Джеймс Паттерсон: Hawk

Stifling a sob, I pushed Clete next to the statue so he wouldn’t get run over. Then I saw it: a manhole cover, right beneath the Chung tank. I dove for it just as the tank’s caterpillar tracks began moving. My heart pounded like never before as I pried the cover up with my fingernails. The treads were almost on me, but I threw myself into the hole feet-first, hitting some rungs before landing some twelve feet below. My ribs took another blow and I cried out, the pain squeezing around my chest like an iron band. I looked up as the tank’s treads crushed half the manhole cover into place, flattening it like tin foil.

Weeping, I crawled deeper into the darkness, the truth surrounding me like a cold wind.

Clete was dead.

CHAPTER 92

I gave myself three minutes to get my shit together, broken ribs, dead friend and all. If I gave myself more than that, I’d panic. And I couldn’t afford to do that, down here in the dark. I was shaking, panting, felt dizzy and sick. In the darkness I could hardly see my wing, but I knew it had a big rip in it, my feathers were stained dark with blood. My heart was practically banging against my ribs; whenever I moved, my broken ribs ground together and it was impossible to not gasp with pain.

I had only one thought: Clete was dead! I’d known him practically my whole life, had slept near him every night I could remember.

Shit! Wiping snot from my nose, I whispered every swear word I knew. Then I stood shakily. I had to find the Flock. Taking off my loose jacket, I folded my wing in tight, then tied the jacket around it and my broken ribs. Could I even fly? I wasn’t sure.

Above me I still heard screams, pounding boots, metal hitting metal, metal hitting bone. I heard the shouts, even louder than the screams: “Stop the Six! Stop the Six!”

Okay. I was beneath Industry Park. I needed to get somewhere clear where I could try to take off. Clete’s body was still up there. I couldn’t do anything about that. Keeping close to one curved wall, I headed north.

As I moved through the city’s tunnels, I tried to think my way through this. Where had Max and Angel gone? Where was the rest of the Flock? They were probably all carrying bombs, right? I wasn’t sure—they hadn’t included me in a lot of the rally planning. Did they not trust me? I remembered Max’s words about how I was a rookie who would get them all killed, and I winced. She hadn’t been wrong. I hadn’t known what to do or how to protect Clete, and now he was dead, gone forever.

Was I supposed to meet everyone back at Tetra?

“Stop the Six! Stop the Six!” the crowd was still chanting, despite the soldiers coming at them. There had been tens of thousands of people there. None of the Six’s armies could beat that many people, especially if they didn’t have guns. So the mob might actually be able to do something. But what? The soldiers above were only lackeys. The real power behind the Six was safely ensconced somewhere, no doubt.

The only way to stop the Six was to—storm their palaces? Actually, only three of the Six—Chungs, Diazes, and Paters—had shown up with muscle today. They were the ones to focus on. I thought of Pietro, disguised, hanging out in the crowd, helping that Ope, even though he could’ve been killed trying. I thought of Giacomo, telling Pietro not to have anything to do with me.

Well. I knew whose palace I wanted to see stormed.

CHAPTER 93Max

“Did you see her?” I asked Iggy. We were flying south, away from the rally. Rally! Try riot! Those armies had been told to go in and slaughter hundreds, if not thousands, of innocent people. People whose only crime was wanting clean air, clean water.

“You’re asking the wrong freak, obviously,” Iggy said dryly, and I rolled my eyes because duh, I knew that. Of course Iggy didn’t see anything.

“Yeah, sorry.” I dropped back to Angel and Nudge. “Did you guys see her?”

“No,” Nudge said, looking concerned. “One minute she was on the statue, the next, she was gone. They both were.”

“So maybe she took off, flew off somewhere,” I said. I scanned the skies around us, but tamped down on the rising panic, refusing to let myself worry. Phoenix had made it clear that she didn’t need any advice from me, so, whatevs. It hadn’t been my idea to have her up on that statue of the huge nimrod.

“Hm,” said Angel, obviously listening in on my thoughts.

“You guys ready?” Gazzy came closer and opened his vest to reveal more small bombs than I’d known about.

“Did you see where Phoenix went?” I asked him.

“No,” he said. “But she’s tough, I’m telling you. Wherever she is, she’s kicking ass and taking names.”

“Yeah,” I said, my panic only subsiding a little. “What’s first on our shit list?”

Nudge pulled a literal list out of her pocket and tried to read it. Since we were at twelve thousand feet, going fast, it was like trying to read toilet paper. She squinted, held the paper tight. “The dope factory,” she announced at last.

“Let’s hit it,” I said, and pushed down hard with my wings.

Three minutes later we were over a god-awful ugly building, our eyes burning from coming down through the green-gray sludge they called “clouds.” I felt like I was wearing a scuba suit filled with sand, and it wasn’t only the air quality making me feel that way. The unbearably itchy and irritated feeling went below my skin, and since I knew myself horribly well, I knew it was because I was upset that I didn’t know where Phoenix was.

We were expecting bullets to come at us, but it would be okayish; at this altitude, there was too much wind for regular machine-gun bullets to be super accurate. Still, they could now see us, so we could kiss our stealth plan good-bye.

“Okay,” said Gazzy. “Remember to pull their strings at the last minute!”

I had already dropped mine. “Strings? What strings?”

“It’s a new design,” Gazzy called over to me. “An added safety feature! Ya gotta pull their strings or they don’t go off. Cool, huh?”

“Oh, damnit, Gaz!” I said, already dropping out of formation.

“Max, don’t!” Angel’s voice was already fading high above me.

I could see my bomb—just a second ago it had landed on the roof of one of the dope factory’s buildings. I could see it because it was neon pink. Gaz was trying to make them more festive.

Of course, this close, the guards’ aim would be much better—but they weren’t shooting. I landed for a split second, grabbed my bomb, and bounced back up to take flight. I saw the guards’ furious faces, saw them yelling and throwing their guns down on the ground. Of course! I laughed—Phoenix’s friend was supposedly able to dismantle guns. I hadn’t believed it, but it looked like he’d come through.

Now I could see the simple cotton string Gazzy had rigged up. I pulled it, the bomb vibrated slightly in my hands, and I dropped that sucker.

Whoosh! Something fast and hot hit one of my wings, spinning me sideways. Had the bomb gone off too early? I was falling fast, losing altitude and gasping for air. Keeping my head together, I forced myself to straighten in midair and beat my wings—which hurt like hell—something was really wrong with my right wing. I looked sideways—it wasn’t broken—I could move it. But it was burned, and where it was burned, a line of feathers fifteen centimeters wide had been scraped away.

“They’re shooting flares!” Iggy yelled.

“Are you okay?” Angel asked, coming closer to me.

“No,” I said, gritting my teeth and motioning to my wing, now spinning a rivulet of blood into the air.