Pittacus Lore - The Power of Six

“Our best bet is to flee on foot,” Six says. “If that’s what it comes to.”

“Turn off your vehicle and remove the key from the ignition,” the cop barks through a speaker.

Six turns off the truck. She looks at me and removes the key.

“If he radios us in, you have to assume that they’ll hear it,” I say.

She nods, says nothing. From behind us the officer’s car door creaks. His approaching boots click bleakly on the asphalt.

“Do you think he’ll recognize us?” Sam asks.

“Shhh,” Six says.

When I look in the side mirror again, I realize the officer isn’t walking towards the driver’s side, and has instead veered right and is coming towards me. He taps my window with his chrome flashlight. I hesitate for a moment, then roll it down. He shines the light in my face, causing me to squint. Then he moves the beam to Sam, then Six. He forces his brows together, studying each of us closely while he tries to determine why we look so familiar.

“Is there a problem, officer?” I ask.

“You kids from around here?”

“No, sir.”

“Ya care tellin’ me why y’alls drivin’ through Tennessee in a Chevy S-10 with North Carolina plates belonging to a Ford Ranger?”

He glares at me, waiting for an answer. My face feels warm as I struggle to find one. I have nothing. The officer bends down and again flashes the light on Six. Then at Sam.

“Anyone wanna try me?” he asks.

He’s met with silence, which causes him to chuckle.

“Of course not,” he says. “Three kids from North Carolina driving through Tennessee in a stolen truck on a Saturday night. Ya kids are on a dope run, aren’t ya?”

I turn and stare into his face, which is ruddy and clean shaven.

“What do you want to do?” I ask.

“What do I wanna do? Ha! Ya kids are going to jail!”

I shake my head at him. “I wasn’t talking to you.”

He leans forward with his elbows on the door.

“So where’s the dope?” he says, and then sweeps the flashlight across the interior of the truck. He stops when the light hits the Chest at my feet, then a smug smile spreads along his lips. “Well, never mind, looks like I found it myself.”

He reaches to open the door. In one lightning-quick motion I shoulder-open the door and knock the officer backwards. He grunts and moves for his gun before he even hits the ground. Using telekinesis, I rip it away, bringing it to me as I step out. I open the chamber and empty the bullets into my hand and snap the gun shut.

“What the . . .” The officer is dumbfounded.

“We’re not dealing dope,” I say.

Sam and Six are out of the truck now and standing beside me.

“Put these in your pocket,” I say to Sam, handing him the bullets. Then I hand him the gun.

“What do you want me to do with this?” Sam asks.

“I don’t know; put it in your bag with your dad’s gun.”

Off in the distance, two miles away, the whine of a second siren reaches me. The officer stares intently at me, his eyes wide in recognition.

“Aw hell, you the boys from the news, aren’t ya? Y’all are those terrorists!” he says, and spits on the ground.

“Shut up,” Sam says. “We’re not terrorists.”

I turn around and grab Bernie Kosar, who’s still in the cab because of his broken leg. As I’m lowering him to the ground, an agonizing scream rips through the night. I jerk around and see Sam convulsing, and it takes a second to realize what’s happened. The officer has Tasered him. I tear the Taser from him while I’m ten feet away. Sam falls to the ground and shakes as though he’s having a seizure.

“What the hell is the matter with you!” I yell at the officer. “We’re trying to save you; don’t you see that!”

Confusion crosses his face. I press the button of the Taser as it hovers in the air. Blue currents snap across the top of it. The cop scrambles away. I use telekinesis to drag him through the pebbles and trash on the side of the road. He kicks and tries in vain to get away.

“Please,” he begs. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t, John,” Six says.

I refuse to listen to her. I’m blind to anything other than retribution, and I don’t feel a shred of remorse as I slam the Taser into the officer’s gut and hold it there for a full two seconds.

“How do you like it, huh? Big, tough guy with a Taser? Why can’t anyone see we’re not the bad guys!”

He shakes his head, his face locked in a horrified grimace, sweat beads glistening on his forehead.

“We have to get out of here fast,” Six says as the red and blue lights of the second police car appear on the horizon.

I lift Sam and pull him over my shoulder. Bernie Kosar is able to run on his own on only three legs. I carry the Chest under my left arm while Six carries everything else.

“This way,” she says, jumping over the guardrail and entering a barren field leading to the dark hills a mile away.

I sprint as fast as I can with Sam and the Chest. Bernie Kosar tires of hobbling and morphs into a bird and speeds ahead of us. Not a minute later the second car arrives on the scene, followed by a third. I can’t tell if the officers are pursuing us on foot; but if they are, Six and I can easily outrun them even as weighed down as we are.

“Put me down,” Sam finally says.

“Are you okay?” I put him down.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Sam is a little unsteady. Sweat beads his forehead, and he wipes it away with the sleeve of his jacket and takes a deep breath.

“Come on,” Six says. “They aren’t going to let us go that easily. We have ten minutes, fifteen at the most, until we’re hiding from a helicopter.”

We make for the hills, Six in the lead, then me, then Sam struggling to keep up. He moves much faster than when we ran the mile in gym class a few months ago. It feels like years ago. None of us looks back; but as soon as we reach the first incline, the howl of a bloodhound fills the air. One of the officers has brought a police dog.

“Any ideas?” I ask Six.

“I was hoping we could hide our stuff and go invisible. That would elude a copter, but the dog will still pick up our scent.”

“Shit,” I say. I look around. There’s a hill to our right.

“Let’s get to the top and see what’s on the other side,” I say.

Bernie Kosar zips ahead and disappears into the night sky. Six leads, stumbling wildly up. I follow behind her; and Sam, who is breathing heavily yet still moving swiftly, brings up the rear.

We stop at the top. Faint outlines of more hills as far as I can see, nothing more. Very softly I hear the trickle of running water. I spin around. Eight sets of flashing lights line the highway, sandwiching Sam’s father’s truck. In the distance, coming from both directions, two more cop cars are speeding towards the scene. Bernie Kosar lands beside me and turns back into a beagle, tongue dangling. The police bloodhound barks, closer than before. There’s no doubt that it’s following our scent, which means that officers on foot can’t be far behind.

“We have to get the dog off our trail,” Six says.

“Can you hear that?” I ask her.

“Hear what?”

“The sound of water. I think there’s some kind of stream at the bottom of this. Maybe a river.”

“I hear it,” Sam chimes in.

An idea pops into my head. I unzip my jacket and remove my shirt. I wipe it across my face, my chest, soaking up every bit of sweat and scent I might have. I throw it at Sam.

“Do what I just did,” I say.

“No way, that’s disgusting.”

“Sam, the entire state of Tennessee is hot on our trail. We don’t have much time.”

He sighs but obeys me. Six does too, unsure of what I have planned but willing to go along with it. I put on a new shirt and slip on my jacket. Six tosses me the soiled shirt and I rub it over Bernie Kosar’s face and body.