The Chase Page 0,54

the dictionary and rubbed her eyes.

It was dark and stuffy in the apartment. Outside the sky was cloudy, gray as concrete. Jenny felt like a rat in a trap.

She tried thinking about the base instead of the French clue. She'd told Michael and Tom what Julian had said about the door, but none of them could make anything of it. Now Tom was pacing endlessly, and Michael was staring at nothing, and Jenny was very tired.

Her head felt stuffy and her eyes hurt. She'd had almost no sleep last night. Maybe if she shut her eyes she could think better. If she shut them just for a few minutes...

The crash woke her up with a jerk.

"Sorry," Michael whispered guiltily, picking up a TV tray. He looked even more nervous than usual-almost wild. His hair was sticking up all over his head, and his eyes reminded Jenny of a hamster she'd once had-a frantic hamster that had always tried to run away from her.

"What time is it?" Jenny whispered back, trying to clear her head. It was almost as dark as night.

"About four. You slept for a while."

Jenny wondered vaguely why they were whispering, then saw the bundle of blankets on the floor in Tom's place. He was wrapped like a mummy, even Ms head covered.

Good-he needs rest, too, Jenny thought, shifting. The slip of paper rustled on her lap. Jenny's blurred eyes focused on the writing on it, her foggy brain seeing the words not as words but merely as letters-sounds. Pas de lieu ...

She straightened suddenly, her breath hissing. Michael nearly jumped out of his skin.

"What is it?" He limped hastily over to her. "What-did you figure it out? Is it me?"

"Yes-oh, we've been so stupid, Michael. We didn't need the dictionary. It's not French at all."

"Even I can recognize that much French."

Jenny clutched at his arm. "The words are French, but it isn't a French sentence. I figured that out with the dictionary-the words don't make any sense when you put them together. It only makes sense in English."

"What are you talking about, English?" Michael forgot to whisper.

"Just say the words to yourself, Michael. Pronounce them the French way, but kind of run them together."

"Pas... de... lieu ... Rhone... que... nous-it doesn't say anything!"

"Yes, it does. It says 'Paddle your own canoe.'"

Michael's lips formed the words silently as he stared at the paper, then he hit himself in the forehead. "Oh, my God. You're right. But, Jenny"- he dropped his hand and looked at her-"what does it mean?"

"I don't know." Jenny glanced out the window, where large drops were hanging from the eaves of the walkway and small drops pattered on the concrete. "But it's got something to do with water, I bet-so none of us can go outside. But don't you realize, Michael"-she turned to him excitedly-"we've done it! We've finally done it! We have a clue, and we have all of us here and safe. We can win this one!"

Something about Michael's expression made her heart jolt.

And then she realized-she and Michael hadn't been whispering for some time. They'd almost been shouting-but Tom's blankets hadn't stirred.

"Michael-" He was staring at her in terror. The hamster look again. In a single motion Jenny darted to seize Tom's blankets, to yank them away.

She just stared at the bunched-up pillows underneath. She could feel herself folding inside. Collapsing.

"Michael." She spoke without moving, still holding the blankets. Then she lifted her head and looked at him. He flinched and raised a hand defensively.

"Where is he, Michael?"-deceptively softly.

"He made me, Jenny-I told him not to, but he wouldn't listen-"

"Michael, where is he?" Somehow Jenny had gotten two fistfuls of Michael's gray sweatshirt, and she was shaking him. "Where did he go?"

Speechlessly Michael looked toward the gray and dripping window. There were tears in his dark spaniel eyes.

"He went to the mountains," he gasped after a moment. "You know the place he told us about-where they found Gordie Wilson. He thought he could find the base there-or maybe just kill the wolf or the snake. He said that killing them might help you and me, even if he-" He stopped and began again. "I told him not to, Jenny-I told him not to go-"

Jenny heard her own voice, sounding strangely quiet and detached. Almost musical. "To the mountains. Where they found Gordie Wilson-in a creek bed. Isn't that right, Michael?"

Michael blinked at the lines of slanting gray outside. "In a creek ..." he whispered.

Then they just looked at each other.

"Come on," Jenny