Helga recoiled from him, as if he’d slapped her, and Michael knew he’d played his cards right. There was no way she’d let him run off to rescue Gabby without her.

“Come on, Helga,” he said. “I’m only one human. Kind of. Let me risk myself, and you guys go save the other billions.” He refused to give up. He was going to get Gabby, end of story.

“What if it’s a trap?” she asked, her last-ditch effort. “How do we even know it’s her?”

“I have faith in my danglers.”

“Huh?”

Michael let out a sigh. “Fine, it might be a trap. Which makes it a good thing we have three cars full of people and weapons. Or…like I said, we could split up so we don’t risk missing the fancy World Summit.”

Helga just slowly shook her head at him, defeat and anger in her eyes. “I miss the days when you were little and I could send you to your room without supper.” She leaned over the front seat and tapped Walter on the shoulder. “Don’t turn off the freeway at the airport exit.” She looked back at Michael with a disapproving glare. “We’re going to keep heading south for a while.”

2

They left the city far behind and entered a long stretch of flat land. Fields spread toward the horizon, broken only by the angular lines of barns and farmhouses, the curved towers of silos reaching toward the sky like castle turrets. Michael didn’t recognize most of the crops, but the grand rows of corn took his breath away. Something about those crowded rows of tall stalks haunted him. Who knew what hid within?

Helga served as the official navigator, relaying directions up to Walter. The coordinates Gabby had provided eventually led them to a dirt road that sliced a field of corn right down the middle. Walter turned onto the path, sending up clouds of dust behind him, and Michael was glad their SUV was in front so he could clearly see where they were going. They drove for at least a mile, until finally they reached a clearing—a wide expanse of yellowed lawn, half-crumbled barns, and a huge farmhouse. A lone car—a small red hatchback—was parked by the porch.

“Stop!” Helga yelled.

Walter slammed on the brakes, throwing everyone forward against their seat belts. Michael heard the other two cars skid to a stop behind them.

“I thought it was still a few miles away,” Walter said, his voice tense.

“This has to be it,” Helga replied, looking down at the coordinates Michael had sent her back in Atlanta. “But the satellite pics don’t show another house for at least ten miles.”