The Explorers: The Reckless Rescue - Hardcover

Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Adrienne Kress is a writer and an actress born and raised in Toronto. She is the daughter of two high school English teachers, and credits them with inspiring her love of both writing and performing. She also has a cat named Atticus, who unfortunately despises teeny hats. She is the author of The Explorers: The Door in the Alley and The Explorers: The Reckless Rescue. To find out more about Adrienne, visit AdrienneKress.com and follow @AdrienneKress on Twitter and Instagram.

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Chapter 1

In which we resume our story.

There is a difference between fact and opinion. It’s hard to tell sometimes because opinions like to dress up as facts, and their costumes have gotten quite impressive lately.1 There is a way, however, to easily tell the difference between them. You have to weigh them. Because, you see, facts have more substance. So they’re heavier. This is how one can know for a fact, for example, that being kidnapped for your brain is scary. Because when this fact is placed on the scale, man, does it ever tip the balance!

There are other facts one can be certain of. Like that private planes are cool. That traveling long distances gets boring. And that not knowing where you are going or what’s going to happen to you is exhaustingly stressful.

And if you don’t believe me, just ask Sebastian, who was sitting in his seat and staring out the window of the private jet, feeling precisely all those things.

It was odd to feel bored. Not that feeling bored is a rare or weird feeling. It’s a very common part of life, after all. But it just felt so strange to feel bored in his particular situation. He should have been feeling terrified, possibly even a little excited. And he knew this because he’d felt those things initially when he’d been snatched out of the Explorers Society headquarters and held captive in a helicopter. But that felt like forever ago now. After flying to the private airport, getting on the private plane, flying over the ocean, and continuing to fly over the ocean. And yet more flying over the ocean . . .

Things had started to get just a little boring.

And now the boredom was turning into sleepiness.

Which was really quite simply all kinds of wrong.

“You could sleep,” said Mr. M.

Sebastian shifted his gaze from the window to the man sitting across from him wearing a patch over his left eye. Mr. M appeared very relaxed, but of course he would be. His life wasn’t in danger, now, was it?

“So could you,” Sebastian pointed out.

“Nah, gotta keep one eye open,” replied Mr. M, laughing at his own joke. Sebastian didn’t laugh. “Get it? One eye? Get it?”

Sebastian got it. He just didn’t find it particularly funny. Suddenly he had a flash of his parents at the dinner table and his mother telling that joke about the salamander and how not-funny the joke was and-- Oh, there was that pain in his gut again. He wondered if his parents were looking for him. They must be.

He wondered if Evie was looking for him.

Like she’d promised.

“It’s because I only have one eye, that’s the joke,” continued Mr. M. “Because keeping one eye open is an expression.” He paused. “But also I only have one eye. It works on two levels.”

“I get the joke!” snapped Sebastian in exasperation.

“Whoa, okay, okay. Jeez, relax.”

“Easy for you to say,” muttered Sebastian under his breath.

“It’s true. It’s very easy for me to say. I’ve completed my task; I have the key. Which is you.” He stared at Sebastian for a moment. And then as if by way of explanation: “You’re the key.”

“I know I’m the key,” Sebastian replied curtly. What on earth was going on? Before this week, everyone had always treated him like the highly intelligent boy he was. Now everyone seemed to be second-guessing his smarts. And it was seriously annoying.

“So anyway, with my job well done, I feel as cool as a cucumber.” Mr. M paused. “Why do they say that? Are cucumbers cooler than other vegetables?”

“I don’t know why they say that.” Another wave of sleepiness was washing over Sebastian. He was tired of dealing with Mr. M, who had this frustrating ability to be both extraordinarily terrifying and completely tedious at the same time. And weirder still: if he hadn’t known any better, Sebastian would have sworn that Mr. M wanted to be his friend. Not that there was anything wrong with friends, of course. It’s just that people who want to hurt you are not the best choice for friends.2

Just as Sebastian finally gave in to his exhaustion and closed his eyes, he was rudely drawn back to the horror of his situation by a guttural grunt. He started and looked up. Mr. I, with his gruesomely wired-shut jaw, was towering over him. The man gazed at him hard for a moment and then turned to Mr. M. He grunted again.

“What is it now?” asked Mr. M, seemingly sincerely annoyed that his conversation with Sebastian had been interrupted.

Mr. I pointed toward the cockpit, and Mr. M sighed. Mr. M gave Sebastian an apologetic glance, then stood up, adjusting the old-fashioned-looking gun in its holster as he did, and made his way to the front of the plane. Mr. I replaced him in the seat and stared at Sebastian. Or at least, seemed to stare. He was still wearing those sunglasses of his.

Staring, Sebastian could handle. It was a quiet activity and required nothing of him. But as he stared back defiantly, gazing at his own reflection in the man’s glasses, Sebastian found his boredom seeping away. There was something about Mr. I that just so completely reminded him of the danger he was in. Maybe it was how worn Sebastian looked, reflected in the dark, unforgiving glasses; maybe it was that Mr. I had very recently been this close to ending his life; maybe it was the bits of wire sticking out between the man’s teeth and poking through the flesh of his cheek. Whatever it was, Sebastian was officially scared again. But more than that, he was reinvigorated.

His plan to sleep would have to wait while he formulated another one. It was time for that marvelous brain of his to take charge.

Yes.

It was time to plot a daring escape.

Chapter 2

In which a meeting takes place.

There was a pig-in-a-teeny-hat-shaped lump under a sheet.

It snorted.

“Oh, sorry!” said Evie, quickly removing the sheet, balling it up, and tossing it into the corner. The pig sat and stared at her with a look of disappointment. A look that said, “I’ve been taking such good care of you ever since your friend was kidnapped, and this is how you treat me?”

“I really am sorry,” Evie said.

The pig snorted again.

Evie bent over and gave it a little scratch behind its right ear before straightening the teeny hat on its head. Then she quickly stood and grabbed the next sheet and pulled it off the table in one determined motion. Unlike the pig, Evie didn’t snort. But she did sneeze loudly as the dust tickled the back of her throat and nostrils. The large white sheet in her hands billowed out impressively before her, then fell limply to the floor as the pig took one step to the left, neatly avoiding it. She gathered the sheet up in her arms and added it to the pile in the corner. Then she turned and took stock of the room.

The Emergency Meeting Room for Emergencies meeting room hadn’t seen a lot of activity in recent years. Myrtle, the Explorers Society president and...