Джеймс Паттерсон: Hawk

Turning, I folded my heated wings quickly, then rushed back to where Pietro was jumping to his feet. Almost instantly, two guards ran at us, their long rifles held like clubs.

I jumped sideways, hitting one in the chest with both feet. He staggered backward and I whirled with a roundhouse kick at his rifle, which clattered to the floor. A snap kick at his helmet made him reel backward, followed by a powerful uppercut punch under his chin that made his eyes roll up into his skull. He fell like a sack of rocks.

I looked up to see Pietro standing over his guard, holding something small and black. “Taser,” he said, wiggling it at me.

“Nice. Take the easy way out,” I said.

Pietro only shrugged. “It was a Christmas present.”

I spotted a metal staircase and nodded toward it. Pietro went in front of me, stopping at the first stair to turn and face me. “This is gonna be my fight,” he said. “You should clear out while you can. Thanks for getting me here. I won’t forget it.”

“You can either start climbing or get out of my way.”

“Look, Hawk—”

“Move it!” I said. “My last Christmas present was a shank, and I’ll use it if you don’t zip your lip and start climbing.”

CHAPTER 104Max

Old habits forced me to straighten up and fly, damnit! I broke the free fall, but with both hands holding my head. A thick trail of blood spun away from me, and it felt like if I moved my hands, I’d be holding pieces of my skull.

“You got it?” Fang asked, appearing right under me. “Want a ride?”

“Man! Yeah,” I said. “But let me puke first.” I turned my head and did exactly that.

“Hate to be down there right now,” Gazzy murmured.

Gratefully I landed on Fang’s back, hardly making him sink, as if I were no more than a wish flower. I closed my eyes, held on to him with one hand, and kept the other one on my head. Blood streamed down his neck, falling to the ground like rain. It would leave a trail that anyone with half a brain would be able to follow.

“Relax,” Fang said. “They can’t reach us, even with old guns.”

The Flock landed on the top of a tall building right at the edge of the city. Iggy grabbed me as soon as Fang’s feet touched the ground and lowered me to the red tiled roof.

“Okay, move your hand,” Nudge said, taking my wrist.

“My brain will fall out.”

“If it does, I’ll push it back in,” Nudge promised, and pulled my hand away.

“We don’t have time for this,” I said, somewhat weakly. “We’re at war, and we need to find Phoenix!”

“You’re totally right,” Nudge said. “Try to bleed slower.”

I scowled, but that was hard to do because I was also half smiling.

“Got the first-aid kit,” said Iggy, kneeling by me.

“You got hit by a bullet,” Nudge said, her careful fingers parting my bloodied hair. “It looks like it impacted pretty hard, but it just grazed you. You got a hell of a hematoma, though. Wouldn’t be surprised if it cracked your skull a little, underneath.”

“So… she’s literally so hardheaded that a literal bullet literally bounced off her skull,” Fang said.

“ So funny,” I muttered.

Nudge smiled a bit as she clapped a wad of cotton onto my wound. “Hold this,” she told Iggy.

Quickly, deftly, she wound a surgical dressing around my head.

I sat up, waves of nausea making my head spin. I concentrated on not puking again. Iggy gave me some tepid water to drink. I did, then wiped my mouth on my sleeve.

“We still haven’t hit McCallum, apparently. He’s still broadcasting,” Angel said, putting one hand gently on my head. “Close your eyes for a second.”

I closed them. She kept her hand on me and gradually my breath and heartbeat slowed. My thoughts changed from staticky, smeared pixels to cohesive sentences and pictures.

“Okay, you’re fine,” she said, and I opened my eyes, feeling 1,000 percent better.

“Let’s go find Phoenix,” I said, and one by one, we ran down the slippery tile roof and leaped into the air.

CHAPTER 105Hawk

From the middle of the Marble Tower to the top was about thirty floors. I took the steps three at a time, passing Pietro at one point and leaving him way behind. My bird-kid systems of strength and oxygen delivery just worked better.

Soon I stood at the bottom of the stairs to the sixtieth floor and looked up. Like twins, two hefty guards armed with new guns stepped into view. I’m sure they were very impressive to the uninitiated, but I’m about as initiated as one gets.

“Hi, boys,” I said. I dug a scrap of paper out of my pocket and scrutinized it. “This says the geocache is up here somewhere. Did you guys beat me to it?”

“Private property!” one of them snarled. “Get lost!”

I climbed a couple steps. “This isn’t private property—it’s an abandoned building! And it’s got my geocache in it! Now get out of my way!”

Very quietly, Pietro’s tired footsteps reached my ears. He’d finally made it.

One of the guards aimed his gun at me and sighted down the barrel.

“I’m two meters away,” I pointed out. “It’s not like you gotta have crackerjack aim.”

At last, Pietro rounded the staircase behind me. “What’s going on?”

“They won’t let me get my geocache!” I said, turning and winking at him so he’d play along.

“Got no idea what that is,” Pietro said, like a moron. “But I’m Pietro Pater, this is my dad’s building, and you need to let us up.”

Well, okay, that was another approach. Maybe better than bluffing.

“We got orders to let no one in,” one guard said.

“We’re going in,” I said firmly. “We can do this the humiliating way, or the super humiliating way. Up to you.”

Once again the guard put the gun to his eye and sighted down the barrel.

I went up a step.

He aimed right at my heart and pulled the trigger from half a meter away. Click! Nothing happened.

I let out a breath. No matter how much confidence I had in Clete, having a gun fired at you point-blank is still pretty scary. “Sorry,” I said, smiling at the guard. “The chips inside your guns are having a day off.”

With a roar of rage, the guard lunged at me, swinging his gun like a club.

I grabbed the gun and used the weight of his own swing to yank him off the stairs, flinging him down to the stairs below me. Right as he jumped to his feet, I stomped on his instep, then whirled and kicked him behind his knee. He sagged but recovered quickly. I spun and knocked the gun out of his hands with an axe kick. It clattered to the ground and I grabbed it, swinging it at his head. Wham! I clocked him right on the temple and he staggered, his eyes crossed.

I glanced back at Pietro, who was just barely holding his own against the other guard.

My guy had recovered and surprised me with a fierce uppercut that made my teeth smash together. I saw stars but stayed on my feet, ducking down and aiming a completely enraged kick at his kneecap. There was a satisfying snap, immediately followed by a scream of pain, and my guy was curled in a fetal position, holding his leg.

I smashed him in the head with the butt of the rifle—a pity move to knock him out. There’s nothing quite like a shattered kneecap to make you wish for unconsciousness.

The other guard was still swinging his gun at Pietro. I took a little hop, unfolded my wings, and flew over them to the top of the steps. The guard’s mouth dropped open and he stared, which gave Pietro time to hook his foot behind the guy’s ankle. They tumbled together down the last few stairs and ended with Pietro leaning way over the guy, still holding on to the gun. But something was wrong—Pietro was way too still.