“Let’s get out of here!” I yelled, and we turned as fast as we could, heading away from the Pentagon. I didn’t know how determined those jets were, and I didn’t know who had scrambled them. Had they been sent automatically to eliminate anything over the Pentagon’s airspace? Had the Surprise Mutant Solution Committee not taken no for an answer?

We weren’t going to hang around to find out.

“Into the trees!” I called, pointing to where several acres of trees made a weensy forest. By tucking our wings tightly back, we lost altitude like feathery rocks. I spotted several openings among the treetops, and we sank into them, immediately turning sideways and opening our wings so we wouldn’t hit the ground. We flew sideways for a while, slipping between tree trunks, knowing we were invisible to the jets.

Unless they had infrared sensors. In which case we were sunk.

“Whee-hah!” Gazzy shouted. It was much harder to fly vertically like this, but we’d all perfected the technique in the past year. Yes, jets can fly sideways too, and faster than we can, I have to admit. But they can’t weave in and out of trees, now, can they? Or turn practically on dimes?

No. If they try, they end up exploding in impressive fireballs.

These woods were so small that we had to keep circling and cutting back across them, which we did for about twenty minutes. Finally the noise of the jets lessened, and then it faded altogether. We cautiously left the woods and came to a landing nearby.

“That was awesome!” yelled Gazzy, holding up his hand.

Iggy slapped him a high five (I don’t know how he does that — he never misses), and they both cackled in triumph.

“Awesome, and yet stupid,” I said, ever the voice of reason. “Let’s keep under the radar from now on, guys.”

“We were under the radar,” Gazzy argued. “Totally under the radar.”

“I meant metaphorically,” I said. “Both under the actual radar and also just low profile, discreet, secret.”

“Uh-huh,” Gazzy said in a tone that told me he hadn’t heard a word I had said. “That was so awesome!”

Reason number 52 why Gazzy isn’t the flock leader.

Chapter 17

17

AND JUST LIKE THAT, we were free again. Or as free as six homeless mutants could be. In three hours we were eight thousand feet over the Pocono Mountains, looking for a place to hang. Once again, a state park saved us. A big patch of green beckoned, and we slipped down through the trees as silently as we could, not far from the park entrance. The sun was setting, and we needed to find a good place to sleep, but there was something I had to do first.

I called my mom to let her know we were okay. Something I’d never, ever had to do before in my life.