James Patterson - Fang

Of course, Fang would also qualify.

“Hey,” I said raspily and nodded, but I couldn’t think of anything else to say. And for some reason, that actually bothered me.

“I was particularly hoping you could meet Dylan,” said the doctor. “He’s been putting up with my company, and I’m sure he would benefit from meeting young people like himself.”

I rolled my eyes mentally, thinking that of course we were in no way like Dylan.

“Show them, Dylan,” said the doctor.

Dylan looked self-conscious but slowly took off his jacket to reveal broad shoulders and muscled arms. He was heavier than Fang, bulkier – maybe he was older? Had more regular access to food?

I was thinking, Wha -? when Dylan sort of shrugged his shoulders and extended his wings . All fifteen feet of them.

I AM NOTHING if not resilient, but usually I can handle only about one humongous life-shaking situation per hour. Now here it was, the second earth-shattering thing in five minutes. That, on top of the millet balls, made for a dangerously unsettled stomach.

“Where’d you come from, Dylan?” Fang’s steady and calm voice gave nothing away. He sat down and picked up a small bag of water to drink.

Dylan gave kind of a wry little smile. “A test tube,” he said. “A lab.”

Dr. Hunker-Gunther smiled and clapped his hands. “Oh, you have so much to talk about! But it is late and we are all tired.” He gave an old-fashioned bow. “We will be looking forward to seeing you tomorrow.”

We were silent for several moments after they left. My eyes followed their outlines until tents got in the way.

“Well!” said Patrick finally. “I certainly never expected that! Did you know there were more of you?”

“Nope,” I said.

I glanced around at the dazed flock, wanting to get Angel alone so I could grill her for more details of her pronouncement about Fang. It would be best not to upset the others by bringing it up again publicly.

It’s pretty inconvenient sometimes when Angel is able to pick up my thoughts. She practically glued herself to Gazzy, and twenty minutes later, everyone was already settling down for the night in our tent. Angel was (at least pretending to be) asleep next to her brother, looking deceptively sweet and innocent. Iggy, a famously restless sleeper, was in a corner by himself.

Fang, Nudge, and I were together, tucked like the others under a treated netting that was supposed to ward off malaria-bearing mosquitoes.

“Don’t think about what Angel said,” Fang whispered next to my ear. “You have to remember – she’s still just a little kid.”

“A weird little kid,” I whispered back. We were holding hands; our feet were entwined.

“Besides,” he began. “If she’s right… well, I’m glad. It has to be me first. Not you.”

“Fang, don’t -”

“Go to sleep,” he broke in, then lightened up. “Long day tomorrow. Starting with your fascinating breakfast.” I could barely make out Fang’s grin in the darkness – without raptor vision, I wouldn’t have been able to see a thing.

“Yeah,” I said wearily. A few minutes later, I felt a subtle relaxing of Fang’s muscles that meant he’d joined the sleeping flock. I was still wound up, though my body was crying out for sleep. I just kept running over everything in my mind.

Fang – dead. It was unthinkable. A year ago it would have been the worst thing that could happen, and now – it was a thousand times worse. Now I knew what it felt like to hold him, what it felt like to kiss him until we were both breathless. How could I possibly go on without him?

The really, truly horrible thing was, Angel had never been wrong. Never, ever.

I WAS STILL AWAKE hours later when a tiny noise made my gaze jump to the nylon wall of the tent. There was a shadow moving there – a person, barely silhouetted against the canvas by the fire. Maybe as close as ten feet away.

I let out a breath of relief. The idea of a mere human lurking around at night seemed like fun ’n’ games compared to, say, a hungry lion. I’d not yet been clued in to the wildlife in these parts, and my imagination was fired up. I was definitely not a fan of injury by teeth. Give me a bullet any day.

But then the person stopped and seemed to turn toward our tent. It was a short figure, thick bodied and bulky – pretty much the exact opposite of everyone I’d seen in this country so far. I scanned the silhouette. One of its arms was raised, as if it were holding something, but I couldn’t make out the shape of a gun.

Every nerve came to life, and I tensed, ready to give the alarm and wake the flock.

Carefully, I untangled myself from Fang and lifted Nudge’s hand so I could slip out. My eyes stayed glued to the silhouette as I made my way to the tent’s opening. In one swift motion, I yanked the zipper and burst out.

There was no one there.

After a quick glance around, I jumped and shot out my wings, rising about fifteen feet into the air with a few powerful strokes.

There! Emerging from a ragged stand of trees was that figure again. Raptor vision allowed me to see more detail at night than most people could, but I still couldn’t believe what my brain was telling me.

Chu?

He was one of the most evil wack jobs I’d encountered lately. But that was back in Hawaii. He’d been dumping radioactive waste into the ocean. What was he doing here?

I landed as silently as possible in a nearby tree. He was speaking in a hushed voice. Must have had a cell phone.

“Yes… Collecting the new subjects… Approximately fifteen minutes.” He disappeared into a small tent with a first aid sign outside. It couldn’t have been big enough to hold more than about ten people.

So imagine my surprise when, over the next fifteen minutes, I saw maybe a couple dozen figures – who appeared to be mostly young-looking refugees from the camp – entering that tent…

And no one came out.

My curiosity got the better of me, so I left the tree and quietly crept behind the tent. No sounds inside. Not even a breath. WTH?

Swiveling my head around to look for more figures, I tiptoed toward the front. Still silence. There was nothing to do but stride right in, striking my best martial-arts pose as I whipped through the tent flap.

It was empty inside.

So… either I was hallucinating or there was a passage to hell underneath this tent. I had to admit I wasn’t quite ready to accept either option right now.

Frowning, I returned to our own tent, where I picked my way through a cozy tangle of bird kids. I crawled back in between Fang and Nudge, and took Fang’s hand again.

He blinked sleepily, awakening at the slight touch. “Everything okay?”

“Mmm,” I grunted. “Go back to sleep.”

I couldn’t lie to Fang.

PICTURE A SHANTYTOWN made of ragged nylon tents, like, for acres. Then picture making a left and finding yourself in front of the big top of the Big Apple Circus. That’s what Dr. G-H’s crib was like. It was an ornate, beautiful tent, complete with screened windows, a covered porch, and a strip of green carpet leading across the sand to the front entrance.

I glanced at Angel, and she gave me a weak smile. We were both still upset about what had happened yesterday, when I’d lost my cool. That morning Fang had told me not to pursue it, and part of me, I admit, just didn’t want to know. I was hoping it would all just go away, so for now, I’d decided to pretend it hadn’t happened.

The tent door was pulled aside by a… a guy in a white uniform who opens the tent door. What a job description.

Inside, netting-covered windows let in light, and electric fans kept the warm air circulating. The floor was covered by Oriental rugs, overlapping so there were no gaps. Our feet sank into soft plush, and I almost sighed.