Free Hurricane Power by Sigmund Brouwer Page A

there was no reason to run.
    The guy behind me kicked me again. I didn’t really think they wanted to talk.
    I could think of only one thing to do.
    I really didn’t want to do it. I mean, if I’d had any luck, I would have landed in a place where I could scoop sand or dirt in my hands and throw it in their faces to give me a chance to get away.
    But, of course, there was no sand or dirt. I was on grass.
    That left me only one thing to throw in their faces.
    I brought my hands together as I got ready to stand. My head and shoulders hid what my hands were doing. I grabbed the weapon that the big dog had left me. A scoop in each hand.
    I stood up.
    And I threw with all my might at the two guys in front of me.
    It splattered in their faces, covering their eyes and noses.
    While they were blinded, I took my chance. I bolted forward, hoping to leave them in the dust shouting about what had hit them in the face.
    But the guy behind me managed to get a hand on my shirt. He spun me around andgrabbed my shoulders. I stood face-to-face with a wide-shouldered kid with dark hair and angry eyes.
    I reached out, wiping both of my hands across his face, catching mainly his mouth and chin.
    He dropped his hands from my shoulders, gagging and spitting, which gave me some open space.
    I took it.
    My feet still hurt a bit from where the tacks had poked through my shoes, but I hardly felt the pain. I ran at full speed, aiming for a gap that was quickly closing as the others moved to cut me off.
    They didn’t have a chance.
    They weren’t running for their lives—I was.
    The closest any of them came to me was five yards. Then I was past them all, out in the open field. It became a foot race, with me leading about eight or nine guys.
    I headed for the far corner of the grounds, about two hundred yards away. I had seen an opening someone had cut in the chain-linkfence. By the time I reached it, my lead had increased to fifty yards.
    I burst through the opening. I had two choices. Right or left. Up the street or down. Up the street toward houses and trees and yards and parked cars. Or down the street toward stores and parking lots and restaurants.
    I decided to head up the street. I hoped the guy with the cell phone didn’t have other people hiding up there.
    I pushed hard, pounding along the sidewalk. The more I ran, the less my feet hurt.
    It was so good to be free, I didn’t even care about the smell that filled my nostrils with every deep breath I took.
    Now all I had to do was find a safe place to hide. And a place to wash my hands.

chapter twenty-two
    As I ran, I wondered if I should call the police. The guys behind me were falling farther and farther back. In a few minutes, I would be far enough away to cut into a yard, come out the other side somewhere and disappear. That would give me time to find a telephone.
    But all I’d be able to tell the police was that some guys had been chasing me. “To do what?” the police would ask. “I don’t know,” I’d have to say. “I didn’t let them catch me.”
    â€œSo what do you expect us to do?” the police would ask.
    â€œI don’t know,” I’d have to say. “Can you ask them to leave me alone?” And the police would laugh at me like I was a little cry-baby.
    I reached a corner and turned hard. I’d settled into a fast jog, and my lungs and legs were getting into a good rhythm. I wasn’t worried about running out of energy anytime soon. I was more worried about Monday, when I returned to school. After all, how often could I escape from these guys? And for that matter, what had I done wrong? And what was this network thing about? Spies everywhere in the school? Connected by cell phones?
    I turned another corner, cut through a yard and jumped a low hedge. It took me into another yard. I saw a hose stretched into a flower bed with the water running.
    I stopped. My chest was heaving for air, but I