Fang: A Maximum Ride Novel (8 page)

29

THEY JUST STARED at me for a moment, then Iggy’s face contorted into anger. He yanked off his iPod earphones and threw the whole thing across the room. “I can’t take it anymore!”

“Hey!” I said sharply. “Those are expensive!”

“I can’t help it!” he shouted. “I’ve been listening to how the Roman Empire fell, and all I can say is, it didn’t fall nearly fast enough!”

“You’re, like, totally sucking the fun out of the first kind-of vacation we’ve had in ages and ages!” Gazzy whined, his arms crossed.

Even Nudge, my peacemaker, chimed in. “I listened to an hour of French history this morning, and I thought my head was going to explode,” she said. “It’s just, army this, invader that, conquering whatever. We have to learn, and I
love
learning things, but there has to be a better way.
Like at a school!
”

I was shocked — Nudge had always been my most loyal supporter.

Well, I wasn’t going to stand for this. I was the flock leader! I was going to restructure our lesson plans, I was going to start issuing demerits or other teachery things, I was going to …

I was going to stop being such a hard nose.

I had an idea, and I like to think it actually came from my own brain and not from the Voice or from Angel. And it’s so sad that I even need to clarify that.

“You know,” I said slowly, “I’m going to be fifteen tomorrow.”

Blank stares. I guess I hadn’t made the smoothest segue in the world.

“What?” Iggy asked.

“I’m going to turn fifteen tomorrow,” I said, warming to the idea. “It’s high time. I can’t remember when I turned fourteen. We’ve got to start writing this stuff down. Anyway, tomorrow I’m going to be fifteen. So we need a party.”

“If you get to be fifteen, then I get to be fifteen!” Iggy sounded indignant.

I looked at Fang. “Wanna be fifteen?”

His smile melted me. “Yeah.”

“I want to be twelve!” Nudge cried.

“I’m nine! I’m nine!” said Gazzy, jumping up and down.

“I’m already seven, but I didn’t have a party,” said Angel.

“Then it’s decided,” I said in my leaderly way. “We’re all turning a year older tomorrow, and we’re going to have a big party.”

My flock cheered and started dancing around the room. I sighed happily.

Sometimes being a good leader is knowing when to … back off.

30

“ME AND MY BIG MOUTH,” I muttered, looking around my room. “Sure, let’s have a party; let’s all get a year older! Excellent idea, Max. But what are you gonna do for presents?”

The six of us had never had much, and we’d been on the run, on the road, for so long that we’d been forcibly pared down to having, like, nothing. But I wanted to do this right —’cause what’s a birthday party without presents?

I had about twenty hours. I was going to have to improvise. Opening my bedroom window, I climbed onto the sill and looked out over the canyon. I was stopped by a sudden thought.

I knew what I really wanted to get Iggy for his birthday.

And I knew where to get it.

But … I just couldn’t pay that price. I couldn’t.

I leaned forward and let myself drop into the air, enjoying the thrill of free-falling before snapping my wings out and rising.

Let’s see the doctor touch the sky!

“Do you think she’d like a bomb of her own?” Gazzy asked Iggy.

Iggy thought. “I kind of don’t think so. She usually just relies on us to do all that.”

“Well, what can I give her?” Gazzy ran his hand through his hair in frustration. “Bombs are the only thing I know how to make!”

“Well, here’s an idea,” said Iggy, and leaned over to whisper into Gazzy’s ear.

A smile slowly widened on Gazzy’s face. He rubbed his hands together. “Brillllliant.”

Nudge sang softly to herself as she worked. It had been totally worth it, lugging everything back from Europe and New York. Look at how handy these things were now! Her backpack had been stuffed, and she’d hidden 80 percent of everything she’d bought, sure that Max would make her dump it as being not worth lugging around, a liability in case of a fight, etc., etc., etc. Now it was all paying off.

Two presents down, three to go. She smiled as she reached for the hot-glue gun.

* * *

Angel straightened, listening. Overhead she heard the cries of a hawk, and she shaded her eyes to watch it wheel through the sky. She loved flying with hawks. They’d all learned a lot from them. You’d think that flying would be as natural as walking, and it was, in a way, but it was also a skill that could be improved.

Other than the hawks, she was alone in the canyon. She had most of what she needed, but a couple more things would be perfect. Her sharp eyes darted here and there, searching in the shadows, checking out every shape, every outline.

Oh, there! Perfect! It was amazing that vultures hadn’t picked the bones clean.

It was just what she needed for the presents she was making.

Fang saw the shine of familiar brown hair way down the street and stepped back quickly into the shadow of a storefront. What was she doing here, more than a hundred miles from home? He smiled: no doubt the same thing he was doing.

So far he was in good shape: He’d gotten a really scary thriller novel on CD for Iggy. It was totally inappropriate for kids, and he knew Ig would love it. For Nudge he’d bought a dozen different fashion magazines, all about hair and clothes and makeup. He could already imagine her squealing with joy, then disappearing for several days to curl up somewhere and pore over every page.

For Gazzy? A history of explosives and how they’d been used in warfare for thousands of years. It was like giving candy to a diabetic, but it was perfect.

Angel had been a bit more difficult. Dolls or games or anything for a little kid just seemed too … young. She’d changed so much in the past year. She didn’t even sleep with Celeste anymore, the ballerina bear she’d scammed for, so long ago. And yet, she
was
still a little kid.

He’d finally settled on a camera. And he hoped she would use it for good instead of evil. The first time she rigged it up in the boys’ bathroom, he’d take a baseball bat to it.

And for Max — Fang smiled even as his heart began to pound a little harder. He hoped she would like what he got her. He hoped she wouldn’t say it wasn’t practical or whatever. But with Max, you never knew.

It was one of the things he loved best about her.

31

“IG, YOU HAVE outdone yourself,” I said, taking another bite of chocolate cake.

Iggy grinned and cut himself a second slice, which meant there was only about half an acre of cake left, slathered with a couple bathtubs’ worth of icing.

“You have to get the right proportion of cake to ice cream,” Gazzy said. “Each bite needs cake, frosting, and ice cream, all at once. It’s the combination that really makes it.” He managed to get his carefully loaded spoonful into his mouth before it dropped onto his shirt. Like the last one had.

“And thank you to Fang for getting the ice cream,” I said, waving in his direction. “And the balloons!”

Everyone chimed, “Thank you!” while Fang bowed.

My happy, chocolate-smeared bird kids were relaxed, laughing, having the best time we’d had in — ever. It was the perfect way to celebrate our new house, our new lives.

“Is it present time?” Nudge asked, bouncing in her seat. “I can’t wait anymore!”

“Yes,” I said, and everyone cheered. So let me see: have party, massive amounts of cake and sugar, presents, etc., and I’m super popular. Insist on schooling, homework, education, and everyone hates me. Okay, got it. “Who wants to go first?”

“Me, me!” Angel jumped up and rummaged in a paper grocery bag, pulling out small packages wrapped in the Sunday comics — one for each of us.

I quickly ripped open the paper on mine, and something small fell into my lap. I picked up a necklace strung on a black silk cord.

“It’s a good-luck charm,” said Angel. “I made it myself. I found all the stuff outside.”

My necklace was weird and beautiful, not unlike Angel herself. “Is this a … snake jaw?” I asked. Angel nodded. The small, sharp fangs of a snake’s lower jaw spiked delicately among eagle feathers, bits of worn glass, and some ancient aluminum pop-tops from soda cans.

“See?” said Angel. “It’s like you: kind of dangerous but really pretty and strong and unusual. See?”

The bits of glass caught the light and glittered like gems. I nodded, really touched. “Thank you,” I said, and gave her a big hug, like old times.

Each of us had a similar but unique necklace, and each necklace really reflected who we were. Fang’s was all black obsidian, the top half of the snake jaw, and some eagle feathers. She’d really put a lot of thought and work into them.

“Now mine!” said Nudge, pulling out her wrapped gifts.

I’d never had so many presents all at once, and even though I was a big fifteen-year-old now, I couldn’t help feeling excited as I ripped off the wrapping paper.

Nudge had hot-glued all sorts of pretty shells and beads around a picture frame. It was gorgeous, too heavy to lug around, and totally not sturdy enough to survive even a light battle.

“Nudge, it’s beautiful! I love it!” I told her. She threw her arms around me, and I realized that she had grown several inches without my noticing.

“Oh, my, gosh.” Angel’s quiet voice got my attention. I looked over to see her holding a small digital camera, her eyes wide.

“Who gave you
that?
” I exclaimed.

Angel’s face shone. “Fang. Oh, I love it so much! I’ve wanted a camera for so long. The first thing I want to do is take a picture of all of us.”

“I can put it in my frame,” I said, holding it up. Nudge looked pleased.

“Here,” said Iggy. “I made fudge for everyone. Didn’t have time to wrap it.” He held out a large plate covered with neat squares of marbled chocolate–peanut butter fudge. I figured we had about forty minutes before we were all in sugar-induced comas.

“Max!” Gazzy cried. “Way cool!” He held up his certificate for one tattoo at the tattoo parlor a couple towns over. (No, I’m not going to mention which one.)

“I got one too!” Nudge squealed, waving it around. “I’m going to get a unicorn! Or a heart! Or a rainbow!”

“I’m going to get a stick of dynamite on my arm,” Gazzy said.

Okay, it wasn’t the most imaginative gift, but I’d been pretty sure everyone in the flock would like a tattoo. It looked like I was right.

Fang came and stood next to me. “This is for you.”

He held out a small box tied with satin ribbon. My heart started thumping hard, as if I’d been in a fight. With shaking fingers, I pulled off the ribbon and opened the box.

32

I QUIT BREATHING for a moment when I saw what was inside the box. It was a delicate, old-fashioned birthstone ring, with this month’s birthstone.

Every other person in the world would have looked at it and thought,
Max would hate this
. It was girly. It was beautiful. It wasn’t made of titanium and black leather with spikes on it. But it seemed exactly right, in a weird, heartfluttery kind of way. And I really loved it.

Quickly I slipped it onto the ring finger of my right hand. It fit like it was made for me. I couldn’t stop looking at it.

I realized that Fang was waiting for a reaction. “Thanks,” I managed, my voice husky. “It’s perfect.”

“You’re perfect,” Fang whispered, leaning close. “As is.”

It took several seconds for me to realize I was beaming at him like an idiot. I shook my head, trying to escape the pull of his gaze.

“Okay, now! Everyone up to the roof!” Gazzy said, clapping his hands. “I can’t give you your presents inside! Something might catch on fire.”

I had a flash of concern that was quickly wiped out as we all flew up to our rooftop. The sun had just set, and there was a lingering pink glow outlining the mountains in the distance.

We sat down in a line on the roof, our legs dangling over the edge. Even in the dim light, I kept turning my hand this way and that, looking at my ring, feeling like I was glowing inside.

Nudge, sitting next to me, gave me another hug. “A tattoo!” she said happily. “They’re so in right now! I can’t decide.”

“You’ll find the perfect thing,” I told her, happy that she liked my gift.

“Now, everyone, stay sitting down,” Gazzy said, fiddling with something in a big cardboard box. Fang moved behind me and gently pulled my shoulders back so I was leaning against his chest. Of course I started practically hyperventilating. After the flock’s teasing, I was super selfconscious, but clearly Fang had no intention of pretending that we weren’t —
together
.

“Max first,” said Gazzy. “Since it was her idea to have a birthday party.”

We all cheered as Gazzy flicked his lighter. Something caught fire in the darkness, and after a few seconds of hissing and crackling, went
whoosh
out into the night. Three seconds later it exploded, making a gorgeous blue fireball of sparks, and we all went ooh and ahh. As the sparks fizzled and began to fall, they looked roughly like the letter
M.

“Oh, my God!” I cheered. “Gazzy, that’s beautiful! How did you get it to do that?”

Gazzy smiled modestly. “I can’t tell you that. Next, Fang!”

Fang’s fireball was a brilliant orange, lighting up the sky.

In fact, it was so bright that it illuminated the old, unused logging road way below us in the gorge. And it showed a black Jeep four-wheeling it up the side of our mountain.

I got to my feet just as Fang’s orange letter
F
appeared. “Flock!” I announced. “We have company.”

33

WE CROUCHED DOWN, staying in the shadows on the roof. The moon was bright overhead, and our raptor vision easily picked out the dark Jeep as it came toward us.

“Any chance it’s lost? On its way somewhere else?” Fang asked softly.

“Yeah,” I muttered. “Sure. It’s probably the Easter Bunny and Santa Claus, and they’re looking for the North Pole.” I shook my head, already pumped into battle mode.

It was starting. I could feel something change. I’d been on edge, paranoid for days. There was too much déjà vu: the house, the location … I’d seen an Eraser paw and an Eraser face. Even the black Jeep reminded me of the first time the Erasers attacked our old house. We’d been on the run ever since.

It was almost like the nightmare of the past year was about to start all over again.

“Okay, guys,” I said tightly, “let’s fan out. Hide high in trees, watch and see what happens. Check the sky for choppers; make sure the Jeep’s sunroof doesn’t open. When I give the signal, we attack. Aim for the Jeep’s windows. Break ’em.”

“Right,” said Gazzy, his face determined.

Almost silently, we ran hunched over to the other side of the roof, farthest from the road. I couldn’t believe this was happening. We’d barely been at the house a week… .

I coiled my muscles, just about to jump — but then Angel cocked her head. “Wait — hold on, Max. I think … it’s Jeb.”

“Jeb?” Nudge said in disbelief.

Angel straightened and nodded her head. “Yeah, it’s Jeb. We don’t have to attack him, do we?”

I groaned to myself. As much as Jeb now claimed he was trying to help us, help me, I could never trust him again. It was like he woke up and said, “Oh, today’s Tuesday, an evil day.” Or “Friday again — guess I’ll be a white hat.” His shifting loyalties made my head spin.

“Is he alone?” I asked.

Angel looked thoughtful for a moment. “No.”

“Great.” I sighed. “No, I guess we don’t have to attack him. But keep an eye on whoever’s with him. It’s not my mom, is it?” I asked, suddenly hopeful.

Angel shook her head. “Sorry.”

The Jeep pulled up at the base of our house’s supports, and I jumped down to the ground to meet it. (You could get into our house only by flying or climbing a long ladder that we let down. Or not. That little design feature had been my idea.)

The driver’s door opened, and Jeb got out. At one time he’d been my savior, my teacher, my confidant. Now he was mostly just someone to be wary of — and, apparently, my biological father. But his contributing a cell to a test tube didn’t make me all misty eyed and eager to forgive. He would never feel like a father to me — not anymore.

“Jeb,” I said evenly. “I guess Mom told you where we were, how to find us?” Inexplicably, my mother still trusted Jeb. And I trusted my mom. Which was the only reason Gazzy wasn’t under the Jeep right now, rigging a detonator.

“Yes,” Jeb said. “She’s getting a team together for another CSM mission — I’ll have to tell you all about it later.”

The other car door opened, and I braced myself. But instead of, say, Mr. Chu, or a killer robot, or a cyborg assassin, it was something worse: Dylan.

My “perfect other half.”