I would pretty much rather have been torn apart by wild animals. "I liked it better when you didn't talk," I said. "I mean, there's a reason people don't look under rocks, you know?"
"Meaning what?" He sounded irritated. "We're going to pretend nothing's going on? That's stupid. The only way to deal with any of this is to get it out in the open."
Ugh. "Have you been watching Oprah again?"
Now I had made him mad, and he fell silent. I was relieved, but I knew this subject wasn't closed. Then my eyes registered the particular area we were flying over at high speed. It was a little hard to tell where Arizona left off and California began-you'd think they would just go ahead and paint those blue map lines everywhere, divvying up the states-but I recognized this place.
"Going down!" I announced, angling my body and tucking my wings behind me.
Fang followed me without comment. I could practically feel the strong "wring her neck" vibes coming from him, but it wasn't the first time he'd been really angry at me, and God knew it wouldn't be the last.
I landed at the edge of a woods near a dinky little Arizona town and started walking west. After two minutes I stopped, looking straight ahead at a small, tidy house surrounded by a somewhat scraggly yard.
Max, you're making a serious mistake, said the Voice. Get up and get out of here right now. Get back to your mission. I'm very serious about this.
I ignored it, emotions starting to swirl inside me.
"Where are we?" Fang whispered.
"At Ella's house," I said, hardly able to believe it myself. "And Dr. Martinez."
23
"If we can all fly, why are we in the back of a semi?" Iggy whispered.
He was rewarded by having one of the Flyboys kick him hard in the ribs. "Oof!"
Nudge winced, practically feeling his pain with him. Since he was blind, he couldn't see her face or the sympathy she was trying to send his way.
Everything hurt. Nudge didn't know how long they'd been lying on the floor in the back of this big truck, feeling every bump in the road. They'd been tied up for hours, and she couldn't feel her hands anymore. Every time the truck bounced, her shoulder or her hip banged against the hard floor, and she was sure she'd have humongous bruises. They all would.
After the Flyboys had grabbed them, they'd put cloth hoods over their heads. Nudge had smelled something sickly sweet. She'd grown dizzy and then passed out. She'd woken up in the truck, heading God knew where. Well, probably the School. Or the Institute.
Either way, it was going to be a long drive. Which meant she could lie here and dread what was coming minute after minute, hour after hour.
What was coming: a cage. Awful, scary, really painful experiments, usually involving needles. Nudge tried not to whimper, thinking about it. Chemical smells. Whitecoats. Flashing lights, scary sounds. Knowing it was happening to the rest of the flock. And no Max, no Fang.
And all of this, being bound, seeing the rest of her flock also bound and in pain, not knowing where Max and Fang were or even if they'd be able to find the flock again-all of that stuff wasn't even the worst part.
The worst part was that when she'd woken up, when she'd counted heads in the truck, there had been only three.
Angel was missing.
24
It wasn't as though they had saved my life or anything-Ella and Dr. Martinez. It was worse: They had shown me what life could be like in Normal Land. It had haunted me ever since I'd left them.
What day was this? No clue. Would Dr. Martinez be at work?
I let my mind focus on this question in order to avoid the bigger, scarier question: Would they even want to see me again?
Or, nightmare: Had something bad happened to them because they'd sheltered me before?
Just like the first time, I stood frozen on the edge of their yard, unable to will myself forward, to knock on the door.
Max, began the Voice, and I answered it inside my head. You're the one who said connections were important, I reminded it. Well, I'm here to make some connections. Deal with it.
"What the heck are we doing here?" Fang's tone of mild curiosity meant that he was so stunned he was about to fall over.
I had no answer for him. I didn't even have an answer for myself.
Then, just like the first time again, fate stepped in; or rather, Dr. Martinez stepped out of her front door. She blinked in the bright sun, then turned to lock the door behind her. Then she paused, as if listening, or sensing something: moi.
Behind me, Fang instinctively faded into the woods, where he would be invisible among the shadows.
Slowly Dr. Martinez turned, while I stood tense and almost quaking at the edge of her yard. Her deep brown eyes swept the area and flashed on me almost immediately. Then her mouth opened soundlessly. I made out the word "Max."
25
Then Dr. Martinez and I were running toward each other, and it felt like it was all happening in slow motion. I had planned on a cool, casual "Yo? Wha's happ'nin'?" But that dream was gone, gone, gone, baby. Instead I clung tightly to her, trying not to cry, taking a weird, deep, terrifying satisfaction from the sensation of her holding me.
Her hand stroked my hair as she whispered, "Max, Max, Max, you've come back." Her voice sounded broken, and I didn't trust myself to speak.
Then I remembered I was indulging in this revolting display of saccharine emotion right in front of Fang. Who would probably never let me hear the end of it. I turned and looked toward the woods. With my raptor vision, I could barely make out his dim outline.
I raised my hand to him, and Dr. Martinez's gaze shot toward the woods.
"Max? Are you okay?" she asked, her eyes on the trees and shadows.
"Yes. I-I didn't mean to come back," I said hesitantly. "But-I...We were in the neighborhood..."
Dr. Martinez's eyes widened when a stiff-faced Fang slowly emerged from the woods, as if a shadow had taken form and come to life. How's that for a little bird-kid imagery, eh? The soul of a poet, that's me!
"This is my...brother, Fang," I muttered, stumbling over the word brother. Because he'd kissed me. And no southern jokes, please. Ick.
"Fang?" Dr. Martinez said, giving him a slow smile, warming up my day. She held out her hand, and he came toward us as if dragged by an invisible rope, as tense and unyielding as I'd ever seen him. Which is saying something.
He stopped about two yards from us and didn't take her hand.
"Fang? Are you-like Max?" asked Dr. Martinez.
"Nope," he said, sounding bored. "I'm the smart one."
I resisted the urge to kick his shin.
"Well, come in, both of you," said Dr. Martinez, sounding excited and bemused and awestruck. "I was going to run to the grocery store before Ella got home from school. But that can wait."
Inside, the house seemed more familiar to me than Anne Walker's, though I'd only been here maybe forty-eight hours, months ago. Maybe because it had felt like home, the first real home I'd ever been in.
Behind me, Fang stood close to the door, taking in every detail, cataloguing exits, planning courses of action in case violence broke out. As it tended to do around us.
"Are you guys hungry?" asked Dr. Martinez, taking off her jacket and putting down her purse. "I could make you sandwiches."
"That would be great," I said, my stomach growling at the thought.
Fang sniffed the air. "What's that...scent, that..."
Dr. Martinez and I smiled at each other.
"Chocolate-chip cookies," we said at the same time.
26
"So, you have your price," I said to Fang, speaking around a mouthful of crumbs. "Your soul for a cookie."
Making sure Dr. Martinez wasn't looking, Fang shot me the bird and took another bite, clearly savoring the warm chewiness, the notes of vanilla, the semimelted chocolate chunks. I grinned at him, then stuck out my tongue.