King of the Mutants Read Online Free PDF

there?” Freddie asked, practically reading my mind.
    “Let me think on it,” I said. I didn’t have a clue, but for Freddie’s sake, I pretended to be confident. “We can’t book it out of here just yet anyway. We’ll attempt our escape when it’s dark out. Until then, we just have to wait it out.”
    I slumped to the ground and stroked Snaggletooth’s head.
    Between the heat and the looming death threat, I was just a tad traumatized. We trembled in the dark and didn’t speak for what seemed to be hours. As I suffered through a bout of severe heart palpitations, Madame Zoltarano’s strange threat kept coming to mind: Get to New Orleans and see a woman named Sarah Feena. Even though I thought Zoltarano’s act was one big sham, that ever-familiar tingle in my tail told me that before Freddie and I headed for New York we needed to take a minor detour to the Big Easy—and soon.
    Shouts of angry excitement pierced the air. Yorgi screamed for Otto and Caesar. From what I could gather, the clowns were setting off into town to see if any of the locals had spotted me. Which was made clear when the Hummer’s engine roared to life. The killer clowns were leaving the encampment in one of Grumbling’s extravagances—a huge black truck, tricked out with bizarre custom features. Chrome rims lined with deadly looking spikes. A graveyard of silver clown skulls jutted from its hood. The bright neon green under-carriage lights emitted a sickly glow as the truck screeched by our tent.
    If there was ever a time to escape it was now. With the clowns out of our hair, we stood a chance. I turned toward Freddie and whispered, “Do you, um, know how to drive?”
    Freddie furrowed his barely-there blond eyebrows. “Why?”
    “Because we’re going to steal us a nice slice of pie,” I said.
    “Huh? I don’t know how food is going to help us out. But I am kind of hungry. Actually, pie sounds good.”
    “We don’t have time for food,” I explained. “Grumbling is pacifying Peaches and we’ve got to bolt before those maniac clowns come back. So it’s now or never unless you want your life to be over.”
    Freddie looked confused. “I really don’t know what you’re talking about—”
    “Just keep your tail up.”
    “Tail up?”
    “Sorry, forgot you were a gilly, an outsider. Anyway, tail up is the command we give our elephants. In plain old English it means follow me,” I said, sounding as self-assured as I could. Still, I had no idea if the plan I hatched up in my head would work in real life.
    I gave a nod to Freddie and he followed me back into the animals’ tent, Snaggletooth in tow. We crawled on our stomachs, shoved my stuff through the cramped space, and slithered past the sleeping bear. I threw my guitar over my shoulder, Freddie grabbed my duffle bag, and I put my fingers over my lips.
    Before we attempted our bold escape, I had to check outside. The night was as dark as a bat’s wing, but a dingy, yellowish light sputtered from the cookhouse. The sounds of bowls clanked amongst the rowdy laughter of the midgets. Dinnertime—the perfect hour to dare such an outrageous getaway.
    My heart galloped, beating against my chest like racehorses on a track.
    “This way,” I whispered.
    Hidden in the shadows, we skulked through the darkness like thieves, mainly because that’s what we were about to become. We made it past the cookhouse without any issues, but my tail went insane as we passed by Madame Zoltarano’s tent. Freddie stopped, his jaw dropped open. I tried to push him on, but he wouldn’t budge. Then I saw why.
    Colorful beads hung down from the doorway—parted just enough to see Madame Zoltarano in the company of twelve midgets, their backs toward us. All the midgets were dressed like pirates in puffy, white shirts and tight, red pants with yellow stripes. Their legs looked like hot dogs doused with mustard. Half of them wore patches over their left eyes. The other half wore long red beads around their