The Final Warning Read online

  We climbed the stairs, and once again Iggy had to rely on touching the hem of my jacket and concentrating on the sounds around him. I could feel him seething with disappointment.

  The door of the building opened into an air lock. We took off our jackets and stuff there, then went through another door into the actual station.

  We met the scientists who lived and worked at the station, ignoring their curious looks and unspoken questions. They showed us to the guest quarters, which were in a separate metal hut. It was small but cozy and comfortable, with one room full of bunk beds, four high; a small living room; a bathroom; and a tiny kitchen.

  “Hey!” said Brigid, knocking on our door. “You guys want to see some penguins?”

  “Yeah,” Iggy muttered bitterly. “Make ’em stand against a white cliff.”

  Fang and I looked at each other. Some of us had had new skills show up lately. Would Iggy’s be his eyesight?

  And here’s another question: When was all our world-saving gonna start?

  41

  THE UBER-DIRECTOR’S ASSISTANT looked up from a computer monitor. “The mutants have arrived at the station, sir, as expected.”

  The Uber-Director couldn’t nod, but he blinked. “They’re all together? None of them stayed on the boat?”

  “No, sir.” The assistant gestured to his monitor and pressed a button. Instantly the screen showed a somewhat grainy image of the six mutant children trooping across packed snowdrifts toward the Lucir station. The screen split, and the other half showed a still image taken from inside the dining hall of the Wendy K. Quickly the assistant zoomed in on the faces of the small group heading inside the station and compared them with close-ups of the faces on the boat. They matched.

  “All six are accounted for,” the assistant said.

  “Very good,” said the Uber-Director. “Send a message to our contact, saying that the schedule will continue as planned.”

  “Yes, sir,” said the assistant, turning back to his computer.

  The Uber-Director sent a thought command, and moments later the door opened. A hulking creature almost seven feet tall and easily over three hundred pounds stepped into the room.

  “Ah, Gozen,” said the Uber-Director.

  The assistant stiffened in his chair and slowly sneaked a peek. If the soldiers creeped him out, this Gozen thing positively terrified him. Not only was he huge, but he had a human face patched onto a Frankenstein body. A curved, shiny metal plate covered part of his bare skull where they couldn’t get skin to grow. One arm was a foot longer than the other, and the hand had metal spikes grafted onto the knuckle bones. His other arm, tinted faintly greenish as if the circulation had never worked properly, was hugely veined and muscled, the result of injecting human growth hormone directly into the flesh.

  The face was human, but when the creature spoke, you could clearly see the bolts in his jawbone right beneath the skin. Just the other day, the assistant had seen Gozen reach out, snatch a songbird from the air, and casually break its neck, tossing the light, brightly colored body aside. The assistant didn’t know whether Gozen had morals or ethics or any sense of right or wrong. Mostly what he had been given was extreme, astonishing power.

  “Gozen,” the Uber-Director said again as the hulking thing stood near him, at attention. “It’s almost time. Prepare your troops.”

  “Yes, sir,” Gozen said without moving. His voice sounded like a tape of a human voice played too slowly.

  A chill went down the assistant’s back.

  42

  AS IT TURNED OUT, all the world-saving started the next day.

  Now, someone who doesn’t know better might think that playing with penguins wouldn’t really do a lot to prevent the apocalypse, but hey, we were just there to help.

  “Look at this! I’m a penguin!” Angel yelled, flinging herself onto her stomach and sliding down a steep, hard-packed snow slope. She raced incredibly fast toward the bottom, where about twenty emperor penguins waited for her, flapping their wings.

  “Me next!” Gazzy didn’t wait for Angel to get out of the way, he just threw himself down the slope, cackling maniacally. He collided with her, of course, causing her to skid into a few penguins who, frankly, should have been paying more attention. Two of the big heavy birds went down, one right on top of Gazzy. I heard his breath whoosh out from where I was standing, taking scientific notes.

  Here’s a sample of my contribution to the world’s scientific knowledge.

  Place: Lucir station, Antarctica

  Date: Remind me to check and fill in later

  Time: Hard to tell, what with the midnight sun and all, and I hocked my watch ages ago

  Subjects: Emperor penguins

  Quantity: Twenty-seven adults — no way to tell at a glance who’s male or female, and I ain’t checking under their hoods. Twelve fuzzums little chickums. Five avian-Americans.

  Size: These penguins are surprisingly big — about four feet tall. Solid and heavy, judging from the way Gazzy whoofed when one fell on him. I’d say — sixty pounds? We’re talking major birds here.

  Birds’ condition: They’re hefty little suckers, built for comfort and speed. And they’re sure not feeling the cold. I’d put them on the “chunky” end of the scale.

  Activity: Basically, sliding on ice, just for fun. Leaping into the frigid water every once in a while, then popping back out as if shot from a toaster. Noticeably fishy smell afterward. One barfed up part of an octopus, almost on Iggy’s boots. Good thing his vision was out again. I almost heaved myself.

  “How’s it going?” Brian Carey asked, snowshoeing up to us. He and Sue-Ann, who was with him, had clipboards and special pens that wrote in extreme weather. Did I mention how freaking cold it was? Like, thanks, Mom!

  -Sue-Ann looked at the penguins popping up out of the water and laughed. “They’re so cute —,” she began, as a whole horde of the tuxedoed birds shot up onto the ice. They were squawking and waddling away from the water as fast as they could.

  And then suddenly an enormous creature surged out of the ocean, grabbed Sue-Ann by a leg, and sank back into the black depths.

  43

  “LEOPARD SEAL!” BRIAN YELLED, throwing down his clipboard and racing toward the water. “Get help! Get Paul and the others!”

  -Sue-Ann’s head bobbed out of the water, and she screamed, but she was choked off as the seal dragged her under again. It was huge, with a watermelon-sized head, its sharp-toothed jaws clamped around Sue-Ann’s leg.

  “Go!” I ordered Gazzy, who was staring at the water. There were splotches of darkness in the water, and the ice at the opening was faintly tinged with pink. “Go! And the rest of you, get back to the station!”

  Immediately, without question, Gazzy grabbed Iggy, and they, Nudge, and Angel started slipping and running over the snow back to the station. I heard Gazzy yelling for help.

  “It’ll thrash her around in the water till she’s dead!” Brian cried, leaning over the sharp edge of the ice. “Sue! Hang on!” He looked back toward the station helplessly, and then shouted and waved his arms as the seal surfaced again.

  He couldn’t jump in — he’d get sucked beneath the ice and never find his way out. Or the leopard seal would get him.

  “Come on!” I told Fang, and ran to a quick takeoff. He was right behind me, and we stayed low, swooping over the water, trying to see. A dark shadow almost ten feet long showed that the seal was still close to the surface.

  “Grab her as soon as it comes up again,” I shouted, and Fang nodded, grimly determined. Together we flew low, six feet above the water, in tight circles, ready to pounce in a second. Already a rescue team was rushing toward us. Paul was carrying a harpoon.

  “There!” I said, pointing. The shadow was growing darker, then, sure enough, the seal surfaced again, Sue-Ann still gripped in its jaws. She was limp, her eyes closed, but instantly Fang and I swooped down, dropping toward the water like hail.

  Fang kicked the seal’s eel-like head as h
ard as he could with his heavy boot, and I brought both feet down on its sleek, arched back. It recoiled in surprise, opening its jaws for a split second, rearing to look at us. It gave a huge, awful roar, looking like a sea monster, but Fang and I had already grabbed Sue-Ann’s jacket and one arm, and we were stroking our wings downward with great effort, trying to get aloft. The seal roared again and snapped, narrowly missing my feet, and I pulled them up.

  Then we were out of danger’s range and flying over land. We held Sue-Ann tightly, bypassing the astonished rescue team and heading straight to the infirmary building. We skidded to a clumsy landing, sliding on the ice, Sue-Ann’s wet jacket already frosting over with ice crystals. I didn’t even know if she was still alive, or if we had just rescued a body. Her pants were torn and blood soaked.

  Two men rushed out of the infirmary with a stretcher and placed it on the ice next to Sue-Ann. One placed his fingers on her neck, feeling for a pulse, while the other prepared to lift her carefully onto the stretcher. Then he frowned. “What — what’s that?”

  By this time, some of the others had circled around us. One of the infirmary guys gently touched Sue-Ann’s leg where it had been shredded by the seal. He moved her torn pants aside, and then Paul sucked in his breath. My eyes narrowed. Beneath the torn and bloody flesh, we saw a collection of wires and fiber-optic cables embedded deep within Sue-Ann’s leg.

  “What the heck is that?” Paul demanded. “Does anyone know about this?”

  The other infirmary guy looked up. “I got no pulse here, chief. She’s gone.”

  Then the other scientists ran up, out of breath.

  “Is she alive?”

  “I can’t believe what you did!”

  “That was amazing! Thank you so much!”

  Their faces fell as they saw our expressions, and we stepped back so they could see Sue-Ann. I saw confusion and shock on each face. Unless they were dang good actors, none of them had known that Sue-Ann had been modified. That instead of being one of us, she’d probably been one of Them.

  Paul looked up at us, dismay in his eyes. He nodded over at the other members of his team. “Brian. Get Sue-Ann’s computer. Search her quarters.”

  “Oh, no,” said Melanie, tears forming in her eyes.

  “You all,” Paul said, gesturing to us, “get inside, out of sight. You others — search the rest of the Wendy K., the guest quarters here, the mess hall, anywhere there might be hidden cameras. We’ve had a traitor among us.”

  44

  AS EXPECTED, the antifreeze additive to their joint lubrication proved effective. Gozen gave the signal for the rest of the troops to offload, telling his internal counting program to register whether they were all here.

  One by one, the soldiers stepped evenly down the metal ramp that led from the plane’s belly to the hard-packed snow. Their feet adjusted to the new surface instantly, springs and weights compensating for the slipperiness and slight give of the icy land cover.

  All the troops were accounted for.

  First, a small shelter. The plane’s crew had thrown their supplies out onto the ice, and now the ramp closed, and the plane’s engines whined.

  “Find the shelter,” Gozen ordered three of the soldiers. “Erect it.”

  They responded instantly, locating the large crate strapped with plastic rope. Untying the rope, they pulled the self-inflating, insulating TempHut from the crate. With a couple of cord pulls, the TempHut unfolded and sprang almost comically into a fully inflated shelter, like a jack-in-the-box.

  Without a sound, the soldiers found the three-foot screws that would tether the shelter to the ice, to keep the structure from blowing away in the intermittent gale-force winds. It had no heat, no windows, no beds. Which was fine. Since the soldiers weren’t human, weren’t even alive, that was no problem.

  The first pair of recon scouts were ready to report.

  “Yes?” Gozen’s voice wasn’t nearly as mechanical as those of Generation K — it had some inflection and a more normal tone.

  “There’s a problem,” a scout reported. “One of our contacts has been damaged. She has sent no signal for the past five hours. Surveillance tapes show that she was attacked. She is presumed dead.”

  Gozen considered. In all likelihood, the plan could continue. First, a report to the Uber-Director, detailing what he could find out about their contact. Then he would sit back and wait for the right opportunity. It shouldn’t take long.

  His job was to eliminate the dangerous mutants. The Uber-Director hadn’t specified how. Or how long he could take doing it. Or how much pleasure he could get from it.

  All those things were up to him.

  “Get into the shelter,” Gozen told his troops.

  45

  You are reading Fang’s Blog. Welcome!

  You are visitor number: 545,422

  Today’s theme: Weirdness at the bottom of the world.

  Our lives are pretty freaking weird already — what with the wings, the fleeing for our lives, etc. And yet we can still be amazed when things get even weirder. Cool.

  Some stuff has kept life interesting for us lately: (1) Iggy can see, off and on. He needs to be practically snow-blinded for it to kick in, but he’s actually seen stuff. Made Max wish she’d brushed her hair sometime in the last month. (2) We’ve flown with snow petrels. They’re beautiful white birds, about pigeon size, that are all over the place here. They’re like flying pureness, to sound stupid and goofy. If Angel were an actual 100 percent bird, she’d be a snow petrel. The Gasman would be an emu. (3) There have been some penguin incidents, caused by uncautious belly-sliding down packed-snow slopes. Did you know that a penguin, if startled, might suddenly barf on you? We didn’t either. Did you know how revolting regurgitated, half-digested krill and squid is? I do now. (4) We performed a daring rescue at sea, made possible by Max and yours featherly. Unfortunately, the person we rescued turned out to be a mole who’s probably been spying on us for the past week. So now we’re most likely in mortal danger, as per usual.

  Fortunately, the person we rescued didn’t make it. So I’m guessing her reports have slowed way down. In the meantime, whoever’s out there planning God knows what, we’re onto you. We see you coming. We’re not going to take it well.

  I’ll go ahead and tell you: We’re in Antarctica. We’re here checking out the signs of global warming. Global warming may sound comfy — no more winter coats — but everything on earth right now kind of desperately relies on the climate staying as is. But if we give up our childish fears of catastrophic flooding, earthquakes, tsunamis, untold plant and animal extinctions, droughts, famines, and whatnot, we could just relax right now and let ’er rip!

  However. For those of us who prefer the planet relatively undisastered, it seems clear that things have to change. I mean, we humans have to change our habits, our recklessness, our dependence on fossil fuels and beef.

  Any questions?

  Ali, Ju-Ju, Ariel, and Robin Bernstein from Palm Beach write:

  Wassup up with no beef? No hamburgers?

  Well, Ali, Ju-Ju, Ariel, and Robin Bernstein, Good thing you asked. For myself, I’m totally about the burgers. And steak. Shish kebabs. Stew. You name it, if it’s cow, it’s for me.

  But this incredibly cool scientist I know, Dr. Brigid Dwyer, told me that livestock is causing more damage to the earth’s climate than cars. All the cars. For one thing, cattle “release” more methane and other greenhouse gases than even the Gasman, which is saying something. Plus, cattle eat about fourteen pounds of grain to produce one pound of meat. Which is energy efficiency in reverse. Not to mention the deforestation for their grazing land, the water they consume. It all adds up hugely. Makes ya think, huh?

  — Fang

  BitterGummy from Honshu writes:

  Get off ur soapbox, man! When I want a lecture, I’ll go 2 school!

  Sounds like you need it, BitterGummy. Try to stay awake this time.

  — Fang

  MinkyPuddin from Sydney wri
tes:

  Fang I miss u guyz so much. U haven’t bin in the newz lately. I am all worried.

  Your #1 fan.

  No worries, MinkyPuddin. We’re fine. More fine than we’ve been in a long time, actually.

  — Fang

  Shy Babe from Seattle writes:

  Dear Fang, I wrote u last month. Do u have a girlfriend?

  I recommend you stick to your own species, Shy Babe. Thanks anyway.

  — Fang

  Okay, guys, gotta go. Global disaster to document, scientists to talk to. And it’s dinnertime. I’m guessing it’s not beef.

  — Fang

  46

  “WHERE ARE WE GOING?” Nudge asked as we took off into the clear, crisp air.

  “Just getting an overview of the area,” I explained. “A little recon. See what’s out here.” Since Sue-Ann’s death had revealed her to be a Bad Guy, I’d been extra cautious. Now we were gonna do a little looking around, in case we saw, like, a big trailer with “Bad Guys” written on the roof.

  Fang was silent, flying a bit off by himself. I angled my left wing slightly and swooped closer to him. Things between us were still weird. I missed the old days, when our relationship was simple: each of us totally dedicated to constantly one-upping the other. That, I could understand.

  “So I guess we can assume that Sue-Ann was sending updates of our whereabouts to someone,” I said.

  He nodded. “Brigid’s trying to hack into her computer for more info.”

  There was that name again. “Nudge should do it,” I said, trying not to show irritation.

  “Yeah — if Brigid can’t get in, we’ll have Nudge take a whack at it,” he agreed.

  “Can we go over the islands?” Gazzy called to me. “There’s a volcano in the middle of one! In fact, the whole island is the volcano.”

  “Sure.” We arced smoothly in a huge circle to the left, heading away from the enormous continent of ice. It felt great to stretch my wings and suck in the cold, cold air.