James Patterson - Maximum Ride Forever

“Well, that’s one way to cook a turkey,” Iggy laughed.

It was hard not to be giddy. After the miles and miles of mass destruction they’d flown over these past couple of weeks, they’d found the forests of Appalachia somehow untouched. Now they were sitting on the cement platform of an old campsite, chowing down on the first hot meal they’d had in what felt like years.

“Ig, no kidding, this is the best thing I’ve ever tasted.” Juice ran down Gazzy’s chin as he devoured the meat. “You should have your own postapocalyptic cooking show or something.”

“Oh, totally. ‘Tune in next week for Seasoning the Squirrel, Blowing Up the Bird ,’ ” Iggy said in an announcer voice. Then he pursed his lips. “I was actually thinking it tastes a little funky.”

Gazzy tore off another big hunk, considering. “Maybe you went a little overboard with the rosemary?” he suggested.

Iggy paused with a turkey leg halfway to his mouth. “Rosemary?” he repeated skeptically. “You don’t think it might have something to do with the fertilizer you used?”

“Hey, I got a fire going, didn’t I?” Gazzy pointed out. “I didn’t see any gunpowder or ice packs in that farmer’s shed, did you?”

Iggy shrugged. “Well, it’s definitely a step up from bugs and rats.”

“Are you kidding?” Gazzy said, poking the charred birds with a stick. “This is a regular Thanksgiving feast. Hey, maybe we should say what we’re thankful for!”

“I’m thankful I’m not currently eating bugs and rats,” Iggy said immediately.

Gazzy nodded. “I’m thankful for the stupidity of wild turkeys.”

“Since this is supposed to be Thanksgiving, I’m thankful for the memory of garlic mashed potatoes drenched in butter. Or yams with marshmallows.” Iggy sighed.

Gazzy’s eyes twinkled. “Oh, man. Remember when Nudge wanted us to celebrate Thanksgiving like normal people, and we went all out trying to cook, but the marshmallows caught on fire?”

Iggy chuckled, remembering. “We almost burned down Dr. Martinez’s kitchen!”

“And then Ella ate all the burned yams to make Nudge feel better, insisting that she just really liked the smoky flavor?”

At the mention of Ella, Iggy went silent and stopped eating. The lines around his mouth deepened in pain.

“Ig?” Gazzy whispered after a few minutes.

“Hmm?”

“I miss the flock,” Gazzy said even more quietly.

Iggy nodded, but his milky, blind eyes were like a concrete wall.

“But Ig?”

“Hmm?”

Gazzy reached a tentative hand out and squeezed Iggy’s shoulder. “I’m thankful I’ve still got you, though. And that we’re still alive.”

Iggy turned his head in Gazzy’s direction, his face softening. “Me too, little bro. Me too.”

And just as the moment started to feel a little too heavy, a low, hornlike sound rippled through the air. The fire flared up in response.

“Oh, God!” Iggy scooted away, holding his nose.

Gazzy was giggling like a maniac.

Iggy shook his head in disgust, but he was grinning. “Gasman, I knew I could count on you to keep it real.”

“Freeze, scumbags!” a gravelly female voice shouted from the woods.

Iggy and Gazzy leaped to their feet, sending burning pine needles flying.

But they were already surrounded.

At least A dozen heavily armed teenage girls circled Iggy and Gazzy just beyond the trees, holding crossbows.

“What didn’t you understand about the word ‘freeze’?” asked the leader, a girl with dreadlocks and sharp eyes, stepping closer. When she saw the burn marks on the ground, color rushed to her cheeks. “Did you actually try to blow up our silo?” she barked.

Silo?

“Are you kidding me?” Iggy said as Gazzy gaped at the cement circle they’d assumed was a camping platform.

The boys had been working their way north toward Pennsylvania to try to find the blog commenter and his silo. They never imagined they’d been sitting right on top of it .

“You Doomsday guys think you can come here with your cleanup crews, take whatever you want, kill whoever you want?” another girl with dark hair asked shrilly.

“No! We’re not—”

Dreadlocks narrowed her eyes. “We play by different rules.” She cocked her weapon, and the sound echoed around the circle as all the other girls followed suit, stepping out from behind the branches.

With the flock backing them up, the boys might’ve had a fighting chance, but with just the two of them, they were seriously outnumbered.

“We’re not armed!” Gazzy shrieked, putting his hands up.

“And we’re not with Doomsday,” Iggy, who had once been hypnotized by the cult, said more calmly. “We’re mutants, see?”

He unfurled his pale fifteen-foot wings over his head, and Gazzy did the same. As if that weren’t proof enough, they fluttered their feathers.

The leader stared at them, unimpressed. “The Remedy’s got plenty of mutants working for him,” she noted, and the crossbows stayed trained on Iggy and Gazzy.

“Not us. We came because we have a friend here,” Gazzy explained hurriedly. “From the Internet. We had this flock, and not bragging or anything, but we were kind of famous...” He knew he was babbling, but he was desperate to buy some time. “So he went on our website and said we were welcome to visit. He called himself PAtunnelratt? It was an avatar?”

He looked around with raised eyebrows, waiting for recognition, but Dreadlocks’ answer was flat and final: “Don’t know him.”

Iggy pressed. “Are you sure? He said his dad—”

“Must’ve been somewhere else,” she snapped. “The government built fallout shelters all through these mountains in the 1950s. Could be anywhere.”

“But—”

Another girl’s impatient voice cut in. “There aren’t any guys living here, period.”

Iggy’s eyebrow jumped with interest. “Just girls?”

“Yeah,” she said. “Just us.”

“Sweeeet.” Gazzy exhaled in wonder. From his dopey expression, he seemed to have forgotten about the threat and was convinced they’d landed in heaven. Iggy elbowed him.

The girls sighed in annoyance but seemed to understand that the bird kids didn’t pose much of a threat, and they relaxed their grip on their weapons.

“You still owe us for those turkeys,” Dreadlocks said, gesturing at the pile of feathers and charred meat. “The forests are almost picked clean of game, and we can’t afford to lose them.”

Iggy crouched down and ran his hands over their meager supplies. “We don’t really have anything to barter. Maybe we can pitch in?”

The leader regarded them coolly. “And what makes you think we need any help?”

“You know, with guy stuff.” Gazzy broadened his nine-year-old chest. “I know it can be hard without a man around. Any basic repairs you need done? Heavy lifting?”

Dreadlocks scowled, and her finger hovered over the trigger again, threatening to release the arrow.

“Jackie, don’t we have that thing we need done at the bottom level?” the dark-haired girl interrupted. “You know.” She wiggled her eyebrows at Gazzy and flashed a white, sharklike smile. “Men’s work.”

The leader frowned in confusion at first, but the other girls around the circle started to laugh. Iggy and the Gasman were definitely not in on it, but Gazzy grinned anyway, happy to have the attention of so many giggling girls at once.

Iggy’s expression was more uncertain. Without the benefit of sight, he was more attuned to the subtleties of sound, and he was pretty sure the laughter was at their expense.

Dreadlocked Jackie relaxed as she, too, understood what the dark-haired girl was implying. “Actually, come to think of it,” she answered, “there are some things we could use some muscle on. Thank God you showed up!”