James Patterson - Saving the World and Other Extreme Sports

I saw Dr. Martinez step toward Fang, her arms out, but a glance at his face made her stop, then smile warmly and hold her hand out for shaking. He took it, to my relief.

"I'm so glad I met you," she said to him, looking as if she were visibly restraining herself from hugging him. He stood stiffly, not saying anything.

"Take care of Max."

He nodded, and his mouth quirked on one side. He knew the idea that anyone needed to take care of me would get my knickers in a twist. I scowled. We would discuss this, for sure.

"Later," he said to Ella and Dr. Martinez in that gushy, hyperemotional, overdramatic way he had.

Then he ran across the yard, leaping into the air and unfurling his wings right before he hit the woods. I heard them gasp at the sight of his fourteen-foot wings lofting him effortlessly into the sky, so dark they looked almost purple in the sunlight.

I smiled one last time at Ella and her mother, feeling really sad, but not as sad as I had last time, despite my ruined arm. Now I felt like, I found them again; I can always come back.

And I really thought I might, when all of this was over. If it was ever over.

Flying again felt as wonderful and life-giving as flying again always did. Fang and I didn't speak for maybe forty minutes, streaking back toward where we'd left the flock. I was filled with apprehension and started to think through the almost-certainly-impossible idea of us all getting cell phones so we could keep in touch during times like this.

Finally it couldn't be avoided any longer.

"So what's with you?" I asked brusquely.

As if he'd been waiting, Fang rose and held his speed so he was almost right on top of me. While flying, it was the easiest way to hand something to someone else.

I held up my right hand, and he reached down, pressing a small white square of paper into my hand.

I looked at it as he shifted slightly so we were side-by-side again.

It was a photo, and I recognized it.

It was the picture of the baby Gasman that Fang and I had found in a deserted crack house, like, a million years ago. I'd left it in my pack, hidden back with the others in the canyon. "Why'd you bring this?" I asked Fang.

"I didn't." His voice was calm as always, but I saw rigid tension in his frame. "I found it."

"What?" That didn't make sense. "Found it where?"

"Between two books in Dr. Martinez's home office," he said, looking at me, registering my shock. "Between a book about recombinant-DNA theory...and one on birds."

Well. If sudden knowledge had a physical force, my head would have exploded right there, and chunks of my brain would have splattered some unsuspecting schmuck in a grocery store parking lot down below.

Let's just say I was stunned, and it takes a fair amount to stun me, I promise you.

My jaw dropped open as I stared at Fang's grim face, and only the certainty that I would start eating bugs any second made me shut it again.

I'm not the leader for nothing. I mean, I'm the oldest, but I'm the leader because I'm smart, strong, fast, and determined. I'm willing to be the leader. I'm the decision maker. And now, with typical leaderly incisiveness, I put two and six together and came up with one single question that would get right to the crucial heart of the matter.

"Whaaat?"

"I found the picture in Dr. Martinez's home office," Fang began again, but I waved at him to be quiet.

"You searched her office?" I had never thought to do that. Not the first time, not this time.

His face was impassive. "I needed a paper clip."

"She had books on combining DNA?"

"And birds."

"She's a vet."

"Fine, she's a vet. But avian anatomy, plus recombinant-DNA theory, plus the picture of the Gasman..."

"Oh, God, I can't think," I muttered, putting my hand to my head.

Everything's part of the big picture, Max, the Voice helpfully supplied. All you have to do is put the pieces together.

Fortune cookie crap like that didn't do a thing for me. I mean, I could have gotten that anywhere, without having a freaking Voice in my head.

"Oh, really?" I snarled. "I just have to put the pieces together? Excellent! Thanks for the great tip! Wish you'd told me earlier, you-"

I realized I was talking out loud and shut up.

I didn't know what to think. And Fang was the only one I could admit that to. Any of the other kids, and I would've made something up to cover the truth.

I shook my head. "I don't know what the deal is. I know she's helped me, not once but twice."

Fang didn't say anything, in that annoying way of his.

We were practically to the canyon where we'd left the flock. I searched the area but didn't see any telltale sign of smoke from their fire. Which meant they were being smart for once, lying low, they were...

Fang and I dropped down into the canyon, but we already knew. We knew from two hundred feet up. I didn't need to touch the burned-out ashes or look around for clues, though I did, of course.

It was all horribly, sickeningly clear: The flock hadn't been here in a couple of days. The scraped canyon floor showed they'd been taken by force.

While I'd been happily stuffing my face with homemade chocolate-chip cookies, my friends had been getting captured, with all that that implied.

I dropped my head into my hand, holding up my left arm uselessly.

"Crap."

Massive understatement.

When Nudge finally opened her eyes, the truck was moving. She couldn't remember the last several hours, so she figured she'd been asleep.

Squirming around, she saw Gazzy and Iggy lying with their eyes closed, maybe sleeping. Even Total seemed worn out, lying on his side, not even panting.

Angel was gone. Max and Fang had no idea where they were or what had happened. Iggy seemed to have given up.

The Gasman hadn't said it, but Nudge knew he was more scared than he'd admit. Dried tear tracks streaked his dirty cheeks, making him look younger and more helpless than she'd ever seen him.

By moving slightly, Nudge could see five Flyboys sitting near the front of the truck, their backs against the truck walls. From here they looked almost like regular Erasers, but there was something slightly different about them. Basically, they were metallic robots with a thin Eraser skin over their frames. Their fur wasn't as thick. And they never morphed into looking semihuman-they stayed in wolf form all the time.

Nudge closed her eyes again, weary and aching all over, too tired to think. They needed a plan. Everything just seemed so overwhelming and scary.

The truck shuddered to a halt, the screech of the brakes hurting Nudge's ears. Then the ride grew very choppy, as if they had veered off the road and were rolling on dirt now. Ow, ow, ow, Nudge thought, biting her lip to keep from crying out. Gazzy and Iggy groggily opened their eyes, and Total stirred.

"I hope this is a potty break," he muttered.

There was shouting outside. The three bird kids struggled to sit up, their hands still duct-taped behind them.

The two back doors of the truck were thrown open with heavy, brain-rattling bangs. Sunlight flooding in made them blink and turn their heads away. The Flyboys in the truck with them strode to the opening.

There was more shouting, raised voices from the front of the truck. Nudge saw nothing outside except a long, empty dirt road with low brush lining it. No buildings, no electricity wires. No one around to help them. Nowhere to run to. Their wings had been bound flat against their backs.

"What's happening?" Iggy's whisper was barely audible, but a Flyboy kicked him.

"Shut up!" it growled, sounding like a recorded phone message.