Saving the World and Other Extreme Sports Read online

“I thought we were supposed to stop it,” I said.

  “What, with one hand tied behind your back?” Fang scoffed. “You don’t have to save the world, Max, no matter what they tell you.”

  For some reason that stung—like he didn’t think I could do it. I’d always thought he’d be on board for anything I had to do.

  “So now you and your blog are going to do it? I can go to bed and sleep in?” The words came out more caustic than I intended.

  Fang shot me a sideways glance, his eyes unreadable. He shrugged and looked away.

  Okay, now I was mad all over again. I hated it when Fang and I fought, but I hated even more him thinking that I—you know, wasn’t able to save the world by myself.

  I’m sure a lot of you girls out there worry about the same thing, huh?

  “Next you’ll be telling me you’ve got a Voice in your head,” I said sarcastically, standing up. I balanced on the roof, holding my wings out for help. Like a squirrel does with its tail. Only thirteen feet across.

  “Maybe,” he said coolly, not looking at me.

  I was speechless. Which is, as you know, very rare.

  “Fine. You’re on second watch,” I muttered, and jumped down from the roof. I landed in the soft snow and went around to the porch.

  Inside, Ari had not ripped everyone’s throats out while they slept. It occurred to me that Angel was telepathic, and she would have picked up on any evil intent that Ari had.

  I was pretty sure, anyway.

  I made the rounds, checked on the sleeping flock, then positioned myself in an armchair right next to where Ari slept heavily on the floor. That way, if he moved, he’d wake me up.

  I was burning up over Fang. I couldn’t believe how full of himself he was. Him and his blog. Fine! Let him save the world! I still had my mission.

  You both have hard decisions to make, Max. Decisions that will affect the whole world, your future. Everyone’s future.

  Oh, good, so no pressure, I thought. I punched the cushion of the armchair into a better shape and closed my eyes.

  I wasn’t going to sleep a wink.

  62

  In the morning, Fang and I broke up.

  And just to set the record straight, I left him. A split second after he left me.

  He told me he wanted to do his own thing, follow his own mission, as he put it. He wanted to act on leads that people were sending in to his blog.

  I stared at him. “You’re basing your plan for human salvation on e-mail?”

  He looked back at me. “You’re basing yours on a Voice inside your head. A Voice that isn’t actually just you talking to yourself. Right?”

  Well, when he put it that way...

  I just couldn’t comprehend what was happening.

  And then we had to tell the kids. I went over a hundred conversations in my reeling head. What would they say? How could we explain this?

  “I’ve decided to go my own way,” Fang told the flock abruptly. He cast a glance at Ari, then went on. “Almost anyone’s welcome to come with me.”

  Go with him! Over my dead body.

  “I think we should all stick together until Fang comes back,” I said calmly. Because if any of you pick him instead of me, I’ll kill you.

  Four pairs of flock eyes, one dog, and Ari stared at us, back and forth.

  “Holy crap,” said Total.

  “You guys shouldn’t do this,” said Nudge, looking worried.

  I shrugged, my face flaming. Fang was the one doing it.

  “You crazy kids,” Total muttered. He paced back and forth on his short legs, then went and sat on top of Angel’s feet. She reached down absently and stroked his head.

  “We have to choose?” Gazzy squeaked. He looked at Fang, then at me. Then at Ari.

  Crap, I thought.

  “I’ll go with Fang.” Iggy’s face was expressionless, but his voice hurt my heart. Shocked, I was glad he couldn’t see my face.

  I swallowed, unable to talk.

  “I’m going to stay with Max,” said Nudge unhappily, putting her hand in mine. I squeezed it, but I saw how she looked at Ari out of the corners of her eyes. She didn’t trust him, didn’t want him with us.

  “I’ll go wherever Angel goes,” Total said. “If I must.”

  The Gasman and Angel were silent. Angel must have been communicating with him telepathically because he shook his head and looked like he was concentrating hard. Finally Angel nodded her head decisively and nudged Total off her feet to come stand next to me.

  “I’m going with Max,” she said.

  “Yeah, whatever,” said Total grumpily, flopping back onto Angel’s feet.

  “I’m going with Fang,” said Gazzy. I stared at him in astonishment.

  Ari was the only one left, a glaring outsider to our family.

  “No-brainer,” Ari mumbled, coming to stand by me. His face was starting to heal very fast, the way our wounds did. “Max.”

  Please, please, don’t let me regret this, I prayed to a higher power. I mean, any more than I already regret it.

  “Fine,” said Fang, slinging on his pack.

  “Fine,” I said, tilting my chin up, wishing with all my strength that he wouldn’t do this, and making darn sure he couldn’t tell I was wishing it.

  And that was that. The flock was split in two. And I really had no idea if I would ever see Fang and his group again.

  63

  A sign of leadership? Facing your remaining flock with a calm face and a confident air when it’s all you can do not to barf your guts up in the snow from stress and misery.

  Half my flock was gone. Fang was gone. My right-hand man. How could he do this? Didn’t he need me?

  I straightened my shoulders. I didn’t need him. Not anymore.

  “Okay, guys,” I said to Nudge, Angel, and Ari. And Total. I could see that Nudge and Angel were trying to keep stiff upper lips. Possibly Ari and Total, but it was harder to tell with them.

  “I can’t believe they went,” Nudge said, typically blurting out something I was thinking but would never say aloud. “We shouldn’t split up. We promised to never split up again. We need to all stick together.”

  Tell that to Fang. “It’s not what I hoped would happen, but we’re fine,” I said authoritatively.

  “What are we going to do now?” Angel asked. “Do we have a plan?”

  I gave her a lofty look. “There’s always a plan. How many times do I have to tell you guys?” Come on, Max, pull a plan out of your hat, quick.

  Go to Europe.

  Oh, thank God. Goddess. Whatever. The Voice finally had something constructive to say and not just more fortune-cookie crap.

  “We’re going to Europe,” I said firmly. I handed out packs, and only then realized that Ari or I would have to carry Total, mostly. Neither Nudge nor Angel would be able to take his weight for very long.

  Great. I just had to hope that Ari wouldn’t eat Total.

  “Europe!” Nudge sounded excited. “I’ve always wanted to go to Europe! Where are we going? I want to see the Eiffel Towel!”

  “That’s tower,” I said. “Eiffel Tower. Actually, we’re headed to...”

  England, first. Start with England. Look for Schools.

  “England,” I said, holding my arms out for Total. He gave a little hop, and I zipped him inside my jacket. Only his small fuzzy face peeked out at the neck. He still looked a little mangy, and I hoped his face fur would fill in soon. “We’re going to look for Schools, gather information. Learn everything we can about this Re-Evolution Plan. And we’re going to have to move fast.”

  “I’m on your side,” Ari said, sounding sincere. “I’m going to protect you no matter what.” He looked down, and I caught a glimpse of the scared seven-year-old he was inside. “Until my expiration date, anyway.”

  I nodded, not letting any softer emotions through.

  “Okay, then,” I said, starting to run down the driveway for a fast takeoff. “We head east!”

  As always, I fe
lt much, much better once we were high, high in the air. The land below us was a patchwork of green and brown, with tiny silver threads of rivers and gray clumps of cities. It was cold, and the wind made my eyes water, but I felt calmer, more in control, in the air.

  It started to occur to me that England was really far away, over a honking big bunch of water. We’d flown for seven, eight hours straight a couple times, but it was hard, and we’d been wiped afterward. And God knew Ari wasn’t that strong a flier. Not with those weird taped-on wings. Hmm. No place to land and rest over the Atlantic Ocean.

  Go to Washington DC. There’s a direct flight from Dulles.

  Like, a plane?

  Exactly like. Right down to the shiny silver outside.

  Us...on a plane. That seemed so wrong, somehow. Redundant.

  Plus, there was the whole cooped-up, claustrophobia issue.

  You’ll be fine.

  “We’re headed to Washington DC,” I told my new miniflock. “We’re going to take a plane from there.”

  Everyone looked astonished. I wondered how we would get Ari, with his bizarre and scary appearance, through a busy airport.

  “We’re going to take a plane?” Nudge asked, her voice practically squeaking.

  Total frowned. “Isn’t that redundant?”

  I sighed.

  64

  Flying west without Max was like flying with one wing missing, Fang thought. He kept seeing her face, furious, confused, and, even though she would never admit it, scared. He’d seen that face just about every day of his entire life. He’d seen it filthy with caked-on dirt, bruised and bloodied, snarling, laughing, sleeping, telling complicated lies with total sincerity...looking down at him with that light in her eyes, that communication between them....

  But she had his back against a wall. What did she expect him to do? Just lie back and take Ari? Like, oh, sure, he’d just forget how many times Ari’d tried to kill them, how likely it was that he was wired and tracking them, how dangerous he was to have around. He was a disaster of patched-together body parts, upgrades, twisted emotions, psychological torture. A walking, flying time bomb about to explode.

  Fang looked at it this way: If you knew you were checking out in a couple days no matter what, well, what did it matter what the heck you did? You could do crazy stuff, dangerous stuff, break any law, kill anybody. None of it would matter because you’d be cold and stiff in a couple days. Friends didn’t matter, loyalty didn’t matter. You could burn any bridge.

  That was who Max was choosing to spend time with. Who she was letting hang around the younger kids.

  Fang would have followed Max to the end of the world, wherever and whenever that was. If she’d dropped into the cone of an active volcano, he would have backed her up, no matter what.

  But he couldn’t go along with Ari.

  “Fang?” The Gasman’s voice was subdued. None of them liked being split up. If they felt as though half of them were missing, it was because they were.

  Fang looked at him and raised an eyebrow.

  “Where are we going?”

  “West Coast,” Fang said. The opposite of wherever Max was going.

  “What’s there?” Iggy asked.

  Funny you should ask. “The biggest information-dissemination system in the world,” Fang said. “A place to get out news fast.”

  The Gasman frowned. “What, like, some computer place? Some kind of tower?”

  Fang shook his head. “People magazine.”

  “Is this part of the ‘lie low and be inconspicuous’ plan?” Iggy asked pointedly.

  “No,” Fang said, angling his wing tips just a hair to lead them into a twenty-three-degree turn. “This is part of the ‘blow the story open, post the blog, tell the world’ plan.”

  “Oh.”

  Yep. Always pretend there was a plan. A lesson he’d learned so very well from Max.

  65

  “I hate you! You’re such losers!” Iggy’s face was a picture of anger and frustration. “You’re just being jerks.”

  Fang rolled his eyes. Then, remembering, he said, “I’m rolling my eyes, Iggy.”

  “I’m shrugging my shoulders,” said the Gasman, taking a stupendous bite of hot dog. “I have no idea what the heck you’re talking about.”

  “Describe the people on this beach,” Iggy said again. “This is Venice Beach! Part of LA. Home of Freak University! And you guys are, like, looking at maps and stuff!”

  “Is there really a college named Freak University?” The Gasman looked thrilled.

  “No,” Fang told him. So much for Gazzy’s dreams of higher education. Fang smoothed the map out on the slatted bench in front of them and started looking for landmarks.

  Until Iggy kicked him.

  “Ow! Dang it! What’s wrong with you?”

  Unerringly, Iggy’s hand shot out and grabbed a fistful of Fang’s shirt. He pulled Fang’s face close to his own. “Describe. The. People.”

  “There’s a million people,” Fang said, irritated. “Why? Are you meeting someone in particular here? Should I be looking for a man with a rose in his teeth, holding a New York Times?”

  “This is Venice Beach,” Iggy said again. “Home of roller disco. I smell coconut oil. I hear high-pitched giggles. I know we must be surrounded by beach bunnies, and you’re looking at a map!”

  Oh.

  “What’s a beach bunny?” the Gasman asked, his mouth full.

  Fang glanced around. “Beach bunny, schmeach bunny. Who cares? As long as they’re not Flyboys.”

  Iggy groaned so loudly that several people nearby turned to look. Fang kicked his shin lightly, telling him to cool it.

  “Who cares?” Iggy whispered, sounding outraged. “Who cares? I do! You can see them. I can’t. And God knows I won’t be able to get familiar with them by touch. Just do me a favor!”

  What would Max do in this case? Fang wondered. Actually, he didn’t think Iggy would have talked to Max about it. This was a guy-guy situation.

  Sighing, Fang looked around. “Um, okay. There are two girls over there. One’s in a white bikini. One has ‘Utopia’ written across her butt. They have big blond hair. Um, over there is an Asian girl, skating on Rollerblades, with her dog, like a greyhound or something, running beside her. Oops, she almost took out that stroller.”

  “What’s she wearing?” Iggy asked.

  “A striped bikini.”

  “And knee guards,” the Gasman put in.

  “Oh, man,” Iggy breathed. “More, more.”

  He never would have done this in front of Max, Fang thought. She would have been all over him like ugly on an ape, telling him what a sexist pig he was.

  But they were all guys here.

  “Um, there’s a girl meeting her friend,” he went on. “Her friend is giving her an ice-cream cone. Oh—it’s dripping. Huh. It, uh, dripped on her...chest.”

  Iggy drew in a hissing breath.

  “It’s gonna stain for sure,” the Gasman said. “That’s chocolate.”

  “Hmm,” Fang said, watching the girl dab at her chest with a paper napkin.

  “What’s that sound?” the Gasman asked.

  “Huh?”

  “That sound,” the Gasman insisted. “What’s that sound? Fang.”

  Fang blinked a couple times and looked down, where the Gasman was yanking on his sleeve. “Sound?”

  Then he heard it. A droning hum. A teeming chorus of metallic voices.

  Oh, crap.

  “Up and away!” he said. “It’s Flyboys. They’ve found us!”

  66

  You are reading Fang’s Blog. Welcome!

  Today’s date: Already Too Late!

  You are visitor number: 972,361,007

  Busted-up Hollywood

  So, for those of you in the LA area, I need to fess up about the major wreckage over at the big Hollywood sign. A million hopefuls have fixated on that sign as a symbol of future movie careers, and I sure do apologize about it being destroyed.

&n
bsp; But it wasn’t my fault.

  The Gasman, Iggy, and I were minding our own business somewhere in the greater LA area (which extends from Tijuana up to Pismo Beach), and suddenly, out of nowhere, a couple hundred Flyboys dropped down on us. How did they know where we were? I always assumed they tracked us either by Max’s chip or by Angel’s dog.

  Which, as you’ve probably heard, are with us no longer.

  So how’d they know where to find us?

  Unless one of us three is telling them?

  Which is impossible, of course.

  Anyway, like I told you before, Max saw thousands of Flyboys back at the School, hanging in rows, charging up. So today they let a bunch of ’em go for a test-drive. I have to tell you people, those things are fast. They’re strong. They can go for a long time without stopping.

  But smart? Not so much.

  Gaz, Iggy, and I shot up, fast, from where we’d been innocently hanging out. We’re always better off in the air. Of course jaws dropped, eyes popped, small children screamed, etc., when we suddenly whipped out wings and took flight. I guess we’re unusual even for LA.

  The three of us against a couple hundred Flyboys? I don’t think so. Sure, maybe sixty, or even eighty, no problem. But not two hundred. Not even if Max were there.

  Well, okay, maybe if Max were there. Maybe the two hundred. But she wasn’t there.

  Anyway, Gaz, Iggy, and I instinctively implemented a tried-and-true plan of action, Plan Delta, which we’ve used any number of times and have down to an art.

  Basically it means “run like hell.” Or rather, “fly like hell.”

  We flew. We zipped out of there like lightning. The Flyboys don’t seem to have altitude problems—they followed us easily up into 747 cruising altitude, where even I was getting a little short of breath. Like the Erasers, they’re not too nimble, but they’re wicked fast and scarily strong.

  One of Iggy’s newest explosives took out about fifty of them, and sorry to all those folks showered by bits of Flyboy metal and flesh matrix down at that MTV party on the beach. The rest of them tore after us, and we couldn’t outrun them.

  Then I saw the Hollywood Hills. We flew right for the sign and, at the very, very last second, screamed into a direct vertical climb. I mean, my belt buckle scraped one of the letters. But the three of us made it, shooting straight up like rockets.