Angel: A Maximum Ride Novel Read online

  “Who is it?” my mom asked.

  Angel concentrated, her brows furrowed. “It’s Jeb,” she said. “Jeb and Dr. Hans. Hans Gunther-Hagen.” And how would she know this, you might ask? Her scary mental powers. She can pick up on people’s energy and emotions, from a distance. And close up? Let’s just say don’t have any private, personal, embarrassing thoughts around her. Yeah. Good luck with that.

  “How did they—” I began, then looked at my mom. “You told them we were here?! You know I hate seeing Jeb! And the last time I saw Dr. Hans, he’d just accidentally almost sort of killed Fang!”

  “I know, honey,” my mom said, looking unruffled. “But Jeb called, and he said he just had to talk to you. Something urgent—he was very insistent.”

  I looked into her warm brown eyes that were similar to mine. Her hair was darker and curlier than mine. We didn’t look much alike.

  “I’m not talking to him,” I said, starting down the hall to the bathroom.

  “If Max doesn’t want him here, he shouldn’t be here,” Dylan said. I looked back to see him swing in gracefully through a large open window. I hated that he was sticking up for me. I’d rather just dislike and mistrust him and be done with it.

  “Don’t worry, Max,” Angel said. She came over to me and took my hand. “Whatever he says, we’re in this together. We’re the flock.”

  I stifled a heavy sigh. This from one who was alternately a superamazing, then a traitorous, duplicitous, backstabbing seven-year-old. I didn’t exactly trust her fully either.

  I looked around. As flock leader, everyone was expecting me to make a decision. Jeb’s presence here would bring uncertainty, chaos, probably danger.

  It would perk up my day.

  I shrugged. “Let him in.”

  6

  WE ALL HEARD IT: the drone of a small airplane. It landed in a dry flat field behind my mom’s small house. Gazzy, always hoping for an explosion, seemed disappointed it didn’t crash into the trees or go over the nearby cliff.

  A minute later, Jeb was at the door with Dr. Hans, who, the last time I’d checked, was still on our official archenemy list. (Yes, we have to keep a list. It’s kind of sad.)

  My stomach clenched as soon as they walked in the door. Jeb and Dr. Hans together? It was wrong on so many levels. This was the same Jeb who had abandoned us as little kids, forcing us to fend for ourselves in the mountains of Colorado. Ever since then, my relationship with him had been tentative. Tentative like the relationship between a spider and a fly. I am the fly in that scenario.

  I looked at Dr. Hans warily, and he looked back at me. He’d almost killed Fang—I’d had to jab a hypodermic needle full of adrenaline directly into Fang’s heart to save him. Which, now that I thought about it, was so gross.

  Both of these guys could be brilliant, generous, pretty useful, and committed to saving humanity. Or, they could embrace the dark side, try to take over the world, or worse: try to make me do something I didn’t want to do.

  “So much for my vacation,” I said, crossing my arms over my chest. To my surprise, Angel copied me, and then so did the rest of the flock. And Dylan. Angel and I have butted heads on more than one occasion, but I have to admit, she’d been pretty sweet to me since Fang had left. This visible show of support nearly brought tears to my eyes.

  Oh, my God. I was pathetic! Dylan was right.

  “It was really more of a staycation,” Gazzy mused.

  “I’m sorry to interrupt,” Jeb said, “but we really need to talk to you, all of you, but especially Max.”

  “This oughta be good,” I said. “Let me guess. We’re needed for a research mission at the coldest place on earth?”

  “No,” said Jeb. “This is bigger than you, bigger than all of us. I need you to open your mind and listen.”

  “Last time I opened my mind, you injected hallucinations into it,” I pointed out. I hardly ever forgive, and I never forget. “Is it… a crazed megalomaniac who has a secret underwater lair where pollution is creating huge, mutant sea monsters?”

  “No,” said Jeb, looking irritated.

  “Yeah, because how likely is that?” I scoffed. “That would never happen! It’s crazy!”

  “Just hear me out. An evolutionary revolution is happening all over the world.”

  “Which means what exactly?” I asked.

  “Worldwide, a new generation of children with supernatural powers has appeared,” Dr. Hans said.

  “So far, you’re not riveting my attention,” I said.

  “You know that there are labs and schools all over the world that are trying to speed up the human evolutionary process,” Jeb said.

  “I do now,” I said.

  “Dedicated men and women of science are trying to find a way to save the human race. And they’ve been successful. Overwhelmingly successful, for the first time.”

  I got a prickle on the back of my neck. The flock and I had been created in just such a lab, a nightmarish place called the School, where another way to say “dedicated men and women of science” was “power-hungry mad scientists with Frankenstein complexes.”

  “You know that, historically, you’ve been among the most successful of the recombinant-DNA life-forms,” Jeb said. “You were the fifty-fourth generation of DNA experiments.”

  Some kids get called “bundles of joy” or “slices of heaven” or “dreams come true.” We got “the fifty-fourth generation of DNA experiments.” Doesn’t have the same warm and fuzzy feel. But maybe I’m oversensitive.

  “The Erasers were the seventeenth,” Jeb said, and we all flinched involuntarily. (If you want to delve more deeply into the wild ’n’ wacky world of human-wolf hybrids, check out the earlier Max chronicles.)

  “Not that I’m not enjoying this little jaunt down memory lane,” I said curtly, “but you’re not making a lot of headway here. In fact, so far you’re just annoying the heck out of me and making me remember all the reasons I never want to talk to you again.”

  Jeb glanced at Dr. Hans and then at my mom. She made a face that said, “Way to go, bucko,” and he cleared his throat.

  “My point is that you guys were successful,” he said. “I’m sure you remember all the versions that weren’t successful.”

  “I’ll have their catastrophic images burned into my brain till I die,” I said. “Are we done here?”

  “No,” said Dr. Hans. “These children, this new generation, are the ones you’ll be leading, after you save the world. It’s time you start leading them. Now.”

  7

  OKAY, SLIGHT FLICKER of interest. I’d been doing the “save the world” dance for a while, and so far it had been mostly saving the world one small part at a time. It was exhausting. This sounded more like “big picture” stuff.

  “What are you talking about?” My mom’s question broke the silence.

  “There’s like a ton of new mutants?” Nudge asked, her eyes wide.

  “We don’t use the word ‘mutant’ anymore,” Dr. Hans corrected.

  “This new generation,” Jeb said, “and it includes children who were genetically engineered as well as a large groundswell of spontaneous genetic evolutions—”

  “Or mutations,” I butted in.

  “We call them Gen 77 kids,” he continued. “They’re the seventy-seventh generation of genetically modified or genetically enhanced humans. And yes, there are lots of them. Dr. Gunther-Hagen is correct when he says it’s time for you to take on your mantle of responsibility, Max. It’s very likely that there will be a significant number of these Gen 77 kids among the human survivors of the apocalypse.”

  “You know, most kids spend their Saturdays arguing about what cartoons to watch,” I said. “They don’t have the apocalypse thrown at them so early in the day.”

  “You’re not just any kid, Max,” Jeb said. “You know that.”

  “What is this new generation of kids like?” my mom asked. She’s a woman of science herself—a veterinarian. Yes, I know. How ironic. Ha-ha.r />
  “They’re completely unpredictable,” the Hanselator said. “Some of them can breathe underwater, fly, or are telepathic or telekinetic.”

  (Check, check, check. Not all of us, but Angel is telepathic, and Nudge has been known to draw metal to herself without touching it.)

  “Some of them are brilliant,” said Dr. H. “Some of them have heatproof skin and can see the thermal images of living creatures.”

  (Okay, well, whatever.)

  “But the important thing is that there are so many of them,” said Jeb.

  “You are an exceptional leader, Max,” Dr. Hans added. “We’ve been monitoring the astonishing development of this new generation for a while now, and it’s imperative that we unite all the Gen 77 kids under one leader—you. Together, we’ll be able to prepare them for whatever the future holds.”

  “Thus far, you’ve done very well,” said Jeb. “But this is only the beginning of your journey. There is much to do to ensure that humans survive.”

  “Humans in any form?” Dylan spoke up for the first time. “Some people will say that mutants don’t deserve to survive at all, much less be among the only survivors.”

  “We don’t use the term ‘mutant’ anymore,” Jeb reminded him. “And yes, there will be detractors, of course. There always are. Which is why Max needs to become their leader now, to start laying the foundation for the New World. With this sudden emergence of enhanced children, we have more weight, more power.”

  “And that’s not all, Max,” said Dr. HGH. He’d been looking more and more anxious as our meeting went on, and now he turned toward me eagerly. “There are some crucial developments—”

  “Hans!” Jeb said under his breath, “I told you she’s not ready for that.”

  “Not ready for what?” I asked, just as Angel’s eyes got big and she slipped off the arm of the couch where she’d been perched.

  She put both hands to her cheeks and said, “Oh, no. Not that! You have to be kidding!”

  I mentioned the whole reading minds thing already, didn’t I? It sounded like she’d read Jeb’s.

  8

  “NOT THAT, WHAT?” I demanded, hands on my hips. Jeb and Dr. Hans were looking at each other guiltily, as if they were sending each other telepathic messages. I guess they could have been, but Angel would have ratted them out by now.

  “Just tell her,” Angel advised, sitting back down.

  “We don’t have to discuss it now,” Jeb finally said unconvincingly.

  “Time is running out,” Dr. Gub-Hub said.

  “She’s fourteen!” Jeb countered.

  “Fifteen,” I reminded him. Everyone in the flock had had a birthday not that long ago. We’d all gotten a year older at once, like racehorses.

  “That’s still way too young!” Jeb snapped.

  “Too young for what?” I was practically shrieking now.

  Dr. Hans turned to face me. “Max, you know that we think something catastrophic will happen to our planet, and soon,” he said. “And that only some people will survive. And that you will lead the survivors.”

  “Yeah, I’ve heard all that,” I said. “So?”

  “Well, what happens then?” The doctor looked at me intently.

  I looked back at him. “We all live happily ever after?”

  “No. Say you’re the leader. We don’t know how long your life span will be…”

  Ouch. Call a spade a spade, why don’t you? Many recombinant life-forms have built-in expiration dates, when they just suddenly die. The flock and I assumed that we did too.

  “Yeah, so?”

  “So what happens after you die? Chaos? War? A struggle for power?”

  Who the heck even thought that far ahead? I sure didn’t. I was still kind of stuck on the whole “save the world” thing at the top of my to-do list.

  “Maybe an election?” I offered.

  “Elections work in stable societies,” Dr. Hans said. “History has shown that emerging societies function better if there is a consistent ruling hierarchy. That’s why kings and queens played such prominent roles historically. Only very recently have some countries been able to elect leaders, and even so it hasn’t always been successful.”

  “So what are you saying?” I demanded. “I’m going to be queen?” I tried hard not to picture myself wearing a tiara. It just wouldn’t work with the shabby jeans and hoodie look.

  “Yes,” the doctor said. “In a manner of speaking. And we intend for you to found a dynasty. And that dynasty will rule society until it has progressed enough to—”

  “Overthrow the dynasty in a revolutionary, blood-filled coup!” Iggy said eagerly.

  We all looked at him.

  “Just saying.” He sheepishly took a bite of cookie.

  “Okay, you lost me,” my mom said. “What exactly are you getting at?”

  “It’s very simple, Dr. Martinez,” said Hansey. “We want Max to… breed. To produce heirs. Who will govern the world after she dies.”

  Dead silence for quite some time. We all stared at Dr. Hans, our jaws dropped to various levels. Our lives had reached a new low of inhumanity.

  My face flushed. Part of me had assumed, hoped, that if Fang and I lived long enough, we would get married. Maybe have a little flock of our own. But I really hadn’t planned it all out. And he was gone now, anyway. How could I possibly ever find someone…

  My eyes scanned Dylan’s face. I saw his discomfort.

  “Oh, no,” I said in horror.

  “Yes,” Angel confirmed. “Freaking unbelievable.”

  “It makes sense, Max,” Dr. Hans continued as my mind spun. “You two were literally made for each other. You’re a perfect match. I’d like you and Dylan to come with me to Germany, where I have a nice home waiting for you. You can marry or not, as you wish, and in time produce children, heirs to your dynasty. To carry on your legacy, your leadership.”

  “You have got to be kidding.” My mom’s voice was loud. “Over my dead body, Hans.”

  “Oh, thank you,” I said, relieved. “So it’s not just me.”

  “That’s a crazy plan!” my mom said. She came over to me and put her arm around my shoulders. “Max is barely fifteen years old! It’s bad enough that you’ve saddled her with saving the world. Now you want her to do it with a baby on her hip? Are you insane?”

  I love my mom.

  “I’m not saying today or tomorrow,” Dr. Gunther-Hagen insisted. “But soon. We’re convinced it’s the only chance for the world’s continued survival.”

  “Out of the question!” my mom said. “Jeb, this is crazy! How could you?! You’re going to drop this right now, or you’ll have to leave! I don’t want to hear another word about Max breeding with anyone!”

  Dr. Hans looked like he wanted to say something else, but he stopped himself.

  The worst part? When I cast a surreptitious glance at Dylan and saw the discomfort in his beautiful turquoise eyes morph into a flicker of hope.

  9

  HE WAS COMING. Fang’s first target.

  Fang pressed his back against the brick wall, sinking deep into the shadows. For hours he’d been waiting for the gang to disperse, for his guy to head off alone. The group had been shooting hoops, playing dice, smoking and drinking. Fang had heard bottles break and angry disputes dissolve into laughter.

  It was late, a bit past midnight. The air was cold. Fang crouched against the wall of the abandoned building, its windows broken and burned out. The deserted lot was full of stuff people probably didn’t know how to get rid of: a stripped car, its side still blotched with red Bondo; an old mattress; naked box springs; half a baby’s crib, smashed and spray painted.

  Fang had been waiting here, still and silent, for most of the night. This was what he’d left the flock to do. This is what Max would not have understood.

  He could hear footsteps approaching him. It was his guy, no doubt. An empty glass bottle struck the wall and shattered with a force that seemed unnaturally loud.

  Three, t
wo, one…

  With precise timing, Fang sprang out from the darkness.

  But there was no one there. What the?

  Before Fang knew what was happening, the guy had shoved him against the wall, a knife at his throat.

  “No one sneaks up on me, friend,” the hooded figure whispered into Fang’s ear. “Been looking for you”—his eyes flashed as he leaned in closer—“and from what I hear, you’ve been looking for me too.”

  Fang always kept cool, but he couldn’t help letting a smile come to his lips. This guy was good. He was quick and strong and scary. Fang was going to need someone with those qualities on his team. But he wouldn’t let himself be subdued so easily, and certainly not by a mere candidate. And his first one at that. Fang would be the leader, and he needed to let this guy know who was boss.

  With an almost imperceptible flick of his arm, Fang grabbed the hand holding the knife and twisted it behind the guy’s back, pinning him. In the same instant Fang’s, other hand clapped over the guy’s mouth.

  “Don’t say a word, Ratchet. Your friends can’t know I’m here.”

  Ratchet squinted at Fang in the dark, as if to confirm that this was the same person he’d seen on the blog. Ratchet nodded tentatively, indicating that he was going to cooperate. For now, anyway.

  “You make one misstep when I let you speak, man,” Fang said, “and you lose your teeth.” It felt weird to Fang to be threatening another kid, but he couldn’t risk being the underdog right now. Fang waited. He had his mission, one he knew he’d been destined for.

  Ratchet made a muffled response behind Fang’s powerful hand, then Fang released his grip.

  “What’s the word?” Fang quizzed.

  “Maximum,” Ratchet said, uttering the password they’d agreed on.

  Fang let him go, and Ratchet put on his sunglasses, trying to recoup his swagger. “A’ight, dude. S’long as there’re no capes and tights anywhere in your game.”

  And so it began. This guy made it into Fang’s new flock—of one.

  10