“Angel has people gathering in Russia already. I don’t know what she has planned, but I’ve got to get there a-sap. Join me?”
Star snapped her head up sharply at the suggestion. “Uh-uh. No way.” Fang could see the fear in her usually defiant ice-blue eyes. “Those people don’t want to make improvements—they want to replace all humankind with robots. I’m fine on my own.”
This time when she ran, she didn’t wait for him to catch up. The only evidence that she’d ever been there at all was the dust cloud disappearing over a distant ridge and the jerky wrapper on the ground at his feet.
46
BY MY CALCULATIONS, I was somewhere in the Mojave Desert, and I hadn’t seen another person in twenty-seven and a half days.
Of course I was keeping track—what the heck else was there to do?
After my last two encounters with people and what I’d overheard in New Jersey, I chose the harshest routes and flew high in the clouds, avoiding cities for fear of running into prowling raiders.
Then, before I knew it, I didn’t really have to try anymore. As far as I could tell, there wasn’t anyone else alive. At first it was a relief—didn’t have to avoid anyone—and then it became really bleak. And really lonesome.
I resorted to having long, drawn-out arguments with myself, like, for example, did a lizard or a tarantula have a higher protein content?
(Probably the tarantula.)
If a bird kid screams in an empty desert, does she still make a sound?
(All signs point to yes.)
Yeah, my brain was mostly fried.
So when I saw the human silhouette with a giant wingspan soaring between the distant mountains, I was pretty sure I was hallucinating.
I flew toward it anyway, keeping my eyes trained on the graceful shadow diving and climbing, gliding and dipping. As I got closer, the mirage didn’t disappear, but instead multiplied, and I found myself holding my breath.
I knew my flock’s flight patterns like I did my own name, and it clearly wasn’t Fang, or anyone in the flock.
But the five shapes ahead of me were definitely bird kids, and man, could they fly! Their wings were larger than mine, and their movements were so natural, so graceful, that you saw the bird in them before you noticed their human bodies.
I’d planned to approach cautiously, but several of them were already flying close and playfully cutting under my slipstream.
For the first time in months, I didn’t feel the weight in my tired wings. I just felt the pure joy of being able to freaking fly with others of my kind, without having them suddenly turn on me. Also, maybe they had food—they looked in good shape, from what I could glimpse.
“You guys are amazing!” I called out. They didn’t seem to hear me, though—the wind was probably too gusty.
Taking a risk, I followed them back to their homes, which were… uh, nests balancing between mountain ledges. Okay, that was unusual. I dropped down carefully, and several of them turned to stare at me with curiosity.
“Hey! I’m Max. Have you guys seen any other bird kids?” I asked. As more of them landed, I was struck by the way they knelt on the ground, folding their wings behind them. “I’m missing part of my flock. A guy named Fang—he’s dark, with dark wings… or a tall blind guy, or a shorter blond boy?”
Then it hit me: They looked like the flock—tall and lean human bodies with wings attached behind the shoulders—but they behaved… differently. As I spoke, they cocked their heads in sharp little movements and made clicking sounds in the back of their throats.
And… they were naked. Not naked as in acres of skin, but naked as in without clothes. These kids were covered with feathers all over—thick, downy feathers, everywhere but their heads.
Between my cracked lips and matted hair, I’d been feeling pretty feral, but these kids were straight-up wild. They flew like birds because they actually were more like birds than humans.
As the possibility of communication dwindled, the giddiness I’d felt at finding another flock seeped away, to be replaced by disappointment. And when I felt someone nuzzling against my shoulder, I jumped.
His light brown hair was curling and tousled, and his bright smile was punctuated by two perfect dimples. He was about my age, with unusually large eyes that were a gorgeous shade of amber. He was adorable. In an avian-mutant kind of way.
“And who are you?”
“Huryu!” he repeated gleefully. “Huryu, Huryu!” He was like a parrot latching on to a new word. So they really didn’t talk like people. My disappointment turned into crushing despair with no warning. The first people I’d seen in twenty-seven and a half days…
My throat closed up and my eyes started to sting. I couldn’t believe it. Would it kill the universe to cut me a break once in a while? Turning away, I wiped my eyes and wondered what the heck to do now. Then I felt something tugging at my feathers.