Meg Cabot - Sanctuary

See? Crazy eyes.

Unfortunately, I knew from experience that there was no predicting what someone with crazy eyes was going to do next. Generally, it was just about the last thing you'd expect.

I'd have taken my chances and reached out and wrapped Jim Henderson's crazy-eyed neck into a headlock if it hadn't been for Red Plaid Jacket standing there in the hallway behind him. Red Plaid had retrieved his rifle, and had it pointed casually at me. This was discouraging, to say the least. I had a bad feeling his aim was probably better than mine.

"You know," Henderson said. "It's not just minorities like the Jews and the blacks who are ruining this country. It's people like you and your boyfriend back there. Traitors to your own race. People like you who are ashamed of the whiteness of your skin, instead of being proud—proud!—to be members of God's chosen race."

"The only time I'm ashamed to be a member of the white race," I said, "is when I'm around freaking lunatics like you."

"See," Henderson said to Kerchief-Head, who was behind Red Plaid, and was watching her leader's dealings with me with great interest. "See what happens when the liberal media gets their hands on our children? That's why I don't allow the sons and daughters of the True Americans to watch TV. No movies or radio, neither, or any of that noise people like you call music. No newspapers, no magazines. Nothing to fog the mind and cloud the judgment."

I couldn't believe he was standing there giving me a lecture. What was this, school? Hello, get on with the torture already. I swear I'd have rather been held down and branded than listen to this dude's random crap much longer.

But unfortunately, he wasn't through.

"Who sent you?" Henderson asked me. "Tell me who you work for. The CIA? FBI? Who?"

I burst out laughing, though of course there wasn't anything too funny about the situation.

"I don't work for anybody," I said. "I came here for Seth."

Henderson shook his head. "So young," he said. "Yet so full of lies. America doesn't belong to people like you, you know," he went on. "America is for pioneers like us, people willing to work the land, people who aren't afraid to get their hands dirty."

"You certainly proved that," I remarked, "when you killed Nate Thompkins. Can't get much dirtier than that."

Henderson smiled. But again, thanks to the crazy eyes, the smile didn't quite reach all the way to those baby blues of his.

"The black boy, you mean? Yes, well, it was necessary to leave a warning, in case any more people of his persuasion took it into their heads to move to this area. You see, it's important for us to keep the land pure for our children, the sons and daughters of the True Americans."

"Well, congratulations," I said. "I bet your kids are gonna be real happy about what you did to Nate, especially when they're frying your butt for murder up in Indianapolis. I know how proud I'd be to have a convicted felon for a dad."

"I don't worry about laws made by man," Mr. Crazy Eyes informed me with a smile. "I worry only about divine law, laws handed down by God."

"Huh," I said. "Then you're gonna be in for a surprise. Because I'm pretty sure 'Thou Shalt Not Kill' came straight from the big guy himself."

But Jim just shook his head. "It's only a sin to kill those God created in his own image. In other words, white men," he explained, tiredly. "People like you will never understand." He sighed. "Living as you always have in the comforts of the city, never knowing what it is to work the soil—"

"I've got news for you," I said. "There are a lot of people I know who don't live in town and who've worked the soil plenty but who feel the same way about you freaks that I do."

He went on like he hadn't heard me. Who knew? Maybe he hadn't. Clearly Mr. Henderson was only hearing what he wanted to hear anyway.

"Americans have always dealt with adversity. From the savages they encountered upon their arrival to this great land, and then from foreign influences who threatened to destroy them. Pretty ironic, ain't it, that the greatest threat of all comes not from forces overseas, but from within the country of America itself."

"Whatever," I said. I'd had about as much as I could take. "Are you here to mess me up, or what?"

Crazy Eyes finally looked me full in the face.

"You will be disposed of," he said, in a voice as cold as the wind outside. "You, your boyfriend, and the Jew will all be disposed of, the same way we disposed of the black boy. Your bodies will be left as a warning to any who doubt that the new age has arrived, and that the battle has begun. You see, someone has got to fight for this great nation. Someone has got to keep America safe for our children, prevent it from succumbing to hate and greed. . . ."

The great Jim Henderson broke off as, from outside the ranch house, an enormous explosion—rather like the kind that might occur if someone threw a lit cigarette down a trailer's septic tank—rocked the compound.

I smiled sweetly up into Jim Henderson's crazy eyes and said, "Uh, Mr. Henderson? Yeah, I think that someone you were talking about, the one who is going to make America safe for our children? Yeah. He and his friends just arrived. And from the sound of it, you've really pissed them off."

C H A P T E R

15

And then I hauled off and slugged him. Right between those crazy, shifty eyes.

It hurt like hell, because mostly what my knuckles caught was bone. But I didn't care. I'd been wanting to punch that guy for a long, long time. The pain was totally worth it, especially when, as I'd known he would, Henderson crumpled up like a doll, and fell, wailing, to the floor.

"She hit me," he cried. "She hit me! Don't just stand there, Nolan! Do something. The bitch hit me!"

Nolan—aka Red Plaid Jacket—was too busy squawking into his Walkie-Talkie however to pay attention to his fearless leader. "We got incoming! Do you copy, Blue Leader? We are under attack. Do you copy? Do you copy?"

Red Plaid might have been more interested in what was happening to the rest of the compound, but that certainly wasn't the case with Kerchief-Head. She was pretty hacked that I'd taken a poke at her spiritual guide—hey, for all I know, Henderson might even have been her honey. She could easily have been Mrs. Henderson.

I was hopping around, waving my sore knuckles, when Kerchief-Head, with a snarl that would have put Chigger to shame, launched herself at me.

"Ain't nobody gonna do Jim like that," she declared, as her not-insignificant weight struck me full force, and sent me back against the bed, pinned beneath her.

Mrs. Henderson—if that's who she really was—was a big woman, all right, but she had the disadvantage of not having been in many fights before. That was clear from the fact that she did not go directly for my eyes, as someone better accustomed to confronting adversaries would have.

Plus, for all her doughiness, Mrs. Henderson wasn't very muscular. I easily twisted to sink a knee into her stomach, then accompanied that by a quick thrust of one elbow into the back of her neck while she was sunk over, clutching her gut. And that took care of Kerchief-Head.

Meanwhile, outside, another explosion ripped through the compound.

"Save the children," Kerchief-Head gasped. "Somebody save the children!"

Like Chick and those guys would even be targeting the kids. I am so sure.

"Who do you people think we are?" I demanded. " You? "

Then I reached out, grabbed Seth by the arm, and said, "Come on."

We would have gotten safely out of there, too, if I'd just hit Henderson a little harder. Unfortunately, however, he recovered all too quickly from my punch … or at least quickly enough to reached out and wrap a hand around my ankle, just as we were stepping over him.