The Secret of Zoom (30 page)

The last orphan went through the gap, and Christina followed hastily. Maybe they could block off the gap somehow from inside the cavern.

But that wasn't Taft's plan at all.

Christina emerged from the gap to see a candlelit fleet of planes, children climbing into front and back seats, pilots strapping on helmets, and Taft and Leo Loompski busily moving among them all, giving instructions.

“Wow,” the snub-nosed boy said reverently.

Danny had been waiting for her. “Bubby doesn't want to fly,” he said.

“Christina!” Her mother came running. “I've been so worried! Thank you so much for the food and medicine, but you shouldn't have taken such a terrible risk!”

Christina was enveloped in her mother's arms. It felt wonderful.

“Darling, what's that smell?” Beth Adnoid leaned back. “Did you fall into a pile of garbage?”

“Sort of,” said Christina. “Mom, this is Danny—he'll tell you all about it. I have to go . . . okay, okay, I'm coming,” she called to Taft.

“Everybody buckled?” Taft demanded. “Helmets on? Right, then go ahead, Christina—sing!”

Christina squared her shoulders. She was hoarse, she was tired, she had thought she couldn't sing another note. None of that mattered now. Through the gap behind her, the guards' voices could be heard chanting the Lenny Loompski song, but she refused to pay attention. She sang the high G-sharp to activate the zoom, and as the planes nearby bloomed into rosy light, all the orphans gasped, as if they were seeing magic.

Kid, you're Lenny's, don't forget—

Christina blocked out the taunting words that repeated, echoing in the distance, and walked among the rows of planes, singing a constant note until the rest of the planes caught the tone and began to hum. The sound spread from one plane to another in a chain reaction, and by the time the planes were glowing golden, Christina realized that she could stand in the middle of the fleet and whatever she sang would reach the outermost plane in a matter of seconds.

Love has never saved you yet . . .

“Concentrate,” she called, as the planes turned from green to blue. “Think hard.”

She watched with satisfaction as, one by one, bright blue zoom began to rise in the tubes, moving from the planes to the helmets like liquid through a straw. She glanced aside at her mother and Danny, and gave them a small, tight grin.

You're forgotten, lost and lone—

The jeering song heard through the gap was louder now, but Christina tossed back her ragged hair in defiance. It was too late for Lenny's guards to catch the orphans, they were almost aloft. She sang the last high, resolving E, and the planes turned an intense violet.

“Now think—GO!” cried Christina.

There was a slight bucking movement, as if the planes had hiccuped. But although the humming chord was as musical as ever, the planes didn't budge again. The orphans looked at Christina.

Any chance you had is blown . . .

The guards' voices were getting much too close. Christina
ran back to Taft. “Didn't you explain it to them? How they can make the planes fly with their thoughts?”

“Of course I did,” said Taft, with a worried frown. He looked around. “Think UP!” he called.

One or two planes wiggled, that was all. The orphans slumped in their seats. Back through the gap, there was a sound of tramping feet. Beth Adnoid's face grew stern. Coughing, she pulled a metal rod from Leo's supply pile and held it up like a weapon. She moved off toward the gap. Leo, looking confused but determined, picked up a pair of pliers and followed.

Keep a-workin', harder, faster—

“They're like me,” said Taft suddenly. “Listen!” he shouted. “The plane works on the vibrations of your thoughts—if you
think
you can't fly it, then you won't!”

Christina looked around anxiously. One hundred orphans looked back at her, their eyes full of impossibility.

How could she get them to believe they could do it? They hardly knew her.

Danny inched closer to Taft and Christina. He was humming under his breath, his eyes shut tight and his thumbs in his ears.

Sing for Lenny, HE'S your master!

Christina felt like plugging up her ears right along with Danny. She had never hated the Lenny Loompski song more than at this moment. How could the orphans have any confidence at all, with those mocking words filling their minds?

No wonder they couldn't fly!

Christina pulled Leo's wrench from her back pocket and pounded on the curved body of the nearest plane. She would get their attention. She would explain it all to them, and then they would understand—

But there was no time. At the gap in the rock, two guards poked their heads out and stared, openmouthed, at the glowing violet fleet.

Danny hummed more loudly, waggling his fingers.

Christina whirled. She recognized the tune, now. “Louder, Danny!”

She ran from orphan to orphan, taking up the melody of Dvořák's “Largo” from the
New World Symphony
. She didn't need to sing the words, for every orphan knew them by heart.

One by one the children sat up straight and began to hum. The tune spread out from child to child in a wave of sound that mixed with the drone of the planes. It sounded more like a battle hymn than a lullaby, Christina thought, and at a noise of clashing she turned to see her mother whacking the shoulders of the first guard coming through the gap, while Leo raised his pliers.

The guard recoiled. Beth Adnoid turned, listening. Then she opened her mouth and sang, too.

The orphans swiveled as one, their faces suffused with violet light. The voice that had sung to them, night after night, was clear and surprisingly strong. Of course it was, thought Christina—her mother had thrown it upward, as loudly as she could, for years on end.

Beth Adnoid broke off in a fit of coughing. Leo patted her
on the back, dropping his pliers. The gap was suddenly filled with guards pushing through.

No!
Christina leapt on top of an empty plane and waved Leo's wrench in the air. If she was ever going to inspire the orphans, it had better be now. But there was time for her to shout just one single word:

“FLY!”

A
ND
they
flew
. One by one, then two by three by four, the planes glowed brighter, hovered higher, and then, like a miracle, took off in a rush of silvery violet wings.

The guards took one look and scrambled back through the fissure in the wall. Taft, who had jumped into a plane himself, cried, “Follow me!” and led the way straight for the gap.

Christina held her breath—the passageway was too narrow for the plane's wingspan—but at the last moment, Taft turned the plane sideways and it slipped through as neatly as a quarter into a slot. One after another, more planes followed, and Christina scrambled into her own craft, strapped on her helmet, and waved good-bye to her mother and Danny and Leo.

“Be careful!” cried her mother. “Don't forget to wear a seat belt!”

Christina started to laugh. “I love you, too!” she shouted back, and then to the orphans in the planes that were left, “Come on—we'll go out the other way!”

Zinging through the air, she led the rest of the orphans in the opposite direction, toward the vast cavern. Up and up they flew, spiraling for the hole that let in the sky, now the glorious pale blue and pink of breaking dawn. Humming, soaring, flying free, Christina and the orphans zoomed out of the hole like musical hornets from a nest and took to the air.

Light surrounded her, and endless sky, and for a moment Christina's eyes were dazzled. She looked down, away from the sun, and saw movement at the dark hollow that was the mine's entrance.

It was the guards, spilling from the mine, ducking and running for cover as Taft's squadron chased after them with a chord that rang in the rocks and sent the harriers scattering from their nests.

With fierce satisfaction, Christina saw the snub-nosed boy and Dorset take off after Torkel. The other children followed their example, buzzing around the guards like oversized mosquitoes.

Taft, though, headed for the pickup truck with its food supplies, swooping low. Christina saw Lenny Loompski jog heavily across the parking lot, shake his fist at the buzzing plane, and dive into the truck's cab.

Here was the man who'd kept her mother a prisoner for years. Here was the man who thought he could mash orphans and no one would stop him. Christina's plane whirled around with the force of her thoughts and sped straight for the truck with a deep and powerful hum.

Lenny Loompski revved the engine. The tires spit gravel as the truck reversed, spun, and roared back toward the road.

Taft buzzed past the driver's window and around the cab. Christina came in from the side and flew in front of his windshield. But they were too small to stop the truck.

Lenny's face grinned wildly at her through the windshield. “You're my Happy Orphans!” he cried. “Mine! All mine! I can squash you like a bug, I can mash you like potatoes, I can cream you like
spinach
—”

A shriek cut him off. It was a laughing sort of shriek, as if an inmate had gotten loose from an asylum, and as Christina turned in her seat she saw that this was pretty much the case. Leo Loompski had taken a plane himself and flown out to do battle.

His apple cheeks were bright with exertion, his white hair blew every which way around the edges of his helmet, and on his face was a grin that could have split a melon. “Lenny!” he cried, beginning a barrel roll with the finesse of a circus acrobat. “You need fixing, Lenneeeeee!”

Christina flew up and out of Leo's way and watched with horrified fascination as a small metal canister, left loose in the rear compartment of Leo's plane, slowly tipped, toppled, and rolled gently out, turning in the sun. It fell and fell, bright and glinting, until—

KABOOM!

Lenny Loompski's truck exploded. Lenny himself came flying out the window like a greased sausage and soared briefly through the air before landing with a distinct thud on the dusty ground. The food from the truck came plopping down all around him, boxes and bags bursting and spilling, grapes flying in all directions. A carton of eggs broke open in midair
and dropped like small, delicate bombs on top of Lenny, and lettuce leaves floated gently down, covering the wreckage with a blanket of ruffled green.

A screech, high and piercing as a train's whistle, came from Lenny Loompski's mouth, and increased in volume.

“OwwwoooooOOOOOOOO!
OW OW OW ow! There's egg in my
hair
!”

“You're scrambled!” cried Leo.

Lenny wiped the egg out of his eyes and struggled to his knees, his face purple with fury. “I am the
head
of Loompski Labs! I'm admired! I'm respected! I'm a honking big deal, and when I win the Karsnicky Medal, the world will know it, too!” He glared at the zooming plane. “I'll get you for this, whoever you are, you—you—”

He broke off, staring upward, shading his eyes against the sun. “Uncle
Leo
?”

“You're not the head of Loompski Labs anymore,” called the wild-haired little man in the plane, swooping low, the air-stream from the plane spraying chips and salsa all over Lenny's shirt. “You're nothing but a pile of garbage, and you're FIRED!”

Laughing like a child, Leo looped up and around, soared off over the ridge, and disappeared behind the circling rocks in a singing violet blur. Lenny, left below in the midst of the wreckage, screwed up his face, opened his mouth, and howled.

Christina watched him with narrowed eyes. He couldn't be too hurt if he was making all that noise. And sure enough, soon Lenny Loompski was up and limping, shedding grapes and eggshells as he went, stumbling toward the guardhouse as his best chance for shelter.

Christina had no intention of allowing
that
. She aimed her little plane straight for Lenny and zoomed at him like a wasp. She would chase him up to the giant rocks—he'd never be able to escape over the cliff. And then they could herd him back down the road, right into town. It would be an exciting way to bring a criminal into the police station, for sure.

But the other orphans had seen the explosion and what caused it. One after the other, they barrel-rolled their planes, too, and one after the other the unstrapped canisters tipped out, still filled with zoom.

BOOM. BOOM. BOOM. BOOM.

The explosions were regular, powerful, and crater-producing. Guards, stunned, huddled by the rocks at the perimeter. Harriers, screeching, flew in agitated circles above the ridge, and through it all was the steady, glorious sound of sixty-seven planes, all humming a powerful E7 chord.

Christina wondered how far the explosions could be heard—all the way to town?

KA-
BOOM
.

The cheering of a hundred voices filled the sky as the guardhouse blew up. But Christina could spare only a single glance for the wonderful sight, because she and Taft had Lenny almost cornered.