James Patterson: Saving the World and Other Extreme Sports

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw two blue-uniformed security men starting down the aisle toward us. A fast 360 revealed no one morphing into Erasers, but there were many eyes on us, many mouths wide open in surprise.

"Should we run?" Gazzy asked nervously, watching the crowd, mapping exit routes like he'd been taught.

"Running's too slow," I said.

"The game hasn't even started," Total said bitterly from under Iggy's seat. "I have money on the Bears!"

"You're welcome to stay here and see how the score ends up." I stood, began grabbing backpacks, counting flock members. The usual.

Total crawled out and jumped nimbly into Iggy's arms.

I tapped Iggy's hand twice. In an instant, we climbed onto our chairs. The muttering of voices was swelling, rising all around us, and the next thing I knew, our faces were twenty feet high, being projected onto the enormous stadium screens. Just like Fang had wanted. I hoped he was happy.

"Up and away on three," I said. Two more security guards were approaching fast from the right.

People were moving away from us, and I was glad the stadium had a namby-pamby no-weapons policy. Now even the cheerleaders' eyes were on us, though they didn't pause in their routine.

"One," I began, and we all leaped into the air, right over everyone's head.

Whoosh! I unfurled my wings hard and fast. My wingspan is almost thirteen feet, tip to tip, and Fang's and Iggy's are even wider.

I bet we looked like avenging angels, hovering over the astonished crowd. Kind of grungy avenging angels. Angels in need of a good scrub.

"Move it!" I ordered, still scanning the audience, checking for Erasers. The last batch of Erasers had been able to fly, but no one seemed to be taking to the air except us.

A couple of hard downstrokes and we were level with the open edge of the roof, looking down at the brightly lit field, the tiny faces all staring at us. Some people were smiling and punching the air. Most seemed shocked and scared. I saw some faces that looked angry.

But none were elongating, becoming furry, growing oversize canine fangs. They were all staying human.

As we shot off into the night, flying in perfect formation like navy jets, I wondered: Where have all the Erasers gone?

"It sucked, but it was way cool at the same time," Gazzy said. "I felt like the Blue Angels!"

"Yeah, except the Blue Angels are an extremely well funded, well equipped, well trained, well fed, and no doubt squeaky-clean group of crack navy pilots," I said. "And we're a bunch of unfunded, unequipped, semitrained, not nearly well fed enough, and filthy mongrel avian-human hybrids. But other than that, it's exactly the same."

I knew what he meant, though. As mad as I was about our being in that situation in the first place, and as much as I hated being on the run yet again, and as vulnerable as that last little stunt had made us, still-the feeling of flying in tight formation, all of us with wide, beautiful, awesome wings...it was just incredibly cool.

Gazzy gave a hesitant smile, picking up on my tension, not knowing if I was trying to be funny. I sat down, stuck a straw in a juice pouch, and sucked it dry, then tossed it aside and drained another one.

We were hiding in the Texas mountains, close to the border of Me-hi-co. We'd found a deep, very narrow canyon that protected us from the wind, and now we were settled on the bottom, in front of a small fire.

I hadn't been this mad at Fang for this long a period of time since-never. Sure, I'd agreed to his lame-butt idea, but actually, now that I thought about it, it was about six times stupider than I'd realized.

"Hmm," said Fang, looking at the laptop. "We're everywhere-TV news, papers, radio. Seems a lot of people got photos."

"There's a surprise," I said. "I bet that explains those helicopters we were hearing."

"Are you okay, Max?" Nudge asked timidly.

I gave Nudge an almost convincing smile. "Sure, sweetie. I'm just...tired."

I couldn't help shooting a glance at Fang.

He looked up. "I got a hundred and twenty-one thousand hits today."

"Whaaat? Really?" He had that kind of audience? He could barely spell!

"Yeah. People are organizing, actually trying to find out info for us."

Iggy frowned. "What if they get caught by whitecoats?"

"What are you writing about?" I admit I hadn't been reading his blog. Too busy trying to stay alive, etc.

"Us. Trying to get all the puzzle pieces out there, see if anyone can help us put the big picture together."

"That's a good idea, Fang," said Angel, turning her hot dog over to burn the other side. "We need to make connections."

What did she mean by that?

Connections are important, Max.

The Voice was back.

I was so startled by the Voice's sudden reappearance that I jumped and practically fell against the rock wall.

Instinctively I put a hand to my temple, as if I could feel the Voice running under my skin like a river.

"You okay?" Iggy reached out and touched my jeans. He'd felt me jump.

"Yeah," I muttered, walking away from the group. I felt them all looking at me, but I didn't want to explain.

Voice. Long time no annoy, I thought.

You were doing pretty well on your own, it replied. As before, it was impossible to tell whether it was young or old, male or female, human or machine. I was instantly aware of a schizoid reaction: Part of me felt irritated, invaded, suspicious, resentful-and part of me was flooded with relief, like I wasn't so alone.

Which was dumb. I lived with my five best friends and a dog. They were my family, my life. How could I possibly feel alone?

Everyone is always alone, Max, said the Voice, chipper as always. That's why connections are important.

Have you been reading Hallmark cards again? I thought. I walked out to the end of the canyon and found myself a mere ten feet from a ledge that dropped sharply into a much deeper, bigger canyon.

Connections, Max. Remember your dream?

I frowned, not knowing what the Voice was talking about.

You mean my dream of becoming the first avian-American Miss America? I thought snidely.

No. Your dream that the Erasers are chasing you, and you run through the woods until you come to a ledge. Then you fall off the ledge but start flying. And escape.

My breath left my chest with an audible oof. I hadn't had that dream since...well, since my dream had been replaced by a reality that was much worse. How had the Voice known about it?

"Yeah, so?" I said out loud.

This canyon is very much like your dream. It's as if you've come full circle.

I had no clue. No idea what the Voice meant.

Connections. Putting it all together. Your dream, Fang's laptop, people you've met, places you've been. Itex, the School, the Institute. Isn't it all connected?

Okay, but how? I practically shouted.

I almost thought I heard the Voice sigh, but probably just imagined it.

You'll see. You'll figure it out. Before it's too late.

That's comforting, I thought angrily. Thanks.

Then I had another thought. Voice? Where are all the Erasers?

Granted, the Voice had never answered a direct question-no, that would have been too easy. You don't just give the rat a piece of cheese-you make her work for it, right?

Shrugging, I turned and headed back to the others.

They're dead, Max, said the Voice. They've all been...retired.

I stopped in my tracks, frozen by shock. The Voice was always coy with information, but as far as I knew, it had never lied to me. (Which meant nothing, I realize.) But-dead?

Dead, the Voice repeated. They've been retired. All around the world, every branch of the organization has been terminating their recombinant-DNA experiments. You're among the only ones left. And they're coming for you.