James Patterson - Maximum Ride Forever

“These kids are not like us. These kids are sociopaths .”

Nudge shrugged. “Maybe their culture is just uncomplicated.”

“Staying here won’t help you forget about the past,” I said gently.

“And leaving won’t help you change it,” she bit back. “The world ended, Max, and I promise, nobody blames you for not being able to save it. You don’t have to go.”

I held Nudge’s gaze for a long time, weighing her words. “I need to know the truth,” I said quietly. “I didn’t before. But now I think... I think truth is better than relative safety.”

Nudge nodded and hugged her pillow close, and I knew she wouldn’t change her mind.

“So — you’re going to stay here,” I said, just to make sure.

Nudge nodded again.

I looked at Total. The Scottie dog stood up, puffed out his wiry chest, and seemed to grow a little taller. “I will miss you, of course, Max. But I will stay here with Nudge. I need... time to heal. Time to reflect.”

“Of course you do,” I said, picking him up. He snuggled his head into my shoulder, and I tried not to cry. Nothing about my life made sense — I was going on pure instinct, and it was like walking on a tightrope, with the safety net of my flock gone.

When Total looked up, his chocolate eyes were glistening.

“Here,” Nudge said, taking an oversized sweatshirt from her bedding. “Rizal said temperatures are dropping — they can sense the extra oxygen in the water.”

“It’s okay. I don’t need—”

Nudge rolled her eyes. “I know. You don’t need any help from anyone. I’m trying to give you a farewell gift. Just take it, okay?”

“My Nudgelet.” Her spiral curls were fuzzy from sleep, and I kissed the top of her head affectionately. “You take extra good care of yourself, hear? If I come back and find you dead, I personally will haul you out of the grave and kill you again.”

My stern lecture earned a watery smile. “You take care, too, Max.”

As I walked through the cavernous halls toward the tunnel entrance, it was the first time in a long time I’d been alone, and if I’m being honest, it scared the crap out of me.

But there was one other thing Jonny had said that stuck with me: “There’s always someone in the group who’s a little vulnerable.” On my own, at least I’d be forced to be strong.

I left the caves at low tide, because the last thing I wanted to do was set foot in that water again.

I flew as long as I could through the tunnel, squeezing my body into the small space between the waves and the ceiling and flapping my wings in stunted little flicks. I was still forced underwater a few times, and I was on such high alert that I almost strangled a rogue piece of seaweed.

When I finally burst out of the tunnel, I was so happy to be free that I wanted to stay in the air forever — I didn’t care how polluted it was.

Let me tell you, that feeling got old real fast.

I started off heading north. Angel had promised answers in Russia, and my mom had mentioned it the day the sky caught fire. Like Jonny, I had to trust that there were no coincidences — in this strange new world, my gut was all I had to go on.

Unfortunately, my gut didn’t warn me of a tropical storm on the ol’ radar. I only saw it when I was almost upon it, because of how ash-filled the sky was, even at ten thousand feet. I immediately swerved west and tried to outfly it, but it was too big.

Storm-force wind, needlelike rain, ash, and debris blasted me from all sides, twisting me around and trying to take me down. I was in the middle of the ocean, so I couldn’t land; I couldn’t sleep; I couldn’t stop flying, even for an instant.

Out of the storm wasn’t much better. I flew north for several days, alone with my thoughts and shivering inside my sweatshirt. Rizal had been right — the temperature continued to drop. I was numb and alone, and hunger gnawed me inside out every minute, but two words sustained me: Find. Truth. The truth, bobbing just beyond the next wave. The truth, rising with each new hazy day. It became everything.

When I finally saw the uneven blob in the distance that suggested land, I was convinced I was hallucinating. But the strip got bigger, filling the horizon. I had no idea where in the vast Russian countryside Angel would be, but I was sure she’d jailbreak my brain and send a little message via the voice — the kid had no boundaries.

So far, nothing.

As I flew farther inland, a vast, circular valley stretched out below me, with a gray shelf of rock built up all around it. Hulking objects dotted the yellow land, and when I dove lower to get a better look, I thought I was seeing things in my exhaustion. At first my spirit soared at the realization that those dots were thousands of animals...

Until the smell hit me.

Every single creature lay dead. Lions, zebras, giraffes, all in varying stages of decomposition.

Uh, pretty sure there aren’t giraffes in Russia, rotting or not.

I saw someone wrapped head to toe in a burgundy fabric, huddling over one of the fresher corpses — some kind of deer. I stood watching nimble fingers snatch bones already picked clean and tuck them into hidden pockets.

Finally, I tucked my wings inside my sweatshirt and cleared my throat, and the figure turned.

The amber-colored eyes were all that was visible beneath the folds of fabric, and they widened at my approach.

“You are not burned!” a woman’s voice exclaimed.

“No...” I said uneasily.

Was that something she hoped to fix?

“Every person that comes to us from the city is burned.” A man I hadn’t seen stood up from behind the bulk of a water buffalo. He was also in a full robe.

“Well, I don’t know what to tell you. I’m not from the city. Which city, by the way?”

Which country and which continent, for that matter?

The two swaddled figures turned toward each other in silent communication.

“Do you know why all these animals died?” I interrupted.

“Come,” the woman said, walking away. “Come with us to our home and we will talk.”

Exhausted, starving, and desperate for answers, I followed.

“There was a very bright flash of light, and then heat all around.” Azizi was an animated storyteller, and his breath made the candle jump.

Once inside the mud-packed hut, my hosts had pulled their cloaks down around their shoulders, and I saw that Azizi and his sister, Nuru, had albinism. “We have to cover our skin,” Nuru explained. “Or the sun cooks it.”

They reminded me of Angel and Gazzy, and it wasn’t just their fair hair and skin. Nuru was measured and unreadable, while Azizi could be goofy, filling the spaces between his sister’s silences.

“A Jeep from one of the travel groups, its windows, pfft .” Azizi made a fist and shot his fingers out to signify the explosion of glass.

The travel groups were safaris — I learned that I was in eastern Africa, in the Ngorongoro Crater. I’d gotten pretty turned around in that storm.

“And then the animals, they sink to their knees and lie down, one by one,” Azizi went on. “They raise their voices and beg for Death to come to them! And Death, he comes.”

Nuru was boiling the bones she’d collected earlier for their marrow, and she looked over to where we sat cross-legged on the mat.

“At first it was very good fortune, you can imagine. So much meat that we didn’t have to hunt. But now, as you see, the meat rots, and we are very hungry.”

“After the animals, every person we see is a burned man,” Azizi continued. “Until you.”

I leaned closer. “And what did the burn victims say?”