James Patterson: The Final Warning

Bravely, Nudge stepped closer to the grave and tossed some dirt onto it. She tried to speak but started crying. I drew her to me and held her close.

I looked atIggy. As if sensing it, he raised his hand and dropped it. “I don’t have anything to say.” His voice was gruff.

Next it was Fang’s turn, but he waved me to go. Total had collapsed in sobs on my shoes, so I gently disengaged him and stepped over to the grave. I had two hothouse lilies, and I let them float onto the coffin of my half brother.

As the flock leader, I was supposed to come up with a speech. There was no way to sum up what I was feeling. I had killedAri once, then watched him die again as he saved my life. I’d known him when he was a cute little kid, and I’d known him as a hulking Eraser. I had fought him almost to death, and I had ended up choosing him over the best friend I’d ever had. I’d hated everything about him, then found out we shared half of our human DNA.

I had no words for this, and I’m a word queen. I’ve talked my way out of more tight spots than a leopard has, but this? A funeral for a sad, doomed seven-year-old? I had nothing.

Fang came up behind me and touched my back. I looked at him, at his dark eyes that gave away nothing. He nodded and sort of patted my hair, then moved forward and dropped some dirt onto the coffin.

“Well,Ari, I’m sorry that it’s ended like this,” he said so quietly I could hardly hear him, even with my raptor super-hearing. “You were a decent little kid, and then you were a total nightmare. I didn’t trust you- until the very end. I didn’t know you much, didn’t care to.” Fang stopped and brushed some overlong hair out of his eyes. “Right now, that feels like the biggest tragedy of all.”

Okay, that so did me in. Mr. Rock being all emotional? Expressing feelings? Tears spilled down my cheeks, and I covered my mouth with my hand, trying not to make a sound. Nudge put her arm around me, feeling my shoulders shaking, and Angel held me tight. Then everyone was holding me, total flock hug, and I put my head on Fang’s shoulder and cried.

THERE’S NO REST for the wicked. But you knew that.

As soon as the sob-fest was over andAri was buried,Jeb said, “We need to go.” His face was pale and unhappy. “Dr. Martinez and I talked to you about this trip to Washington. We think it’s crucial that you guys attend this meeting.” He sighed, not looking atAri’s grave.

“Why is this important, again?” I asked, trying to turn my back on feeling sad. Not so easy. “You said something about government, blahblahblah?”

Jebbegan to head out of the woods. With me in the lead and Fang taking up the rear, we followed him cautiously.

“After everything that happened in Germany,”Jeb said, “we were contacted by some very important higher-ups in the government. People who understand, who are on our side.”

I felt like saying, “What’s this ‘our side,’kemosabe?” but didn’t.

“They’re eager to meet with you,” he went on. “Frankly, these would be important and valuable allies- people who could actually offer you protection and resources. But they’re very hands-on- they need to see the miracle kids with their own eyes.” He turned back and gave us a rueful smile.

“If by ‘miracle kids’ you mean innocent test-tube babies whose DNA was forcibly unraveled and merged with two percent avian genes, yeah, I guess that would be us,” I said. “Because it’s a miracle that we’re not complete nut jobs and mutant disasters. ”

Jebwinced and gave a brief nod, accepting his role in our short, hard lives. “Well, as I said, they’re eager to see you. And your mom- Dr. Martinez- and I really recommend you go.” We came to the edge of the woods, and there was a small landing strip, scraped into the forest like a wound. A sleek private jet waited there, two armed Secret Service agents standing at the entry stairs.

I halted about ten yards away, doing a quick recon. Force of habit. No one started shooting at us. No hordes of Erasers or Flyboys swarmed out of the woods.

“I don’t know,” I said, looking at the jet. “It feels weird that no one’s throwing a black hood over my head.”

Fang smirked next to me.

Jebhad walked on ahead, and now he turned. “Max, we talked about this. This jet will actually get you to Washington faster than you can fly yourselves.”

Are we junior pilots? you ask. Why, no. If there are a couple of new readers out there, welcome! That mutant thing I mentioned? We’re 98 percent human, 2 percent bird. We have wings; we fly. Keep reading. You’ll get it all soon.

“Yeah,” I said, still feeling doubtful. Mostly I just wanted to turn, run, and throw myself into the air. That sweet rush of freedom, feeling my powerful wings lift me off the ground…

Instead,Jeb wanted to pack me into a little jet, like a sardine. A sullen, feathery sardine.

“Max,”Jeb said more softly, and I automatically went on guard. “Don’t you trust me?”

Six pairs of flock eyes turned toward him. Seven, if you counted Total.

I mentally reviewed possible responses:

1) Sardonic laughter (always good)

2) Rolled eyes and snort of disbelief

3) Sarcastic “You have got to be kidding me.”

Any of those responses would have been fine. But lately I had grown up a bit. A little heartbreak, a little fighting to the death, finding out who my real parents were- it all aged a girl.

So instead I looked atJeb and said evenly, “No. But I trust my mother, and she apparently trusts you. So, little tin-can jet it is.”

I walked steadily toward the plane, seeing the glimpse of pain and regret inJeb’s eyes. Would I ever be able to forgive him for all the heinous things he had done to me, to the flock? He’d had his reasons; he’d thought he was helping, thought it was for the greater good, thought it would help me in my mission.

Well, la-di-dah for him. I don’t forgive that easy.

And I never, ever forget.

THE JET DIDN’T HAVE normal rows of seats. It looked more like a living room inside, with couches and easy chairs and coffee tables. There were more Secret Service agents here, and to tell you the truth, they gave me the creeps- even though I knew they were the same people who sometimes protected the president. But there’s something about plain black suits, sunglasses, and little headsets that just automatically makes me twitchy.

Combine that with the inevitable heart-poundingclaus-trophobia that came from being enclosed in a small space, and I was basically ready to shred anyone who talked to me.

On the other hand, if anything dicey happened to the plane, I knew six flying kids who would come out okay.

I did a quick 360 of the plane’s interior. Angel and Total were curled up on a small couch, asleep. The Gasman and Fang were playing poker, using pennies as chips.Iggy was sprawled in a lounger, listening to theiPod my mom had given him.

“I’m KevinOkun, your steward. Would you like a soda?” A very handsome man holding drinks stopped by my chair.

Don’t mind if I do, Kevin Okun . “Uh, a Diet Coke? One that hasn’t been opened yet.” Can’t be too careful.

He handed me a sealed can and a plastic cup of ice. Across from me, Nudge sat up eagerly. “Do you haveBarq’s? It’s root beer. I had it in New Orleans, and it’s fabulous.”

“I’m sorry- noBarq’s,” said KevinOkun, our steward.

“Okay,” said Nudge, disappointed. “Do you have any Jolt?”

“Well, that has a lot of caffeine,” he said.

I looked at Nudge. “Yeah, because after everything we’ve been through, we’re worried about your caffeine intake.”