The Final Warning Read online

  My wings kick butt.

  “So they’re not connected to your arms,” Melanie Bone said unnecessarily.

  I shook my head. “Nope. We have six limbs.”

  “Like dragons,” Nudge said helpfully. I grinned at her.

  “Like insects,” said the Gasman.

  “They’re so big,” said Emily Robertson. “They’re beautiful.”

  “Thanks,” I said, feeling self-conscious. “They have to be big because we’re bigger and heavier, proportionally, than birds.”

  “How much do you weigh?” Paul Carey looked as though he wanted to take notes. Then he winced. “Sorry, I mean —”

  “A bit less than a hundred pounds,” I answered. “The reason I don’t look like a skeleton is that our bones and muscles are made differently, lighter. So even though I’m five-eight, I look slender at ninety-seven pounds but not grotesquely skinny.”

  They nodded.

  “Do you identify as a human or as a bird?” Brigid asked.

  No one had ever asked me that before. “I don’t know,” I said slowly. “I look in the mirror and see a girl. I have hands and feet. But when I’m up in the sky, and the ground is far below . . . I feel my wings working, and I know I can get oxygen out of thin, high air . . . it doesn’t feel very . . . human.”

  Which is pretty much the most unguarded, touchy-feely, heart-on-my-sleeve thing I’d ever said. I folded my wings in as my face flushed. I felt naked and stupid, and wished I’d kept my big mouth shut. Cheeks burning, I slumped down in my chair, not looking at anyone.

  “I feel more human, I think,” Nudge said cheerfully. “I like clothes and fashion and doing my hair. The stuff I like is what kids like, what people like. Music and movies and reading. I mean, I never want to make a nest for myself or anything.”

  We all laughed, and for once I was relieved at Nudge’s chattiness.

  “I don’t feel all that human,” said Angel, looking thoughtful.

  Fang tapped my leg with his foot under the table, as if to say, There’s a surprise.

  “I’m not sure what I see when I look in the mirror,” Angel went on. You have to remember that she was only six. “When I think of me, I picture someone with wings. I know I’m not normal. There aren’t any kids to hang out with who are like me. Besides the flock. I know I don’t fit in anywhere.” She turned big blue eyes on Michael, who was gazing at her intently. “This world isn’t set up for people like me, like us.” She gestured to include the rest of the flock. “Nothing in this world is designed for us, designed to make us comfortable. We always stick out, we always make do. People want us, or want us dead, because of what we are, not who we are. It’s hard.”

  The room was silent. The grown-ups had stricken looks on their faces, like they actually cared. It was pretty heartbreaking, to think of a little kid like Angel having those kinds of feelings. No one knew what to say.

  Except Total.

  “Not to be pushy,” he said, “but is there any way to get some chow in this place? I’m starving.”

  31

  APPARENTLY THEIR BRIEFING had not mentioned the talking dog. Even Akila seemed surprised, cocking her head to one side and looking at Total.

  We kids just sat there, since we were, unfortunately, all too used to hearing Total talk.

  “A sandwich would be nice,” Nudge said, breaking the silence.

  “Yes, of course,” said Melanie Bone, recovering from her shock.

  Twenty minutes later, we were scarfing down sandwiches and watching a PowerPoint presentation about global warming.

  “Global warming is probably the most significant disaster modern society has had to face,” said Sue-Ann Wong.

  “Clearly she hasn’t seen this season’s platform wedges.” Total sniffed. I nudged him with my elbow.

  “If mankind continues with its current energy-use habits, there’s a probability that sea levels could rise by up to twenty feet within a hundred years,” Emily Robertson added.

  “So we’ll all have beach houses?” Gazzy asked. “Cool!”

  Paul Carey shook his head. “Not cool. It means that most countries will lose a lot of coastal land, plus the wildlife and ecosystems that flourish there. Many states and countries will be smaller, which means more people moving inland. We would lose big parts of Florida, Louisiana, and Texas, and a lot of the eastern seaboard. They would be mostly under water. So tens of millions of people would be displaced, needing new homes, new jobs.”

  Huh. Was it really that bad? Maybe they were overreacting. I mean, how could it possibly be that bad if the earth was one degree warmer? It just seemed as if the whole world would become like Hawaii or the Bahamas. Fabulous places. Wouldn’t we be able to grow more food if there were more warmer places? How much wheat were we harvesting in Siberia?

  “What the heck is global warming?” Iggy asked.

  “Basically, it’s a buildup of certain gases, like carbon dioxide, in our atmosphere,” said Melanie. “The earth’s atmosphere traps them there, and they act like a blanket. It’s making the average temperature of the oceans and the air slowly rise.”

  “A gas blanket,” said Iggy. “Well, you should know all about that, Gaz.”

  The Gasman grinned, in no way embarrassed.

  “It would be nice if the world were a little warmer,” Nudge said. “I hate cold weather.”

  “Yeah,” said Gazzy. “No more jackets, no more frostbite, no more car wrecks on icy roads. People would save money by not heating their houses. We could wear shorts all the time.”

  That’s what I was talking about!

  Emily smiled. “If it were really like that, it might not be too bad,” she said. “Though I like cold weather and I would miss skiing. But the problem is that one little change in the earth’s temperature causes all sorts of other changes. Like falling dominoes.”

  “Besides the catastrophic loss of land all over the world, even a slight temperature rise causes more extreme weather everywhere,” Paul explained. “We already have more hurricanes, tornadoes, tsunamis, earthquakes, and rainfall just because the earth’s temperature has risen barely more than a degree in the last hundred years. On the other hand, we have more droughts and more wildfires as well.”

  The slide show had pictures of Indonesia after its tsunami, and the Gulf Coast of Louisiana and Mississippi after Hurricane Katrina. We saw pictures of deserts where there had once been crops, and lots of dead cattle and horses and fish whose water had dried up. But hadn’t stuff like that happened in every century? The earth had never been totally calm and perfect. There were hurricanes and floods and droughts thousands of years ago, before all this global warming stuff.

  “The rising temperature affects crops and plants everywhere,” said Brigid Dwyer. “Trees are germinating an average of ten days earlier. Plants everywhere are blooming earlier. Plants that need cooler weather are slowly moving northward. Plants that thrive in warmer temperatures are more widespread than ever.”

  Again, I wasn’t sure why this was a problem. Ten days was a tiny amount of time.

  “And that’s bad because . . . ?” Total put his paws on the table. “Can I have a Coke or something?”

  “Don’t give him soda,” I said quickly. “He’ll be hiccupping all night.”

  “We don’t have any soda,” said Michael apologetically, as Total glared at me. “Just water, milk, tea, or coffee.”

  “It’s a problem because plants affect animals, and animals affect plants, and the whole system goes out of balance,” Melanie explained.

  “ ‘It’s the ciiirrrcle of liiiifffe,’ ” Iggy sang.

  “Scientists estimate that at least two hundred sixty different species are already responding to global warming by changing their migration and reproduction patterns,” Sue-Ann said. “The loss of plant and animal life can’t be calculated.”

  Fang had been silent this whole time. Now he spoke. “But what does this have to do with us?”

  Which was, of course, the important question.<
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  32

  “FRANKLY, YOU HAVE unique abilities,” said Brigid in response to Fang’s question. “The Antarctic is an unpredictable and dangerous place, but someone who can fly to safety can take greater risks.”

  “But we don’t know anything about science,” I said. “Or not much, anyway. I mean, we can hack into computers. We know all kinds of other stuff. But we don’t know anything about global warming or the Antarctic.” Or about any of a million things they taught in schools, say.

  Brigid smiled, and I thought again how young she looked. She was a doctor, right?

  “That’s okay,” she said. “You don’t need to become experts overnight. We have some specific jobs we can teach you to do.”

  “But that’s not the only reason you’re here,” said Brian Carey, speaking up for the first time. “The truth is, you guys are very newsworthy. As soon as you surface, people take note, and you get into all the newspapers. So who better to get the message out to the world?”

  “And what message would that be?” Fang asked quietly, looking at Brigid.

  “That our government needs to take global warming seriously,” she said directly to Fang. “That we need to develop alternative fuel sources, right now. That we need to slash our emissions of greenhouse gases. Plus, we need to do all we can to slow down the extinction by the year 2050 of more than a million species of animals, insects, and plants.”

  “What if we don’t believe all that stuff?” I asked, and Melanie drew back and blinked. Had the file on me not mentioned my whole “uncooperative” thing?

  “We won’t ask you to do anything you don’t believe in,” she said sincerely. “If, after working with us, you don’t think what we’re doing is worthwhile, then you’re free to leave, and you don’t have to publicize our cause.”

  “You’re free to leave at any time,” Brigid said quickly. “The only reason you’re here is that Dr. Valencia Martinez recommended you. I took a course from her when I was getting my doctorate, and we’ve kept in touch. She called me a few days ago.”

  That made sense. I still got a little thrill every time I realized that Dr. Martinez was my mom. That would never wear off.

  “Okay,” I said. “We need to think about this and talk it over; me and the flock, I mean.”

  “Of course,” said Michael. “Let us know if you need any more information. Are you guys still hungry?”

  “We’re always hungry,” said Nudge.

  “We need between three thousand and four thousand calories a day,” I explained. “When it’s warm.”

  The scientists unsuccessfully tried to hide their surprise.

  “Um, well, let’s see what we can rustle up,” said Brigid, leading the way to the galley.

  “Thanks,” said Fang. “Appreciate it.”

  I watched him follow her out the door, his dark head maybe six inches higher than hers. She looked back at him and smiled, and that’s when I got an icky feeling in the pit of my stomach.

  33

  LET ME TELL YOU, it was cozy in the tiny galley, which was so small that Fang had to totally squeeze in next to Brigid on the bench. Just too freaking cozy for words.

  Beneath Gazzy and Nudge’s excited chatter, I could follow the low undercurrent of Fang and Brigid playing the get-to-know-you game.

  “You’re young to be a doctor,” he said, helping himself to a fourth sandwich.

  “I’m twenty-one,” Brigid admitted. “Sort of whizzed through MIT, then got my doctorate at the U of Arizona.” She paused, thinking. “In a way, I understand what it feels like to stick out, to be different from everyone else. I finished high school when I was twelve.” She gave a self-conscious laugh. “People called me a freak. Even my parents didn’t know what to do with me.”

  “That must have been rough,” Fang said sympathetically, while my eyes widened.

  “Max?” Melanie was holding out a carton. “Would you like some milk?”

  “Gross, no,” I said without thinking. “I mean, no, thank you. But Gazzy probably would. He likes it.”

  “How old are you?” Brigid asked Fang.

  I almost gagged on my potato chip.

  “Fourteen. I think,” Fang said. “None of us are real sure of our birth dates. But we think Max, Iggy, and I are around fourteen.”

  “You seem older,” Brigid murmured, and I shot to my feet, unable to bear this a second longer.

  “I need some air,” I managed to get out between swallows.

  I felt everyone looking at me as I bolted out of the galley and up the stairs to the deck.

  “Max? Are you okay?” Sue-Ann called after me, but I didn’t answer. Instead I ran down the deck of the boat, feeling its engines churning beneath my feet. Just as I was about to slam into the metal side railing, I jumped out over the water and unfurled my wings. I stroked hard, down and then up, over and over, rushing into the cold night sky. Seconds later the Wendy K. was just a tiny steam-emitting dot on the blackness of the ocean, and I felt like I could breathe again.

  Okay, Max, what’s going on? For once the voice in my head was my own. I didn’t answer it. Instead I just wheeled through the sky, catching the occasional updraft and coasting. I breathed in and out deeply, thinking about this mission, thinking about Fang and Brigid, and Fang and me, and me and the flock.

  I almost forgot to keep checking all around me for Flyboys. Almost.

  Maybe a month ago, my mom had taken a computer chip out of my arm. (She’s a vet. How appropriate.) I’d been all dopey on anesthesia, and I’d said some stupid stuff to Fang. He’d thrown it back in my face several times since then. And lately he’d kissed me a couple times, and I didn’t know where he was going with that. I was torn between (1) wanting to give in, to just let those emotions flood out and see what happened between us, and (2) sheer terror.

  Now he seemed to be making cow eyes at a doctor who was seven years older than him.

  And the one thing that stood out in my mind as I wearily made my way back down to the boat in ever-diminishing circles was:

  Fang had never said that stupid stuff back to me.

  34

  WHEN I GOT BACK to the boat, all seven scientists were waiting on the deck. Three of them had night-vision binoculars trained on me. I made a short running landing and pounded to a stop. I walked toward them with my wings still outspread, letting them cool off.

  “What’s up?” I asked with a sudden clutch in my heart. Had something happened? Had the boat been attacked? Was the flock okay? I thought I’d kept it in my line of sight, but I knew that I’d been so wrapped up in my own personal soap opera I could have missed Shamu leaping over the boat with a red ball in his mouth.

  “We were just . . . watching,” Paul Carey said softly.

  “Is something wrong?” I pressed.

  “No, no, nothing’s wrong,” said Melanie quickly. “We just — we’ve never seen anyone fly before.”

  “Oh. No, I guess you haven’t.”

  “Is it . . . wonderful?” Melanie asked.

  Again we were treading close to personal ground, and I was feeling all self-protecty, but I answered. “Yes. The flying part is wonderful. Better than anything.” Growing up in dog crates, being subjected to horrible experiments, being chased and attacked every time we turned around: not so much.

  “I wish —,” said Brigid. She stopped and shook her head.

  “What?”

  She looked embarrassed. “I’m a wildlife specialist, like Paul. I’m here to learn about South Polar animals. The scientist in me is dying to ask you questions, to learn what it’s like to be such a different form of human. But I know how awful that must seem to you.”

  I bit my lip so I wouldn’t say something snide, like, “Why don’t you ask Fang?”

  “You’re human, with intelligence, courage, feelings, impressions,” Brigid went on. “I can’t ask a bird how it feels to fly. I can ask you. But your very ability to tell me means that asking you such a thing would be horribly intrusive and insensitive on
my part. I’m sorry.” She gave a little smile. “I’ll try to keep a lid on the scientist in me.”

  “Good luck with that,” said Paul, chuckling. “Being a scientist isn’t what you do. It’s what you are.”

  Brigid nodded, looking troubled.

  These people were unlike most other humans I’d ever dealt with. They were just as curious, but they were actually respecting our personal boundaries — for now. Most other scientists were content to trap us, slap us into cages, and start sticking needles into us. It was weird. I wondered how long it would last.

  “I’m going to turn in,” I said abruptly, and headed toward the aft stairs. (Aft means “rear” on a boat. See how I’m throwing the lingo around?)

  I had just started down the narrow, steeply pitched steps when I realized Fang was waiting for me at the bottom.

  “What’s the matter with you?” he asked. “Why’d you take off like that?”

  Oh, like I would tell him.

  “Wanted some air,” I said, trying to brush past him. But he took my arms to hold me in place, and because I didn’t feel like having this escalate into a knockdown fistfight, I let him.

  “Tell me what’s going on,” he said again, his face very close to mine.

  “Nothing.” I’m nothing if not stubborn.

  “Max, if you would just talk to me —”

  “About what? You and me? There is no you and me. Especially when you keep throwing yourself at everything in a skirt!” Okay, now, that was so, so stupid. Fang’s eyes widened — I’d given far too much away. Plus, Brigid Dwyer wasn’t wearing a skirt.

  I wrenched my arms away from him, feeling as if my cheeks were on fire. I was confused and miserable — two of my least favorite things.

  “You’re wrong, Max,” he said in a low, dark tone that made butterflies in my stomach. “There’s a you and me, all right. There will always be a you and me.”

  I pushed past him, hard, and tried not to run for the room Nudge, Angel, and I were sharing.