Angel: A Maximum Ride Novel mr-7 Read online

  “Me too,” Fang said, out of breath as he landed, wiping a bead of sweat from his brow.

  “So did I pass my audition?” Star asked, with no bead of sweat on her brow to wipe.

  “Just barely,” Fang grinned. “Okay, folks. Let’s get this girl another boatload of sushi. She must be starving.”

  17

  WHEN THE FUSELAGE hit the ground and exploded, I saw my future right below me, just seconds away. My wings were burning, as I gulped air, my muscles shaking from the strain of keeping us both aloft. We were going to land hard—and soon.

  “Max!” my mom cried, looking down in horror. For her, Jeb was almost out of sight, dropping to earth like an unaerodynamic rock. Unfortunately for me, because of my raptor vision, I could still make out his terrified expression with utter clarity.

  “Gazzy couldn’t hold—” I started to say, but then something big dropped past me, actually brushing my feathers and bumping my feet. It was Dylan shooting down to Jeb.

  “Go!” I shouted to Gazzy. “Help Angel!”

  Gazzy angled his body in a tight arc that brought him close to the others with just a few strokes. He braced himself under Nudge, taking half her weight—possibly reducing her speed enough to keep her from imploding when she hit the ground. Angel focused on guiding Iggy down for what she hoped would be a less-than-fatal landing.

  “When we get there, land on your feet, then fall sideways,” I told my mom.

  Ordinarily, I do a running landing. I can also do a hover-type landing, which involves dropping down from the sky into a standing position. (Kids, don’t try that at home—you’ll pop your knees.) This time, I rolled sideways, way too close to the ground for comfort, to let my mom slide off me. She landed much harder than I expected and then didn’t move. Meanwhile, I tripped and plunged headlong, somersaulting a couple times and coming to a stop on my hands and knees like an amateur.

  Right behind me, Dylan and Jeb did about the same. They were still alive, which was all we could really hope for at this point.

  About twenty yards away, the ungainly mass of Nudge, Iggy, Angel, and Gazzy finally landed hard, sliding through the red Arizona dirt, then tumbling head over heels, ingesting mouthfuls of sand. Considering that I’d been sure Gazzy would end up being a big Rorschach blot on the ground, I thought they did real well.

  I crawled over to my mom. “Mom? Are you okay?”

  Gingerly she rolled over onto her back, shading her eyes from the blazing Arizona sun. “Well, actually, I think my arm’s broken,” she said. My eyes flew to the arm pinned beneath her. It was bent at an unnatural, nauseating angle. I gently reached for her other hand, her face ashen, her mouth tight with pain.

  “And my leg,” Jeb said, grimacing.

  “Nudge?” I said. “Iggy?”

  “Bleeding,” Iggy said faintly. “Don’t think I can move my wings anymore.”

  “Me neither,” said Nudge, sounding like she was trying not to cry.

  “I’m fine,” Dylan offered. Then I caught sight of the other side of his face. It was caked with dust and pebbles, blood still oozing, and his lip was split.

  “Okay. We need help,” I admitted.

  Not something you’ll hear from me every day.

  18

  WE’RE NOT FANS of regular hospitals. “We can patch everyone up at my office, do x-rays, put on casts,” my mom said. That way, we didn’t have to worry about explaining the whole wing situation or the fact that we have bird-type blood—ix-nay on any anfusions-tray.

  I unclipped my cell phone from my belt and handed it to her so she could place a rescue call to her colleagues.

  Nudge and Iggy were still bleeding as we waited for help from my mom’s office to arrive. I pushed Nudge’s hair back from her dusty, scraped face, still shaky from how close to the end we had all come. Gazzy was exhausted, with pulled muscles and banged-up hands and knees. My chest and back muscles ached, and that sliced tip of my wing was sore—but just a little bit. I’d gotten off easy.

  “So… no one saw what happened to the good doctor?” I asked.

  Everyone shook their heads no. I turned to Dylan.

  “And where were you, newbie? Why didn’t you jump out of the plane right after Jeb? Was Dr. Hans still in the plane when you jumped?”

  Dylan grimaced and nodded. He walked stiffly as if in pain, but everything seemed to be functioning. His face and lip were already scabbing up, since he’d been engineered with the ability to heal himself. “The plane spiraled back and headed into the wires again. If I’d jumped out, I’d have been sliced into deli strips. I yelled at Dr. Hans to jump, but he pushed me out first. Last I knew, he was right behind me, but then he never jumped. I banged my face on the way out.”

  “Klutz.” I snickered, then felt a tiny bit guilty. Dylan had helped everyone else out of the doomed plane, at his own peril. I had to give him props, but how annoying of him to be a hero when I was trying so hard to dislike him. It was downright selfish.

  “I want to make sure you don’t have a concussion, Dylan,” my mom said wanly.

  Dylan shook his head. “Sorry—I’m not going back with you. I’ve gotta find what’s left of Hans and the plane. Thought I would do some recon after you guys head off.”

  “I’d feel better if you had an x-ray,” my mom protested.

  “Later,” Dylan promised. “There’s no way I can let this go. I have to find Hans, if only so we can send his body back to Germany.”

  I understood where he was coming from. There were so many ifs, buts, and maybes in our topsy-turvy world, it was comforting to nail down as many details as possible. Even if that meant finding his unquestionably evil creator in pieces.

  “Max, you’ll come with us, won’t you?” my mom said, her face drawn with pain.

  I wanted to say, “Yeah, of course,” but the words got stuck in my throat. I paused for a moment, thinking, then had a stunning realization—and this is just between you, me, and this cactus here. I didn’t want to let Dylan go off on his own.

  And it wasn’t even for a good reason, like I didn’t trust him and wanted to make sure he wasn’t in league with Hans.

  It was just that I didn’t want to leave him. Something in me wanted to stay with him.

  I had two follow-up thoughts: Why??? And Ew!!!

  Dylan had said that he’d been programmed to want to be with me. Was it possible that I’d somehow been programmed for him? Nah, there was no way, not after what Fang and I had meant to each other.

  My face must have shown my confusion, because my mom said, “What is it? Are you hurt?”

  “I think I’ll go with… Dylan,” I heard myself say. I felt like a traitor, leaving my injured flock. But they had my mom—and even Jeb, as long as he didn’t turn into a backstabbing weasel.

  When I looked at Dylan, I saw surprise on his face and then a rush of pleasure, and I felt… good.

  19

  “WE’LL BE OKAY,” Angel said to me, as my mom’s office manager climbed back into the front seat of the van. “You do what you need to do.” I got the embarrassing feeling that Angel wasn’t just talking about finding Hansy. Then my injured flock was driving across the bare land, and it was Dylan and me, alone, as the trail of dust kicked up by their departure gradually settled and the van disappeared from view.

  Now that we were alone, I was self-conscious and cranky again. Why had I wanted to stay? If I had been programmed to want to be with Dylan and only Dylan, heads were gonna roll, I promise you that.

  “So,” Dylan said calmly. “I’m thinking the plane probably went down a mile or so to the southwest of here. At least, that was the direction it was heading when I left it.”

  “That makes sense.” I nodded, relieved he wasn’t trying to convince me to run off with him to find a cozy little nest for two.

  “So let’s do this thing,” he said, and made a running takeoff that was beautiful to see. I taught him how to do that only weeks ago. It was amazing how far his skills had advanced since then. Taller a
nd more sturdily built than Fang, Dylan soared powerfully into the sky. The sunlight glinted off his hair, and his feathers shimmered. His wings were a little shorter than Fang’s but broader—more like a hawk’s—wings built for power and lift. The rest of us had wings that were narrower and more angled, designed for speed. For the first time, it occurred to me that the mad scientists who created us might have used different avian DNA to make each of us.

  I had never thought of that before. I had sort of assumed that they’d had one vial of avian DNA and had gone around with an eyedropper, plopping it into our test tubes. The idea that they might have paired us with birds having different characteristics amazed me. So far, none of us seemed to have flamingo as part of our makeup, or penguin. There’s always something to be thankful for.

  “Are you coming or what?” Dylan shouted to me. He’d been circling, waiting for me while I took a quick ride on my train of thought.

  I started running, building speed, and after about thirty feet I threw myself into the air and whipped out my wings. I pushed down with hard, even strokes, rising fast. The sun shone on my face, my tangled hair streamed behind me, and I felt a burst of pride at my strength and the sheer joy of flying.

  Dylan seemed to know what I was thinking. He grinned at me, even with his bruised face and swollen, blood-caked lip, and said, “There’s really nothing better.”

  I nodded, then thought a moment. And here’s the weird part: at the exact same time, Dylan and I both said, “Except a white-chocolate mocha from Coffee Madness.”

  We stared at each other as our voices trailed off. This wasn’t a “jinx” kind of thing, when we both said “yep” at the same time or anything like that. It was a long, weird sentence, and we had said it simultaneously.

  Can you read my mind? I thought, but if he could, he was smart enough not to tell me. Instead, he frowned.

  “Can you read my mind?” he asked accusingly.

  Also a smart move. Offense is a strong defense.

  “No!” I blurted, glaring at him.

  It was weird. It was scary. And yet… I didn’t leave.

  20

  “HELLOOO, KATE!” RATCHET said, then whistled. “I think my senses just short-circuited.”

  Fang cringed. Well, this was going to be fun. He had wanted mostly older kids so he wouldn’t have to worry about them, and now he had to deal with freaking flirting instead.

  Kate Tan Wei Ying had finally arrived on the scene, and the girl was a bombshell. She had thick, glossy black hair that wouldn’t stay tucked behind her ears, supermodel cheekbones, and an easy smile. And she had her own cause, it turned out.

  “You’re what?” Ratchet looked horrified.

  Kate laughed and pushed her hair off her shoulder. “I’m vegan,” she repeated. “I don’t eat meat, seafood, or anything that comes from animals, like milk or butter or eggs.”

  Ratchet looked at Fang like, First freaking sushi, now this? Fang shrugged. “I’m glad I booked us into nice digs.” He plopped down on one of the beds and started flicking through the channels. “I hear the hotel grub is pretty sweet.”

  “You guys can still get room service,” Kate said good-naturedly. “I brought Tofurky Jerky to snack on.”

  She was the opposite of razor-tongued Star, and given the look Star was shooting her, it was a little weird that they were friends. But then, maybe freaks just tended to find each other. And Kate and Star were certainly freaks. Ratchet was one thing—the tough street kid who had extrasensory skills. The girls were… something else.

  Fang sighed. He should’ve just gone with guys. Way less complicated. He tried to focus on the news and not think about the fact that she would be here soon.

  “And now back to Channel Seven News on the Hour,” said an announcer, and then two talking heads filled the TV screen. “A new environmental group is garnering attention worldwide.” A concerned woman with perfectly coiffed hair leaned forward slightly. “But what does their name mean, Dan? The Doomsday Group?”

  Fang sat bolt upright. He turned up the volume, waving the other kids to be quiet.

  Dan shook his head gravely. “We have very little information on the group at this time, Sheila. Calls to the organization have not yet been returned. I want to stress that, at present, no allegations have been made against the group, but its name is certainly attracting attention.”

  Sheila consulted her notes. “Our European correspondent is standing by in Paris, where a Doomsday Group rally took place earlier. Perhaps she can provide us with a keener look into the group’s motivations. Sofia?”

  The camera cut to a woman standing in front of the Eiffel Tower, her khaki trenchcoat flapping in the wind. “Greetings, Sheila,” she said with a French accent. “This is Sofia Tabernilla reporting from Paris, where the so-called Doomsday Group has been very active today.”

  Behind her, Fang saw smiling people chatting with passersby and handing out leaflets.

  “Sofia?” Sheila asked, pressing her fingers to her earpiece. “Can you tell us what the group is distributing?”

  Sofia frowned. “Flyers. Notices.” Sofia held one up and read from it: “This is the group’s slogan, printed here in English, French, German, and Dutch. It says, ‘The Earth or Us.’

  “I’m here with one of the key organizers of the Doomsday Group rally, though the group professes to have no leader. Beth, can you tell us more about your group’s message and your goals as an organization?” Sofia held the microphone out to an older-looking teenage girl.

  “Our goal is to bring everyone to the One Light.” She had one of the sweetest voices Fang had ever heard, but her eyes were what drew him in. “It’s an invitation for change. We plan to take control for the betterment of the earth.”

  “Take control?” Sofia Tabernilla asked, but she was smiling serenely at her. Beth nodded, smiling back.

  “Think of it as an earth cleanse. It will be beautiful. Follow us. Follow us and be free.” She looked directly into the camera, and Fang was mesmerized. The group would save him. Beth would save him. She would help him forget all the harsh—

  Star clicked the remote, and the theme song for Project Runway made Fang jump.

  His head was buzzing. He felt happy and calm. He felt like everything was going to be beautiful. He shook his head.

  Something was seriously wrong.

  A group that had sprung up out of nowhere and already had international coverage? Talking about cleansing the earth and taking control? The Doomsday Group set off every antennae of alarm Fang had.

  A quick online search for the Doomsday Group revealed surprisingly little, as if it had sprung up suddenly, fully formed. There was no mention of it at all two months earlier, but clearly its members already numbered in the thousands.

  Fang sat back. He had his mission.

  Someone had to figure out what the Doomsday Group was up to and just how bad it was. It was time for Fang to step up and be a leader, the way Max always had.

  A familiar ache filled his heart, and he promptly squelched it. No time for that now. He had too much to do. She wasn’t the only one with a mission to save the world.

  Now it was just a question of who would save it first.

  21

  “I’M NOT SEEING anything,” Dylan said a good twenty minutes later. “I mean, I see the wires. I see where we all hit the ground. The plane’s sheared-off wings are over there, all in pieces. I can even see the plane’s door that ripped off. But what I don’t see is—”

  “Hans. Or the plane’s fuselage,” I interrupted.

  “You read my mind again!” said Dylan, and I glared at him.

  “No, it’s just the obvious huge missing thing. I have a brain. I can think.”

  “I know that,” Dylan said mildly. “I was just teasing.”

  Now I felt like a clod. I rolled my shoulders to release some tension. “So where do you think it is?” I am highly skilled at changing the subject as demonstrated here.

  “It was already smoking and spiral
ing by the time I got out,” he said. “I didn’t think it would get far at all.”

  “We should check under the cloud of balloon-type things,” I said, and Dylan nodded as he started a wide, smooth, arcing turn.

  “Show me how to fly sideways,” he called over his shoulder. “That was cool.”

  “The hawks taught us that,” I said. “Basically, you roll and point one wing down. Then keep flapping. You’ll keep moving forward, even though it feels weird.”

  Dylan tried it. The first couple of times he looked a little clumsy, but when we reached the wires of death, he was flipping sideways like a pro, powerful and smooth. His learning curve was really amazing.

  “Man, each tiny wire has four sides, like a four-sided razor,” he said as we carefully started flying through the wires.

  “You can see that?” I asked.

  “Yeah. I can see really far, really close, and sometimes right through stuff.” He turned back to grin at me, and I wondered what kind of things he could see right through.

  “I guess you’re the improved version of me,” I said coolly. “I have great vision but not like that. I mean, I can see the school building way down there but not the four sides of the wires.”

  He smiled at me. “Everyone has strengths and weaknesses,” he said with irritating modesty. So far, I had seen only strengths and no weaknesses from him. But I wasn’t about to say that.

  “I’m not seeing squat, other than the school,” I reported. “And we already knew that was there. Let’s broaden our search area.”

  “Good idea,” said Dylan, and ten seconds later we were out of those awful wires and in the open blue sky.

  I breathed deeply, enjoying the sun on my face. For several minutes we flew in silence, hearing just the sounds of our wings and the occasional bird. After a while of finding no Hans remnants, I said, “Let’s check out the school anyway.”

  Dylan said the exact same thing at the exact same time. Again.

  22

  “I THOUGHT THIS Doomsday stuff was, like, urgent,” Star said. “Who’s this girl we’re waiting for?” Star was devouring another hot dog from room service, her third, while Kate looked on, repulsed.