James Patterson - Maximum Ride - The Angel Experiment

Angel’s hand was in mine, small and trusting. The Gasman was still dopey with sleep, occasionally stumbling. Iggy had one finger in Fang’s belt loop.

We were looking for a rusted grate set in the floor. In my dream, I had seen it at the crossroads of two tunnels, so it had to be here. But I didn’t see it. I stopped, and the others stopped behind me.

“It has to be here,” I said under my breath, peering into the darkness.

Don’t think about what has to be, Max. Think about what is.

I set my jaw. Can’t you just tell me stuff straight out? I thought. Why did everything have to be like, “What is the sound of one hand clapping” and all?

But okay. What was here, then? I closed my eyes and just sensed where I was, consciously letting any impression at all come to me. I felt like such a total dweeb.

Then I just walked forward, eyes shut, trying to sense where we should go. Instinctively, I felt I should stop. So I stopped. I looked down.

There, at my feet, was the dim outline of a large rusted grate.

Well, aren’t you special, I told myself. “It’s over here,” I called.

The grate pulled up easily, its screws disintegrating into rusty powder as Fang, Iggy, and I pulled. It came loose, and we set it aside.

Below it was a manhole with rusted U-shaped handholds set into one side. I lowered myself over the edge and started climbing down into the sewer system of New York City.

What a destiny.

Finally, I had to ask the Voice a question. HAD TO ASK. Am I going to die? Is that what this is all about?

There was a pause, a long one, really agonizing, the worst.

Then the Voice decided to answer. Yes, Max, you are going to die. Just like everybody else.

Thank you, Confucious.

This may surprise you, but the sewer system of a burg with eight million people is even less delightful than you might imagine. We climbed down the manhole one by one and ended up standing on a grimy tiled ledge maybe two feet wide. Above us, the tunnel curved around, some fourteen feet across, and below our ledge was a swiftly moving current of filthy wastewater.

“Bleah,” said Nudge. “This is so gross. When we get out of here, I want someone to spray me with, like, disinfectant.”

Angel stuffed Celeste up under her shirt.

“Max?” said the Gasman. “Are those, um, rats?”

Lovely. “Yes, those do appear to be either rats or mice on steroids,” I said briskly, trying not to shriek and climb the walls like a girly-girl.

“Jeez,” said Iggy with disgust. “You’d think they’d want to live in a park or something.”

Ahead of us was a four-way intersection of tunnels, like a big cross. I hesitated, then turned left. Several minutes later, I stopped, completely and utterly without a clue.

Hello, Voice? I thought. A little help here, please.

I had no hope that the Voice would respond, but if it did, it would probably say something like, If a tree falls in a forest, does it still-

I looked down, then sucked in my breath so fast I almost choked. / was standing on a translucent platform suspended high over the sewer system. I wanted to scream, feeling off-balance and scared. Below me I could see another Max, looking like a deer caught in headlights, and the rest of the flock staring at me. Fang reached out and took the other Max’s arm, and I felt it, but no one was with me.

When are you going to trust me, Max? said the Voice. When are you going to trust yourself?

“Maybe when I don’t feel completely bonkers,” I snarled.

I swallowed hard and tried to get a grip. Tentatively, I glanced down again at the translucent surface. As I watched, faint lines of light tracked the path behind us, where we’d already been. Then the lines continued through the tunnels, like a neon This Way sign.

Quickly, I glanced up but saw only the yucky yellow-tiled arch covered with mold-no glass ceiling. Fang was still holding my arm, looking at me intently.

I gave him an embarrassed smile. “You must be so sick of looking at me with concern.”

“It is getting stale,” he said. “What happened? This time, I mean.”

“I don’t even want to explain,” I said, wiping clammy sweat off my forehead. “You’d have me committed to a madhouse.”

I stepped carefully around him and led the others forward. Some sections of the tunnel were lit dimly from open grates high above us, other parts were dark and dismal. But I was never lost, never uncertain, and after what felt like miles, I stopped again because it felt like it was time to. ‘Cause, like, the feng shui was right, you know? Ugh.

As we stood staring around ourselves in the darkness, avoiding our chittering little rat friends, I saw why we were there.

Set into one cruddy, disgusting sewer wall was an almost completely hidden gray metal door.

“We’re here, gang. We made it.”

Don’t get too excited. The door was locked, of course.

“Okay, guys,” I said softly. “Can any of us open locks with our minds? Speak up now.”

No one could.

“Iggy, then.” I moved out of the way and pulled him gently to the door. His sensitive fingers reached out and skimmed the door, feeling its almost indistinguishable edges, hovering around the keyhole. Like someone was going to come down here with a key.

“Okay,” Iggy muttered. He pulled his little lock-picking kit out of his pocket, as I knew he would. Even though I had confiscated it for forever only two months ago, after he picked the lock on my closet at home.

Home. Don’t even think about it. You no longer have a home. You’re home-less.

Carefully, Iggy selected a tool, changed his mind, took out another one. Angel shifted from foot to foot, looking nervously at the rats, who were growing creepily curious about us.

“They’re going to bite us,” she whispered, clutching my hand, patting Celeste through her grimy shirt. “I can read their minds too.”

“No, sweetie,” I said softly. “They’re just afraid of us. They’ve never seen such huge, ugly… creatures before, and they want to check us out.”

I was rewarded with a tiny smile. “We’re ugly to them. Right.”

It took Iggy three minutes, which was a personal record for him, breaking the old four-and-a-half-minute record required by the three locks on my closet.

Iggy, Fang, and I gripped the edge of the door with our fingernails and pulled-there was no doorknob. Slowly, slowly, the immensely heavy door creaked open.

Revealing a long, dark, endless staircase ahead of us. Going down. Of course.

“Yeah, this is what we needed,” Fang muttered. “A staircase going down to the Dark Place.”

Iggy blew out his breath, less than thrilled. “You first, Max.”

I put my foot on the first step.

You’re on your own now, Max, said my Voice. See you later.

My headache was back, worse than before. “Let’s keep it moving,” I called over my shoulder.

Unlike the sewer, there wasn’t even far-off light on the stairs, so it was pitch black. Fortunately, we could all see pretty well in the dark. Especially Iggy.

The steps seemed endless, and there was no handrail. I guess whoever built this wasn’t too concerned with safety.

“Do you know what you’re doing?” Fang asked softly.

“We’re approaching our destination,” I said, descending into the darkness. “We’re homing in on the answers we’ve dreamed about getting our whole lives.”