I hear something. A sound at the edge of my consciousness. A buzz? A code? Something I have to decipher. Or... maybe... not? When I sink back into nothingness, I'm vaguely aware that my head lies in something wet. Again a sound, closer now... a voice... words... a name.... I know that name... it's my name. "Max!" Yes, that's my name. I let it sink in for a moment as if I hear it for the first time. A boy's name. I chuckle. Of course it is. I feel fine. I feel great actually, if only I could escape that horrendous smell. My consciousness slips. I sink back again.
"Max!" The voice sounds much closer now, more urgent, and then, totally unexpected, I get slapped in the face.
"Hey!" I shoot up with a jolt and with wide open eyes. I close them right away again, as even the sparse light proves to be too much for my painful head. It was enough though to recognize that I'm still inside school and lying on the cold tile floor. I also think I saw Gnat but that can’t be true. I must be hallucinating.
"Max, goddamnit, Max, wake up!" I open my eyes again, more slowly now, and there he is indeed, Gnat. I would never have thought I would hear his voice marbled with worry, especially not because of me. This fact alone gives me the determination to struggle my way back to consciousness.
"Hey... Gnat... What are you doing here?" I whisper with a broken, parched voice, trying to muster up more saliva to grease my vocal cords, with little result.
"What do you think, Spark-brain? You promised us you'd be back within the hour, and you've been gone for two. Shadow is really worked up by now, and you know I can't stand emotional stuff, so I went in to find you. Smashed a windowpane and then... well... sorry." Only now do I realize that the ear-deafening howl I've been hearing all this time, but didn't really register, must be the school alarm. "And then I find you on the floor," he continues, while trying to help me up, "with your head in your own sick."
Suddenly now he looks up as if he hears the alarm for the first time. "They can be here any minute now, but we might make it out still."
He starts to run. I try to follow him on unstable, rubbery legs, dizzy and unfocused. My side hurts, although I don't know why. I don't even protest when Gnat doesn't take what I know to be the shortest route. Luckily for me, because only seconds later, the thuds of heavy boots and excited breathing of watchdogs sound from the corridor I would've chosen. Good Gnat, good Gnat, I think gratefully.
When we reach the canteen, we're still ahead of the men and dogs, but they're closing fast. I don't know if I can keep this up much longer. The front door may be too far away, but then I notice that the small door next to the canteen entrance is ajar. How? That door has been out of use forever. It leads nowhere. Still, Gnat heads right to it and opens it for me. Without hesitation, I rush through it, right into... a thicket of thorny bushes.
"Gnat," I hiss angrily, "couldn't you warn me?" The grin on his pale, smug face tells me that he never meant to. Here we are, running for our lives, and still he can't resist playing his little mischievous jokes. Despite the painful scratches on my hands and cheek, I have to smile. Gnat is Gnat, and although that's annoying in a multitude of ways, it's sometimes also kind of... well... cute. He doesn't have to know that, of course. When we have escaped, I will still teach him a lesson he won't forget, but now that it turns out this little brat possesses a little brave heart, my view of him changes just a little. Who would have thought?
Quikcly, Gnat closes the door, pushes me to the ground, and whispers: "We've gotta get out of here. Fast. Those dogs can smell you right through the door. Man, you smell bad!" Suddenly, I'm über-aware of the "aroma" of rotting food and fresh vomit emitting from my clothes in generous waves. That what saved me while breaking in, will betray me breaking out.
"Crawl!" Gnat commands. "To the left. A tunnel." Only now do I see the dark gap in the green wall, close to the ground. It turns out to be the opening of a narrow, tunnel-like underpass that leads to the other side of the four-meter-thick hedge. Gran would undoubtedly know the name of the thorny bushes, but I didn't inherit her green thumb nor her love for everything that grows. Vegetables are for eating, and flowers for throwing away when they are old, that’s how I see it.
Quite a few strands of hair lighter and sweating like a pig, we arrive on the other side. Shadow is hardly visible in the bubble of darkness she involuntarily created around herself. Slug smiles, friendly and distractedly, but before any of us can say anything, a loud cry sounds from inside the school. It’s immediately answered by a second cry and furious barking from outside the school. Fuck! They are here too. Heavy steps and the low growl of dogs come towards us around the corner. It will be a matter of only seconds before they fly around the corner, dogs first.
I suppress the urge to put my hands up in the air, like a bank robber who's caught outside the bank he just robbed—a famous scene from an old movie I once saw.
Only... there’s nobody rushing around the corner, no dog launching towards us. The sound of footsteps sound lower and further apart before they stop all together. As one we turn to Slug, who’s not looking at us at all. He’s completely focused on a firefly, hanging stationary midair. It doesn’t even move his wings. Every time it happens it is mind boggling, especially because he doesn’t know how he does it himself.
"What the…" starts Gnat, but when Shadow raises her hand, he shuts up again. Almost invisible, she sneaks to the corner. My eyes wander involuntarily back, first to the firefly, then to Slug. He smiles. He's in his element, whatever element that may be.
When Shadow has peeked around the corner she signals us to come over. Apparently it is safe. When we've joined her and look around the corner ourselves, we first see the charging dog hanging motionless in the air, a foot above the ground. It’s a terrifying sight. The ferocious bloodthirsty expression, the razor-sharp teeth, the wide-open muzzle, the flaring nostrils, and the coagulated shreds of saliva. In every sense a killing machine, ready to rip us to shreds.
Its leash is attached to a gloved hand sticking out of a blue uniform. Like his dog, the guard and his two colleagues, hang in the air, not moving, never landing, looking focused and determined.
Suddenly, I realize how dangerous it is to stay any longer. What if Slug loses concentration? His talent is as under-trained as mine. "Come on, we have to go," I whisper and start walking towards the dogs and guards. It’s counterintuitive but it makes sense–it’s the shortest route to our bikes, and we avoid running into the men following us out of the school. So, I press myself against the wall and start to shuffle past the dog and guards, careful not to touch them. Only when I've passed the last one do I dare to look over my shoulder to check how the others are doing, just in time to see how Gnat is about to stick a long, pointy shard of glass, into the leg of the second guard.
"Gnat! Are you crazy? Cut that out!"
"Come on, just a little prick, to see if they really don't respond."
"Put that down!"
"Okay, okay." Sulkingly, he drops the glass.
When we all have passed them, we start to run. No time for deliberations or goodbyes. We will have time for that tomorrow. Right now we need to get away as fast as we can. We jump on our bikes and split in four different directions. When finally Slug has turned the corner, I hear the gut-wrenching howl of a dog and the bewildered shouts of three guards.
I start pedaling as fast as I can. Fifteen kilometers through the pitch-dark meadows to our home. Luckily, I will be back before Gran wakes up. I'll even have time to put my head under the tap to rinse my hair and get rid of the worst stench, roll into bed, hide my wet hair under the blanket until she wakes me up for breakfast. It'll be alright.
I open the kitchen door as softly as possible. All lights are out. At least, this part is going according to plan. But when I cross the kitchen and reach for the handle of the door to the hallway, the light turns on.
Gran! I think. Of course. It's impossible to keep secrets from her. Luckily I have prepared a story for this eventuality, but when I turn around, I freeze. In the far corner of the kitchen, it's not Gran looking at me but my father, sitting in his wheelchair. He looks me straight in the eye and says with a much clearer voice than I'm used to:
"Well, young lady, I think it's time for us to talk."