Maximum Ride 02 Read online

  He still looked like death, extremely pale and groggy. He couldn’t eat, so he had an IV drip. Iggy had given him another pint of bird-kid blood, and that had helped.

  “Well, they sewed you up,” I said. “You’re pretty gape-free at this point.”

  “When do I get out of here?”

  “They say a week.”

  “So, like, tomorrow?” he said.

  “That’s what I’m thinking.”

  “So, Fnick, can I change the channel?” Iggy asked. “There’s a game on.”

  “Make yourself at home, Figgy,” Fang said.

  We crashed early and hard, given what we’d been through in the last twenty-four hours. By nine o’clock I was listening to the flock sleeping all around me. The agent guys had come up with some, like, yoga mats for us, and they weren’t bad. Especially if you’ve logged time on rocky cave floors and concrete ledges in subway tunnels.

  Now it was quiet, and I was trying to shut my brain down. Voice? Any last-minute remarks you want to get off your chest before I crash?

  You chose to stay with Fang.

  No duh, I replied silently. What Gazzy had said, back on the beach . . . the little twerp was right. I shouldn’t split us up again, even when it seemed safer to do it. We did best when we were all together. The whole family together.

  Family is extremely important, said the Voice. Didn’t you tell me that once?

  Yep, I thought. That’s why we’re going to find our parents as soon as we get out of here.

  I took a deep breath, trying to relax. I was completely exhausted, but my brain was racing. Every time I closed my eyes, all sorts of images flashed through my mind—like buildings exploding, a mushroom cloud, ducks caught in oil slicks, mountains of trash, nuclear power plants. Waking nightmares.

  So I sat up, eyes open, but it wasn’t much better. I had started feeling bad earlier but hadn’t told anyone. I had a headache, not a grenade-type headache, where my brain felt like it was being splattered against the inside of my skull, but just a regular headache. Fortunately the grenade-type headaches were much fewer and farther between than they had been. My theory was that they were my brain getting used to sharing office space with my rude and uninvited guest: my Voice. At any rate, I was incredibly glad they were on leave of absence lately.

  This wasn’t like that. I was hot; my skin was burning. I felt like adrenaline was pouring into my system, making me so jumpy I couldn’t stand it.

  Were the Erasers tracking the chip in my arm that I’d seen in that X-ray at Dr. Martinez’s office so many days ago? How did they keep finding us? The eternal question.

  I glanced at Total, sleeping on the bed with Angel and Gazzy. He was on his back, paws in the air. Was he chipped? Were they tracking him now?

  Ugh. I felt so hot and twitchy and sick. I wanted to lie down in snow, eat snow, rub it over my skin. I fantasized about throwing open the window and taking off into the cool night air. I imagined flying back to Dr. Martinez and her daughter, Ella, the only human friends I’d known. Dr. Martinez would know what to do. My heart was pounding so fast it felt like a staccato drumroll in my chest.

  I stood up and picked my way quietly over sleeping bodies to the small sink in one wall. I turned on the cold water and let it run over my hands. Leaning down, I splashed my face again and again. It felt good, and I wished I could stand under an icy shower. Please don’t let me get sick, I prayed. I can’t get sick. I can’t get Fang sick.

  I don’t know how long I hung over the sink, letting water trickle over my neck. Finally I thought maybe I could try to sleep again, and I straightened up to dry my face.

  And almost screamed.

  I whirled around, but the room was quiet. I whipped back to stare in the mirror again, and it was still there: the Eraser.

  I blinked rapidly. What the h was going on? The Eraser in the mirror blinked rapidly too.

  The Eraser was me.

  18

  In an instant, cold sweat coated my forehead and the back of my neck.

  I swallowed, and the Eraser Max in the mirror swallowed.

  I opened my mouth and saw the long, sharp canines. But when I touched them with my finger, they felt small, smooth, normal. I touched my face and felt smooth skin, though the mirror showed me totally morphed.

  I remembered how ill I had felt, hot and heart-poundy. Oh, God. What was this all about? Had I just discovered a new “skill,” like Angel reading minds, Gazzy able to imitate any voice, Iggy identifying people by feeling their fingerprints? Had I just developed the skill of turning into an Eraser, our worst enemy?

  I felt sick with revulsion and dread. I glanced guiltily around to make sure no one could see me like this. I didn’t even know what they would see if they woke up. I felt normal. I looked like an Eraser. Kind of a cuter, blonder, Pekingesey Eraser.

  Respect and honor your enemies, said my Voice. Always. Know your friends well; know your enemies even better.

  Oh, please, I begged silently. Please let this be just a horrible lesson and not reality. I promise, promise, promise to know my enemies better. Just let me lose the muzzle.

  Your greatest strength is your greatest weakness, Max.

  I stared at the mirror. Huh?

  Your hatred of Erasers gives you the power to fight to the death. But that hatred also blinds you to the big picture: the big picture of them, of you, of everything in your life.

  Um. Let me think about that and get back to you. Okay?

  Ow. I winced and pressed my fingers to my temples, trying to rub the pain away. I touched my face one last time to make sure it really was smooth, and then I went and looked at Fang.

  He was still breathing, sleeping. He looked better. Not so embalmed. He was going to be all right. I sighed, trying to release my pain and fear, then I curled up on my mat next to Nudge. I closed my eyes but didn’t really have any hope of sleeping.

  I lay quietly in the darkness. The only thing that made me feel better was listening to the even, regular, calm breathing of my sleeping flock.

  19

  I don’t understand it,” said the doctor, gazing at Fang’s wound.

  Yeah, well, I thought, that’s the whimsy of recombinant DNA.

  The doc had come in to change the bandages this morning and found that Fang’s gashes were almost healed, just thin pink lines of scar tissue.

  “Guess I’m good to go,” said Fang, trying to sit up. He was alert, himself, and happiness filled my heart. I’d been so scared—what would I do without Fang?

  “Wait!” Anne Walker said, holding up her hand. “You’re nowhere near ready to move or leave. Please, Nick, just lie still and rest.”

  Fang regarded her calmly, and I smirked to myself. If Anne thought I was uncooperative, wait till she dealt with a recovered Fang.

  “Nick, now that you’re feeling a bit better, maybe you can convince your brothers and sisters to leave with me,” Anne said. “I’ve offered for all of you to come stay at my house, to rest and regroup.” She gave a slight smile. “Max refused to leave without you. But I’m sure you can see that it’s pointless for them to stay here and be uncomfortable. And you’d be joining us in a week or so.”

  Fang just looked at her, waiting.

  I leaned against the wall and crossed my arms.

  “So, how do you feel about it, Nick?”

  Actually, I’d already briefed him, early this morning. Since we were up at six. Since, at six, the nurse had been overcome with an overwhelming compulsion to take Fang’s temperature right then.

  Fang met my eyes, and I let one side of my mouth droop.

  “Whatever Max says,” he said evenly. “She’s in charge.”

  I grinned. I’ll never get tired of hearing that.

  Anne turned to look at me.

  “I can’t leave Nick,” I said, sounding regretful.

  “If you all stay, maybe I could examine—,” the doctor began, and Anne turned to him as if she’d forgotten he was there.

  “Thank you, Doc
tor,” she said. “I appreciate all your help.”

  It was a dismissal, and the doctor didn’t look happy. But he left.

  “We heal really quickly,” I told Anne. Last night Fang had still looked bad. And I had too, I thought, remembering the horrible Eraser reflection. But this morning I looked like me, and Fang looked much more like himself again.

  Fang sat up. “What do I have to do to get some food in this joint?”

  “You still have an IV,” Anne said. “The doctors don’t want you eating solid . . .” Her voice trailed off as Fang’s eyes narrowed.

  “We saved a tray for you,” I said. An orderly had brought us breakfast, and we’d saved some of everything for Fang.

  Anne looked as though she wanted to say something but held it back. A good move on her part, I must say.

  I gave the tray to Fang, and he dug into the food with quick precision.

  “I need to get out of here,” he said between bites. “The hospital smells alone are making me crawl the walls.”

  I knew what he meant. We all had the same reaction: Anything antiseptic-smelling, hospitally, science labby, brought back years’ worth of bad memories.

  I looked at Anne. “I think F—Nick is ready to come with us.”

  She looked at me, clearly thinking things through.

  “Okay,” she said finally, and I kept the surprise off my face. “Let me go clear up the paperwork. It’ll take about an hour and a half to drive to my home. I live in northern Virginia. Okay?”

  “Yeah,” I said.

  Anne left, and I looked around at the flock. “I don’t know what’s coming, guys, but keep your eyes open and heads up.” I glanced at Fang. “You sure you can move?”

  He shrugged, looking tired again, and pushed away the food tray. “Sure.” He lay back down and shut his eyes.

  “After all, Fnick is Superman,” said Iggy.

  “Shut up, Jeff,” I said, but I was smiling. I lifted Iggy’s fingers to my face so that he knew.

  20

  Gol, Virginia is shore purty,” I said to the Gasman, and he grinned.

  But it really was. There were many hills of the “gently rolling” type, miles of trees that had been dipped in fiery, autumny paint, and swelling waves of green pastures, some even dotted with actual horses. It was gorgeous here.

  Anne’s huge Suburban held us all, and Fang got to recline most of the way. I kept an eye on him, noting the way his jaw tightened when we hit bumps, but he didn’t complain.

  Another fly in the ointment: I was having the same waves of heat and racing heart I’d had last night. My breath came in little pants, and I was so jumpy it felt as if bugs were crawling all over me.

  Total had been sitting on my lap, looking out the window, and now he glanced at me with his shiny black eyes. Deliberately he got up and picked his way over Fang’s lap and onto Angel’s, as if to say, If you’re going to be that hot, forget it.

  “Oh, gosh, look at that,” Nudge said, pointing out her window. “That horse is totally white. Like an angel horse. And what are those rolled-up straw things?”

  “Bales of hay,” said Anne from the front seat. “They roll them like that instead of making haystacks.”

  “It’s so pretty here,” Nudge went on, practically bouncing in her seat next to Anne. “I like these hills. What’s the kind of tree with pointy leaves and all the colors?”

  “Maples,” Anne said. “They usually have the most color.”

  “What’s your house like?” Nudge asked. “Is it all white with big columns? Like Tara? Did you see that movie?”

  “Gone with the Wind,” Anne said. “No, I’m afraid my house isn’t anything like Tara. It’s an old farmhouse. But I do have fifty acres of land around it. Plenty of room for you guys to run around. We’re almost there.”

  Twenty minutes later, Anne pulled into a driveway and clicked an electronic gadget. A pair of wrought-iron gates swung open, and she pulled through.

  The gates closed behind us, which made my sensors go on precautionary alert.

  It took almost a whole minute to get to her house. The driveway was made of crushed shells and wound through beautiful trees arching overhead. Red and yellow leaves fluttered gently down onto the car.

  “Well, here we are,” she said, pulling around a corner. “I hope you like it.”

  We stared out the car windows. Anne’s house looked like a painting. It had rounded river rocks on the bottom part, and clapboards above, and a big screened porch that covered almost the whole front. Large shrubs circled the yard, and some of them still had faded hydrangea blooms.

  “There’s a pond out back,” Anne said, pulling into a parking space in front of the house. “It’s so shallow that it might still be warm enough to swim in, in the afternoons. Here, everyone pile out.”

  We poured out of the car, glad to be in a wide-open space again.

  “The air smells different here,” said Nudge, wrinkling her nose. “It smells great.”

  The house stood on the top of a low hill. Sloping away from us were wide lawns and an orchard. The trees were actually covered with apples. Birds twittered and sang. I couldn’t hear traffic, or smell road tar, or hear any other person.

  Anne opened the front door. “Well, don’t just stand there,” she said with a laugh. “Come see your rooms.”

  I nodded, and Angel and Nudge started toward the house, followed by Gazzy.

  Iggy was standing next to me. “What does it look like?” he asked in a low voice.

  “It looks like paradise, Jeff,” said Fang.

  21

  The rough bark of the tree was cutting into his legs, but Ari paid no attention.

  After the pain of having huge wings retrofitted onto his shoulders, this was child’s play. He grinned at that thought. Technically, anything he did was child’s play: He was only seven years old. Eight next April. Not that it mattered. He wouldn’t get presents or a cake. His dad probably wouldn’t even remember.

  He put the binoculars to his eyes again, clenching his jaw. He saw the mutant bird freaks get out of the car. He’d already been over the grounds, looked in the windows of the house. Those kids were in a for a cushy stay. At least for a while.

  It wasn’t fair. There wasn’t even a word for how unfair it was. Ari’s hand clutched a small branch so tightly that the branch snapped, sending a long, thin sliver under his skin.

  He looked at it, waiting for the pain signals to make their sluggish way to his brain. Bright red blood welled around the splinter. Ari pinched the splinter out and threw it away before his brain even recognized that he’d been hurt.

  Here he was, in a tree, his team camped nearby, stuck watching the mutant freaks through binoculars.

  He should be on the ground, tapping Max on the shoulder, seeing her whirl, then smashing his fist right into her face.

  But no. Instead, she was sashaying inside the fancy house, thinking she was perfect, better than anyone, better than him.

  The one fun thing of the last forty-eight hours had been Max’s expression when she’d seen he was alive. She’d been shocked. Shocked and horrified, Ari remembered proudly. He wanted her to look like that every time she saw him.

  So, fine. Get some R&R, Maximum, Ari thought acidly. Your time is coming. And I’ll be there waiting for you. I’ll always be there.

  The hatred coiled in his gut, twisting his insides, and he felt himself morphing, his facial bones elongating, his shoulders hunching.

  He watched as the coarse hair covered his arms, lightning fast, and ragged claws erupted from his fingertips. He wanted to rake these claws down Max’s face, that perfect face. . . .

  Anguish welled up and choked him, turning his world black, and without thinking, he sank his fangs into his own arm. Clenching his jaw hard, he waited for the physical pain. Finally, gasping, he sat back, his mouth red with blood, his arm coldly numb with pain. Ah. That was better.

  PART 2

  PARADISE OR PRISON?

  22

 
Guess how many bedrooms Anne’s little country shack had. Seven. One for her, one for each bird kid. Guess how many bathrooms it had. Five. Five bathrooms all in one house.

  “Max!” The Gasman pounded on my bedroom door.

  I opened it, my hair still wet from my long, incredibly hot shower.

  “Can I go outside?” he asked.

  “Gee, I had forgotten the natural color of your skin,” I told him. “I was convinced you were kind of dirt colored.”

  He grinned at me. “Call it camouflage. Can I go outside?”

  “Yeah, let’s all go together, give Iggy some landmarks.”

  “What is that, like, a plane hangar?” Nudge asked.

  A grove of trees had hidden the big red building from the house, but now that we were doing recon, we were finding all kinds of things.

  “It’s a barn,” said Fang.

  I was keeping an eye on him. As soon as he started to look tired, I was going to send him back to the house.

  “A barn with animals?” asked Angel excitedly.

  Just then, Total started barking, as if he’d picked up something’s scent.

  “Yep, guess so,” I said, scooping Total up in my arms. “Listen, you,” I told him. “No more with the barking. You’re going to spook somebody.”

  Total looked offended but stayed quiet as long as I held him.

  “That first one is Sugar,” said Anne, coming up behind us. She’d given us free rein of the place after she’d shown us our rooms and stuff.

  We stood in the open barn doorway and watched Sugar, a pale gray horse who was looking back at us with interest.

  “He’s beautiful,” Nudge whispered.

  “He’s big,” said the Gasman.

  “Big and sweet,” said Anne, opening a box and taking out a carrot. She handed it to Nudge and nodded at the horse. “Go on. He likes carrots. Hold it flat in your hand.”

  Cautiously Nudge stepped forward, holding out the carrot. This is a kid who could break a man’s ribs with a well-placed kick, but she was almost trembling as she approached the horse.