James Patterson - Max

The small, stuffy room seemed to fade away as Valencia looked past the second-in-command, out through the small, thick window. The water outside was dark: the only light came from the powerful beams of this underwater station. Dr. Martinez wished they would just shoot her out into the water, the way they had the fourth-in-command. It would be heavenly out there, quiet and cold and wet, and as soon as she was out there, it would be over. She wouldn’t have to worry anymore. They couldn’t hurt her anymore. She could sleep.

Something enormous and dark moved through one of the beams of light. Valencia blinked, seeing that it wasn’t a whale. What on earth was it? It was alive, not a machine, but like nothing Valencia had ever seen or heard of. It was… an abomination, a grotesque mistake.

And suddenly, everything clicked into place, everything made sense, and she knew why they had kidnapped her, why they were holding her, and why they desperately needed the CSM to stop its protesting.

“If you don’t want to save yourself,” said the second-in-command, “you might want to save your eldest daughter.”

Dr. Martinez met her captor’s eyes. “What?”

“We have Maximum Ride in custody,” said the second-in-command triumphantly. “Sign this, and we will let her go.”

Laughter croaked out of Dr. Martinez’s dry mouth, distracting her from her pain and weakness. “If you’ve got Max in custody,” she said, “then you have my sympathy.”

She started to laugh again, but the M-Geek shocked her much more strongly now, and everything went fuzzy for a minute, before she passed out.

OKAY, I’m no marine biologist, so the whole octopus/squid distinction is lost on me. All I can tell you is that it was way bigger than me, gushy, slippery, impossible to get hold of, and seemed to have a million tentacley arms that it wrapped so tightly around me I couldn’t move.

I remembered how octopi and squid eat their prey – they pry open clams and use their sucky arms to shove the soft clam meat into their parrotlike beaks. It was trying to pry me open! Then it would stuff soft bird-kid meat into its beak!

I drew in panicked breaths from the regulator, thrashing around, trying to kick backward, everything I could think of to break free.

Reminder: One cannot build up a lot of power in water. One cannot jump up and kick something. One cannot use one’s weight effectively. One can only thrash around, pushing helplessly against gushy, squishy, stretchy tentacles, trying to pry them off of everything.

One can also try to reach the eight-inch knife one has strapped to one’s thigh. Of course, I couldn’t get mine, because that was how this whole day had gone.

And then it pulled my mask right off my face.

Cold salty water splashed into my eyes, went up my nose. Meanwhile, the slimy beast pulled the regulator out of my mouth, almost yanking my teeth along with it as I tried to hold on. Now I had no air source.

I pressed my lips together so I wouldn’t swallow the salt water. We mutant freaks have very efficient lungs and air sacs, but we do have to breathe. If I couldn’t breathe, I would drown, here in a dark cave, lost and alone.

Without ever kissing Fang again.

Tears are kind of redundant in the ocean, but I felt them well up hotly in my eyes.

EYES SQUEEZED shut, mouth closed tightly, I struggled with all my might, wishing with every fiber of my being that this was a plain-old regular Eraser or Flyboy or M-Geek or clone or any other ridiculous, stupid thing that someone had thought up -

The arms loosened their hold on me.

I fought and struggled again, and the arms loosened some more. Then suddenly the arms were gone. I lunged for my regulator hose and saw that the cave was full of light.

And there were John, Dr. Akana, and Fang. I had opened my eyes just in time to see Fang punching the octopus/squid/cephalopod right in its big googly eyes.

I reached around and grabbed my regulator – only to find half of a ripped hose, which had blown my entire air supply out in a huge, festive burst of bubbles.

A couple more punches and the thing turned and fled into the darkness. Fang swam over to me quickly, seeing my air hose, my breath-holding face probably turning purple. John and Dr. Akana came over too, indicating which way led out of the cave.

Then Fang’s eyes crinkled behind his mask: he was smiling.

Smiling ? I had, like, five seconds to go before my lungs exploded. Were my last thoughts as a living bird kid going to be, I thought you loved me, Fang, you freaking traitor?!

Then he took my hand in his and gently ran his fingers along the sides of my neck.

My eyes widened. I could just barely feel a steady stream of tiny bubbles brushing past my fingers. I did a systems check: Did I feel like I was about to pass out from lack of oxygen? Did my lungs feel like they were about to burst?

Nah, not really.

I grinned back at Fang.

I had developed gills.

I REMEMBERED how Angel had demonstrated this new talent – she sort of gulped in big mouthfuls of water, and they seemed to flow out her almost-invisible gills. I tried that, tentatively, fearing if I swallowed a bunch of salt water I would immediately gag.

But there was some new mechanism in place, and though I gulped in water, it immediately shot back out again, not down my windpipe or my esophagus.

It was so, so cool. Grinning, I unfastened my vest and let it and my tank drop below me into the depths. I felt so much better, lighter, and more maneuverable without it.

Then I leaned closer to Fang, peering through the water at his neck, smooth and tan under my pruney fingers. I pulled back and smiled at him, nodding. He had the same stream of bubbles seeping out from the sides of his neck.

He spit out his regulator, as John and Dr. Akana swam toward him in alarm. They tried to stop him from ditching his tank, but he pointed to his neck, and began to take water into his mouth. The scientists’ eyes grew huge behind their masks.

Looking stunned, they motioned toward the mouth of the cave. And who was waiting for us there, blond curls floating dreamily in the water like an impish mermaid?

Yeah. Angel. And when she saw us without our air tanks, she grinned in an incredibly annoying, see-I-told-you-so way. Little twerp.

As we moved toward her, I started to get the whole gill pattern of breathing down – take in a big mouthful of water, sort of swallow it, feel it flow out through the gills on the sides of my neck.

In another minute, it had become smoother and more instinctual, and I rejoiced in how incredibly cool and handy this new skill would be… and then, of course, immediately began to fear that I’d start sprouting other fish traits. Like scales.

Uh, like, no thank you.

But swimming with no bulky, heavy tank, no rubber mouthpiece making my jaw ache – I started to see what Angel found so amazing about being under water. I still totally preferred the air environment, with my wings stretched out in the sun. But this wasn’t so bad.

The five of us backtracked, heading to the boat. I started to compose a lengthy lecture for Angel, during which I planned to sit her down and try to drum some sense into her scary little head.

And then, with no warning, something broadsided me so hard it knocked the breath out of wherever I was holding it these days.

THE PROJECTILE WAS AS BIG and fast as a freight train and just as powerful. Ramming my side, it tore me far away from the others, making me turn somersaults and startling me so much that I gulped in water and actually swallowed it.

Without my bulky air tank, I quickly managed to right myself and assumed a fighting stance. I was maybe twenty feet away from everyone else, and they were under attack too.