James Patterson - Maximum Ride Forever

(Probably the tarantula.)

If a bird kid screams in an empty desert, does she still make a sound?

(All signs point to yes.)

Yeah, my brain was mostly fried.

So when I saw the human silhouette with a giant wingspan soaring between the distant mountains, I was pretty sure I was hallucinating.

I flew toward it anyway, keeping my eyes trained on the graceful shadow diving and climbing, gliding and dipping. As I got closer, the mirage didn’t disappear, but instead multiplied, and I found myself holding my breath.

I knew my flock’s flight patterns like I did my own name, and it clearly wasn’t Fang, or anyone in the flock.

But the five shapes ahead of me were definitely bird kids, and man , could they fly! Their wings were larger than mine, and their movements were so natural, so graceful, that you saw the bird in them before you noticed their human bodies.

I’d planned to approach cautiously, but several of them were already flying close and playfully cutting under my slipstream.

For the first time in months, I didn’t feel the weight in my tired wings. I just felt the pure joy of being able to freaking fly with others of my kind, without having them suddenly turn on me. Also, maybe they had food — they looked in good shape, from what I could glimpse.

“You guys are amazing!” I called out. They didn’t seem to hear me, though — the wind was probably too gusty.

Taking a risk, I followed them back to their homes, which were... uh, nests balancing between mountain ledges. Okay, that was unusual. I dropped down carefully, and several of them turned to stare at me with curiosity.

“Hey! I’m Max. Have you guys seen any other bird kids?” I asked. As more of them landed, I was struck by the way they knelt on the ground, folding their wings behind them. “I’m missing part of my flock. A guy named Fang — he’s dark, with dark wings... or a tall blind guy, or a shorter blond boy?”

Then it hit me: They looked like the flock — tall and lean human bodies with wings attached behind the shoulders — but they behaved... differently. As I spoke, they cocked their heads in sharp little movements and made clicking sounds in the back of their throats.

And... they were naked. Not naked as in acres of skin, but naked as in without clothes. These kids were covered with feathers all over — thick, downy feathers, everywhere but their heads.

Between my cracked lips and matted hair, I’d been feeling pretty feral, but these kids were straight-up wild . They flew like birds because they actually were more like birds than humans.

As the possibility of communication dwindled, the giddiness I’d felt at finding another flock seeped away, to be replaced by disappointment. And when I felt someone nuzzling against my shoulder, I jumped.

His light brown hair was curling and tousled, and his bright smile was punctuated by two perfect dimples. He was about my age, with unusually large eyes that were a gorgeous shade of amber. He was adorable. In an avian-mutant kind of way.

“And who are you?”

“Huryu!” he repeated gleefully. “Huryu, Huryu!” He was like a parrot latching on to a new word. So they really didn’t talk like people. My disappointment turned into crushing despair with no warning. The first people I’d seen in twenty-seven and a half days...

My throat closed up and my eyes started to sting. I couldn’t believe it. Would it kill the universe to cut me a break once in a while? Turning away, I wiped my eyes and wondered what the heck to do now. Then I felt something tugging at my feathers.

I whipped around. “What are you doing?”

“Huryu?” he asked, wide-eyed, and combed his fingers through my hair. Of course he hit snarls immediately, and with a look of concentration, he carefully picked at them, easing them loose, stroking them with his feathers. He was grooming me, making little cooing, chirruping sounds.

Instinctively I wanted to push him away, but I’d been on my own for so long... and he was kind of like me, my flock. With tears running down my face, I sat there and let myself be groomed.

The sun went down, but no one made a fire. Mostly in pairs, sometimes in small groups, these bird kids began curling up in their nests, huddling together for warmth. I made camp a little ways away from them, on flatter ground, feeling desolate and somehow more alone than ever.

I was almost asleep when the velvety sound of sweeping feathers made me look up. It was my number one fan, and lo and behold, he came bearing gifts. He had brought me a seriously large rattlesnake, and as he fluttered down in front of me, he dropped it at my feet.

The snake had only been stunned, and it quickly wound itself into a deadly coil. Its tail rattled in warning — it was wide awake now, and definitely within striking distance.

“Jeezum!” I said, scrambling backward. “What are you doing?”

But he flashed his dimpled grin and picked the snake up by the end of its tail. He swung it overhead and whipped the head against the ground, then proudly presented it to me.

“Huryu!” he said softly, and patted the snake.

“Yeah, I get it...” I said. “Uh, good boy.”

Then he held the scaly body up to my lips, nodding eagerly. Did this count as flirting in the animal world?

“Cool. Let’s cook it first, though, okay?” After the raw fish, raw seagull, and raw termites, I was desperate to have something warm for once.

The bird kid looked shocked when I struck a flint and made a small fire, then appalled as I skinned and gutted the snake. He clearly thought those were the best parts, because he quickly gobbled them up as soon as I dropped them on the ground.

I skewered the long body on a stick, turning it over the fire, and I had to admit, it wasn’t bad and there was plenty of it. If you’re wondering, it tasted kind of like chicken.

My new pal ate with sharp little movements, jerking his head forward to peck off a chunk of meat, but he studied me the entire time with those wide eyes.

“What?” I said. “I’m sorry, but I don’t speak bird.”

Then, from who knows where, he took out a crumpled piece of paper and thrust it at me. And I suddenly understood why he was so drawn to me.

It was a folded, wrinkled page of magazine from about a year ago. I touched the picture with trembling fingertips, tracing over the faces: Nudge and Gazzy hamming it up for the camera, Angel looking sweet and defiant at the same time, Fang standing protectively just behind my shoulder.

“ ‘Maximum Ride and Flock Take On Congress.’ ” I read the headline aloud, choking up at the memory.

“Maaaaaaax,” said the bird kid, my name sounding odd and guttural.

I looked up at him.

“Maximum,” I said, pointing a thumb at my chest. “Maximum Ride. But you can just call me Max.”

“Maaaax Mum. Maaaaax Mum. Maaaaax Mum,” he repeated, and I sighed.

“Okay. Maximum it is.”

He touched his own chest. “Huryu.”

“Uh... that’s not actually a name,” I muttered, thinking quickly. “Harry,” I said firmly, and touched his chest. “Harry.”

He reached out and touched my chest and I tried not to scream. His gentle fingers stroked the cloth of my ratty sweatshirt carefully. “Maaaax,” he said softly.

I nodded again. “Max.” And for some reason I teared up.

“Get ready...” Gazzy said, lighting the waxed rope.

Iggy stuck his fingers in his ears.

There was a low, nervous clucking sound, and then a big bang. Feathers rained down, snagging on the pine trees, and when the smoke cleared, three wild turkeys were no longer very wild.

“Most excellent,” Gazzy said, beaming, his face covered in black film.