink and soak it with water. Another safety tip I've seen on TV.

The next room holds an ironing board and a sewing machine as well as the usual bedroom furniture. It's a mess, with drawers pulled out and overturned onto the floor. I'm holding the wet towel over my nose and mouth, but my eyes are watering like crazy. Sirens are wailing outside, and red, blue, and yellow lights strobe through the windows. The chaos has to be freaking Sammy out. I drop the towel and get down on my hands and knees.

Calling for Sammy, I crawl through the wreckage of sewing supplies, spare bedding, and miscellaneous oldperson stuff. Then I peer under the bed and check the closet. No Sammy here, either. I stagger to my feet and move on.

As far as I can tell, there's only one more room off this hallway, and that has to be Miss Simmons's bedroom. Smoke billows from the doorway, clouding my vision and clogging my lungs. I lower my head and hurry forward. If I don't find Sammy soon, I'll have to give up.

The drapes beside her bed are smoldering, but the flames seem to be having a hard time of it, so maybe they're made of some flame-retardant fabric. The flowered wallpaper is curling from the heat, and sparks are flying onto her bedspread. It's going to start burning any second.

Smoke sears my lungs, and my throat feels like it's on fire. I drop to all fours again. “Good, Sammy. Here, Sammy.” My voice cracks from the heat and smoke.

I lift the dust ruffle and peer under Miss Simmons's bed. Two yellow points of light look back at me, and I almost collapse with relief.

I stretch my arm under the bed and wriggle my fingers. “Hey, Sammy. It's okay, boy. Come to Aspen.” He inches forward. “Good boy, Sammy. Come on.”

Something huge crashes to the floor. I jerk my head out from under the bed, hitting it on the bed frame. On the floor nearby are the curtain rod and the charred remains of drapes. From underneath the bed, Sammy is chattering. Not a good sign.

I duck back under the dust ruffle. Sammy's tail is straight in the air and he's doing a stiff-legged dance. “Shush. It's okay, Sammy. Come here, baby.”

I slither under the bed, stringing together wordless cooing sounds until Sammy's tail relaxes. When I think I'm no longer in danger of being bitten or squirted, I reach out and scratch him under the chin. Then I work my other hand around his middle and slide him with me as I scoot backward.

When I'm finally out, I cup his body against my chest and use the bedspread to pull myself up. The holes where the sparks have landed are glowing and expanding. Flames from the burning drapes are licking at the dust ruffle on the side of the bed nearest the window.

“We are so out of here, Sammy.” I'd like to find his carrier, but the smoke and heat are too much for me. I spin around and—

Ferret is forming a subhuman door. His feet are spread at maximum width, and he's latched on to both sides of the doorframe. “Hah! I knew you'd come back for the good stuff!”

Give me a freaking break.

Turning to the side to protect Sammy, I lower my shoulder and plow into Ferret's chest. He folds at the waist and collapses backward onto his butt. Since I can still see his beady eyes, he's conscious, which means he can get out of here under his own power.

Spitting smoke, I hurdle over him. The scummy little vermin seizes my ankle and I go sprawling, letting go of Sammy to break my fall. He lands on all fours, but my elbow hits the bare wood floor.

Agony shoots up my arm and blows out the top of my head. Rage roars in behind the pain. I leap to my feet with every intention of stomping Ferret into rodent paste.

But Sammy is already doing his stiff-legged dance, and his business end is aimed at Ferret. Ferret tries to scramble to his feet, but it's too late. Sammy squirts a stream of liquid from his behind into Ferret's eyes.