"I don't want my chip anymore," I explained groggily, then frowned. "Actually, I never wanted that chip."
"Okay," said Fang. "We're taking it out."
"I just want you to hold my hand."
"I am holding your hand."
"Oh. I knew that." I drifted off for a few minutes, barely aware of anything, but feeling Fang's hand still in mine.
"Do you have a La-Z-Boy somewhere?" I roused myself to ask, every word an effort.
"Um, no," said Ella's voice, somewhere behind my head.
"I think I would like a La-Z-Boy," I mused, letting my eyes drift shut again. "Fang, don't go anywhere."
"I won't. I'm here."
"Okay. I need you here. Don't leave me."
"I won't."
"Fang, Fang, Fang," I murmured, overwhelmed with emotion. "I love you. I love you sooo much." I tried to hold out my arms to show how much, but I couldn't move them.
"Oh, jeez," Fang said, sounding strangled.
"Okay, we're done," said Dr. Martinez finally. "The chip is out. I'm going to unfasten your arm, Max, and then I want you to wiggle your fingers."
"Okay." I wiggled the fingers that Fang was still holding.
"The other ones," he said.
"Okay." I wiggled those fingers.
"Go ahead and move them, Max," said Dr. Martinez.
"I am moving them," I said, moving them more.
"Oh," said Dr. Martinez. "Oh, no."
31
So there you have it, folks. The most humiliating admission I could possibly even conceive of, plus the loss of my left hand, all in one day. I mean, the hand was still there, but it was dangling limply. More decorative than anything else at this point.
Just like my pride.
Every time the hazy memory of my saying goofily, "I love you sooo much" popped into my head, I shuddered all over again. That one experience guaranteed that I will never, ever get hooked on Valium or anything like it.
Dr. Martinez was incredibly upset about my hand. She was in tears afterward and kept apologizing.
"Hey, I made you do it," I told her.
"You didn't make me. I shouldn't have tried it." She looked crushed.
"No matter what, I'm glad it's gone," I said. "I'm really glad it's gone."
The next day I was Voice-free and starting to learn to do everything with only my right hand. It was a total pain in the butt, but I was getting better. Again and again I tried to move the fingers on my left hand, and again and again I got not a twitch or a tingle. My arm ached, though.
Again and again I felt Fang's night sky eyes on me, to the point where I was about to climb the wall. When Dr. Martinez and Ella were outside for a moment, I cornered him.
"What I said yesterday didn't mean anything!" I hissed. "I love everyone in the flock! Plus, it was the Valium talking!"
An unbearable smug look came over his usually impassive face. "Uh-huh. You just keep telling yourself that. You looove me."
I took a swing at him, but he jumped back nimbly, and all I did was jar my left arm, making it hurt.
He laughed at me, then pointed at the woods outside the window. "Pick a tree. I'll go carve our initials in it."
Barely suppressing a shriek of rage, I flung myself down the hall and into the bathroom, slamming and locking the door behind me.
My superacute raptor hearing couldn't help registering his chuckles outside. Holding my head in my right hand, I muttered, "God help me."
Too late for that, Max, said the Voice. Only you can help yourself now.
Oh, no.
The Voice was not connected to the chip. It was still inside my head.
Which made today's totaclass="underline"
1) Useless left hand
2) Fang believing some mushy emotion I didn't even mean
3) Voice still with us
Given these revolting developments, there was only one thing to do. Leaving my bandaged left arm outside the shower curtain, I sat in the tub with the water pouring down on my head and cried.
32
"I don't think you should leave until your arm heals," said Dr. Martinez, looking worried. "I'm saying that as a doctor, Max."
"We've been gone too long as it is," I said. "Besides, with our zippy recombinant healing powers, I should be fine, in, oh, about twenty minutes."
She knew I was exaggerating, but she also knew me well enough to know that little things like healing up and common sense don't usually affect my decisions.
"I don't want you to go," said Ella miserably. "Either of you."
"I know," I said. "But we have to. We've got to get back to our, uh, situation."
"Max, is there anything we can do to help?" Ella's mom's eyes were filled with a deep emotion that unnerved me.
Saving the world didn't feel like something I could delegate.
"No, I don't think so," I said politely.
Behind me, Fang stood waiting, hating being in the open in their yard. He'd been weird all morning, and I wasn't sure if it was about my wonky hand, what I'd said by accident, or what. Anyway, I knew he was itching to be off, and part of me was too.
Part of me wasn't.
There were hugs, of course. These people couldn't spit without having to hug someone. It felt unbalanced, being able to hug back with only my right arm-that is, my left arm could move up, but it was pretty dead below the elbow. Awkward.
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.
33
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."
34
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.