Fang: A Maximum Ride Novel Page 4

  “Max — wait,” Angel said. “He doesn’t mean us harm.”

  “And you know this beca —,” I began sarcastically, then realized that she probably did actually know that. Dylan had a familiar alertness, a tensing of muscles that made me wonder if he’d been trained for battle. I guessed I would find out.

  “Angel is right,” said Dr. G-H quickly. “This is my clumsy way of demonstrating.”

  “Demonstrating what?” I was barely able to keep a snarl out of my voice. “How to get yourself beat up in one easy step?”

  “No,” said Dr. G-H. “Demonstrating the wonders of modern science. Watch.”

  And with that he rolled up one sleeve and swiftly injected himself with the hypo. It was something new and different, to watch a scientist experiment on himself. I liked it.

  Within moments the doctor gasped, wide-eyed, sucking in breath. He groaned and staggered a bit, holding his throat, then sank down into a chair.

  Angel was eating a banana and watching him avidly. I sent her a question: What’s going on?

  She looked at me and shrugged. No clue.

  I sat down and snagged another cup of coffee and a muffin, since it looked like this might take a while.

  For several minutes the doctor hunched over, grimacing. Then he managed to speak in wheezy gasps. “I’ve injected … a rare strain of virus … that is … going to cause a rather … shocking reaction.”

  “What you science types do for fun,” I said with false cheer. Having grown up in a lab, I associated the words rare virus with hazmat suits. I wanted out of there.

  He frowned. “Clearly not for fun. But for progress. Sometimes progress is … painful. Now, watch.”

  Sweat broke out on his brow, and his face turned bright red. And get ready for this most horrific next part, kids: All at once, his skin erupted in grotesque pustules.

  I jumped up. “Outta here, dudes!”

  “No, wait, Max!” he gasped hoarsely. “The miracle is about to begin.”

  The only reasons I didn’t do an up-and-away were (a) it’s hard in a tent, and (b) when I did a double take, I saw that the doc’s pustules were already shrinking.

  Could I have imagined it? I sat back down shakily.

  “To explain it in very basic lay terms,” he went on, more quickly now that he wasn’t gasping for air, “a number of my organs and systems — including the skin, brain, blood cells, thyroid, the entire immune system — are now working together to analyze the virus, produce the white blood cell and glandular response that will eradicate the virus, and circulate it through my body — almost instantaneously.”

  “Okay. I can see how that might come in handy,” I said, thinking about the sick refugees I’d seen in the camp. “Especially if it puts doctors like you out of business. I don’t trust doctors.”

  The doctor smiled. “You’re getting the picture, Max. Because in an apocalypse, there are no doctors. There are no hospitals and certainly no insurance companies. You are on your own. It is you against the forces of nature, which at this point in Earth’s history surely see it as in their best interest to eradicate the human race. Do you understand what I mean, Max? Let me give you another example.”

  He pulled out a meat cleaver.

  16

  BEFORE I HAD A CHANCE to disappear — fast — Dr. Gunther-Hagen had hacked off the tip of his left pinkie finger.

  You heard me right.

  Angel screamed. I screamed. The madman screamed too, in pain, then regained his composure.

  “Don’t worry, children,” he grunted. “My biological healing system … is now working together with an advanced stem cell response. I’m able to reposition my severed fingertip” — he moved it back into place and pressed it to his stub, with a pained expression — “or, even more miraculously, were you willing to stay with me for the next several days, you could actually watch a new one grow right back in its place.”

  “Whoa” was all I could say. Dylan looked unmoved by the whole thing. Guess people sprouting new limbs was common where he came from.

  A moment later the doctor held up his left hand and wiggled all five fingers — intact. This guy was seriously starting to worry me, and I began to back slowly toward the door, ready to leap out of the way if he lunged at me with a needle. Or a meat cleaver.

  Angel looked excited, and I frowned. Typical yin-yang response from us.

  “Okay, I think I get it,” I said. “I also get that it all seems a little too good to be true.”

  “What makes you say that?” the doctor asked, examining his healed finger with satisfaction.

  “Well … that must be some pretty super-mega-powerful body chemistry happening there. If it can kill a virus in a single explosion … could it, say, accidentally kill you? Or could you accidentally grow an ear instead of a fingertip? How about a claw?”

  The doctor waved his hand impatiently. “Of course there are bugs that need to be worked out. Certainly, overactive autoimmune response can be a tricky business, among other challenges. We’re working on that, but in the meantime we have the pharmacology to counteract the side effects. My point is that once those bugs are solved, a world of possibilities opens up.”

  And a world of unpredictable chaos, I thought.

  “After the apocalypse, we could all be living like cavemen again,” the doctor said. “We could be hunted by huge mutant carnivores, things we can’t even imagine now. We need every weapon, shield, and protection in our arsenal. And here’s the important thing, Max. Remember this if you remember nothing else: We must be our own weapons.”

  His eyes were focused intently on me. I’ll just ask now: What is it about my persona that draws every insane, power-hungry nutcase to me like a magnet?

  “We will have to survive on our own strengths. You can fly. You and the flock have gifts. Dylan here is also gifted, and in some ways different from you. But this kind of healing ability will be the difference between life and death in the near future.”

  “Wow,” I said. Traditionally, I would have come up with something snappy and/or scathing here, but I have to tell you, this guy unnerved me.

  Because, in a crazy way, what he was saying made some degree of sense.

  “It’s … really impressive,” I said. “But I don’t see what it has to do with me, with us.”

  Dr. G-H straightened. “I asked you here to discuss a possible alliance between us — a partnership, if you will: your flock and my companies, me, and Dylan. With your natural abilities and the powers of science I’m unleashing, we can, in essence, ensure the survival of humankind.”

  “We would be allies?” Angel asked.

  “No,” I told her, giving her a warning look that she ignored. Again, I started to make my way toward the door.

  “You six are the most successful recombinant-DNA life-forms ever created,” Dr. G-H went on earnestly. “until now.” He motioned proudly to Dylan, who had the decency to look embarrassed. “My companies are producing some of the most cutting-edge, daring science in the world today. Together, we could actually achieve your mission — to save the world.”

  I stopped in my tracks and turned back to face him. Okay, he had insider info.

  “Sorry. Thanks for asking. But the flock works alone.” I was acutely aware of Dylan’s steady gaze, his tightly coiled tension as he watched the doctor. “Thanks for the great breakfast,” I added. “I’m really impressed with your science and all. But I don’t think we’re the right partners for you.”

  That was probably the most diplomatic, least obnoxious reply I’d ever given anyone in my whole life.

  “This isn’t good-bye, Max.” The doctor’s voice followed me as I exited the tent. “And that isn’t your final answer.”

  17

  DID I EVER TELL you how much I hate needles? Bad childhood memories. It’s a lab-escapee thing. The meat cleaver was a mere annoyance in comparison.

  My mind was still reeling as I slogged through the sand back to our camp. I kept a death grip on Angel’s
hand as she trotted beside me to keep up. The African sun beat down on us, and for the first time, the heat felt crushing to me.

  I really wanted to help the CSM and the refugees here, but my Mother Teresa aspirations were crumbling fast. This place was suddenly way too dangerous for us. Angel’s dire prediction, what the Voice had said about Dylan, Chu and the disappearing refugees in the middle of the night, and now Dr. Hans’s obsessive fondness for wielding knives and needles full of pathogens had all combined to turn this trip into a nightmare.

  We had to get out of there and far away from Dr. Cleaver. ASAP.

  “What did you think about Dylan?” Angel asked.

  “Poor sap,” I said briefly, and tried not to think about him too much in case she was in mind-reading mode.

  “Don’t you think we should stay and help him?” “Help him do what?”

  “Help him learn,” she said. “He’s brand-new. He doesn’t have anyone else. I don’t think he can learn what he needs to know from Dr. Hans. At least we all have each other.” She smiled up at me somewhat tentatively.

  Stopping, I looked into her blue eyes. “Do we, Angel?” I asked softly, as her smile faltered. “Do we all have each other? Have each other’s backs?”

  She didn’t say anything, and then we were in sight of our tent. Gazzy called over to us. I strode forward and motioned everyone inside. In the heat of the day, it was stifling, but I would make this fast.

  “Okay,” I said. “First, here.” I handed out squashed bacon, muffins, fruit, everything I’d been able to stuff into the cargo pockets of my pants and my jacket. In retrospect, the handful of scrambled eggs had not been a good idea, but still, my poor hungry flock fell on everything like hygiene-challenged hyenas. Gazzy actually moaned as he downed a piece of bacon in two bites.

  “Listen up,” I said urgently. “It’s time to round up your gear. I’m gonna check in with Patrick, and then we’re getting the flock out of here.” Ha-ha. “If we head northnortheast, we’ll hit Italy. From Italy to Ireland. Ireland to New York. Sound good?”

  They all looked at me.

  “I’ll explain on the road, but we have to get out of here, fast.” I even looked over my shoulder, as if Dr. HackerHagen was about to pop through our tent flap.

  “Aren’t we supposed to stay and help?” Nudge asked, brushing off crumbs.

  “We’ve helped. We’ve posed for pictures,” I said, shoving my stuff into my backpack. “us staying a bit longer won’t do that much more.”

  “Are we going on another CSM mission?” Nudge asked.

  “Nah. At least not for a while,” I said. “We’re headed someplace new and different —”

  Fang looked at me and smiled. It was time to spill our little secret.

  “Home.”

  PART

  TWO

  HOME IS WHERE THE HEART BREAKS

  18

  LESS THAN A WEEK LATER, Iggy was working his magic in the kitchen, with real groceries that we’d bought from a real grocery store. He came out, a chef’s hat on his head, big oven mitts on his hands. “Come sit down,” he ordered. “Dinner’s ready.”

  Gazzy raced to the table. “Lasagna! Excellent!”

  I stood at an open window, looking out over the bloodred canyon, turned to flame by a glorious sunset. We were home. Colorado, that is, where we had lived, post–dog-crate but pre-world-saving-mission. We had a new house there, near where we had lived before. The CSM had built it as a big thank-you for our help in Antarctica and Hawaii.

  I had missed these mountains, these gorges. Jeb had brought us here, about five years ago, after he’d kidnapped us to protect us from the mad scientists at the School. Now I was hoping Dr. Gunther-Hagen never found us here. That would have been a little too familiar.

  A small black head nudged my leg, and I looked down to see Total smiling up at me. I dropped down to my knees and hugged the furry, Scottie-like body close. “You had a good visit with my mom?”

  “Super,” he said. Yes, Total can talk — another advantage to being genetically engineered, if you’re a dog. “I helped out in her office. And Akila loved it.”

  My mom is a veterinarian, when she’s not trying to solve global problems through the CSM. And Akila is Total’s … girlfriend. She’s a (non-English-speaking) malamute that we met on our first mission. They’re a match made in a carnival sideshow, but they seem happy. “Yeah? What’d you do?”

  Total puffed himself up. “Counseled patients,” he said importantly. “It helps that I speak their language.”

  “I bet. Let’s go — before Gazzy eats that whole lasagna. I’m starving.” Total’s small black nose twitched, and we both trotted to the kitchen, where yummy smells wafted toward us.

  Fang sat down next to me at the table and quietly linked his ankle around mine. Total hopped up onto a chair between Fang and Nudge.

  I dug in to the lasagna, which smelled like heaven, if heaven were hot and cheesy and layered with noodles and red sauce. And maybe it is.

  I looked around at my family, the six of us, Total, and now Akila, all sharing a meal together. We were here, far from everyone else. Far from anyone who could hurt Fang. Far from Dylan and Dr. Gummy-Häagen-Dazs. I felt almost like weeping with joy.

  I knew it wouldn’t last. It never does.

  19

  THE NIGHT WIND CAME in my open window. I lay in my bed, staring at the ceiling. Somehow, being back in this just-like-the-old-days setting was giving me nasty flashbacks.

  I thought about how Jeb had taught us everything he’d known and then suddenly disappeared. We’d been sure he was dead. After a couple years living on our own, the first nightmare in recent history: Erasers — a human-wolf hybrid — had come. They’d attacked us, destroyed our house, and kidnapped Angel. Now that we were back in Colorado, a sense of unease rattled me. I felt as if someone were watching me. Someone with a night telescope?

  I shook my head. Must tamp down the paranoia.

  As if on cue, I heard a sound from outside. Like a slight scratching. In seconds, I had rolled out of bed, crouched by the window, and quickly peered over the sill.

  Nothing. The sky was clear. No one was scaling the wall; no one was rappelling down from the roof.

  But there was that sound again. It was closer. My breathing sped up, and my hands curled automatically into fists. Then I saw the doorknob of my room turn very, very slowly. Crap!

  My muscles coiled, tightened… . A hand crept around the edge of the door, easing it open. I almost gasped. It was an Eraser’s paw. I was sure of it. Huge, hairy, tipped with long ragged claws. I still had scars on one of my legs from claws like that. I slithered toward the door, kneeling behind my desk.

  A dark shaggy head poked around the edge of the door. I leaped up — then froze.

  “Fang?” I whispered.

  My eyes whipped down to his hand on the door. It was just a hand. No claws. I blinked several times.

  “Sorry,” Fang whispered. “Didn’t mean to startle you. Trying to be quiet.”

  I sat down abruptly on my bed, my heart pounding. “You okay?” Fang soundlessly shut the door and came to sit next to me. “You look like you saw a ghost.” I shook my head, speechless for a second.

  “How come you’re awake?” Fang whispered, taking my hand in his own non-paw.

  I shrugged. “Couldn’t sleep. I feel like something’s sneaking up on us. Watching us.”

  “You think Dr. G-H knows where we are?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “He warned me — he said no wasn’t my final answer. I keep feeling like he’s coming after us, that he’ll keep asking me to join forces with him until he forces me to say yes.”

  “Over my dead body,” Fang said, and I flinched.

  “Not funny to use that phrase anymore, Fang,” I warned him, then continued. “I can’t stop thinking about Jeanne too. He’s clearly been experimenting on her. Which means he’s probably experimenting on everyone at that camp. And Chu is involved. I saw him gathering subjects i
n that first aid tent. It’s so totally Nazi-scary. For one thing, can you imagine an accidental outbreak of one of his ‘rare viruses’?”

  “He could definitely do some damage,” Fang agreed.

  “And that’s just for starters. People there are desperate, Fang — they’d agree to anything as long as there was a decent meal at the end of it. Lots of those kids are orphans. Who would miss them if something went wrong?”

  “You think we should go back?” Fang asked.

  “No!” I answered, a little too quickly. “I know; it’s pathetic. One day I’m Mother Teresa, and the next I’m all about me-me-me again. us, I mean.” Fang nodded. “The problem is, I don’t have the slightest idea how to help those people.” I sighed. “This guy is an evil genius. Most of the people we’ve dealt with are evil non-geniuses. I’m not sure how to handle him. He’s the kind of person who’s so brilliant, he probably could destroy the entire world.”

  “So do we tell the CSM? The president? The New York Times?”

  “I don’t know,” I said slowly. “I’ve been going back and forth on that all week. I can’t think about it anymore right now,” I said, suddenly feeling tired. “Hey, why’d you come in here, anyway?”

  Fang’s too-long black hair fell over one eye. “Just checking on you. You’ve been getting wound tighter every day.”

  “I guess I have. I just … don’t know what to do, and I feel like I don’t know enough about anything to figure out what to do.”

  “It’ll come to you,” Fang said confidently. “For now, why don’t you try to get some sleep? I’ll stay till you’re out, if that’ll help.”

  “That would help a lot,” I admitted.

  I collapsed sideways on my bed and pulled the blanket over me. Fang sat at my side, holding my hand and rubbing my back between my wings.

  20

  FANG WAS RIGHT. It came to me. The next day I presented my plan to the flock.