“Les filles oiseaux sont trés belles,” Jeanne said sweetly.
“Here is your reward,” said Mr. Chu, taking a lollipop from his assistant and giving it to Jeanne. Her eyes widened, and she eagerly ripped the wrapper off and stuck the candy in her mouth. Her eyes closed in rapture.
Mr. Chu nodded again, and his assistant quickly swabbed Jeanne’s upper arm with an alcohol wipe. The whole length of her arm was lined with dots, marking the sites of hundreds of needle insertions. And here was a new one, as the assistant injected the contents of a hypodermic needle into Jeanne’s almost nonexistent muscle. It was the first of a dozen injections to come in the next twenty-four hours.
Jeanne had learned to put up with all of the drugs — the pills, the drips, the shots. Without them, the side effects of being a self-healer were much, much worse. The treatments were a small price to pay for such rewards, after all.
Jeanne’s closed eyelids flickered a tiny bit as the needle went in, but she swirled the lollipop in her mouth and didn’t say a word.
7
WE WORKED ALL DAY, until dusk. The flock is usually chock-full o’ stamina, but it kind of depends on getting three or four thousand calories a day. By six o’clock, we were running on empty.
“Max?” said Patrick, walking up to me with a lumpy sack in tow. “Here’s some bedding — it’s not much, I’m afraid. There’s a tent set aside for you guys. Do you want to get it organized before dinner? You have about ten minutes.”
“Sure. By the way, Patrick, who was the camel platoon?” I asked.
“Don’t know for sure,” he said. “But some of the locals have a thing against Americans. It’s complicated politics we can talk about later. Right now, if you want to set up …”
“Sure, thanks,” I said, taking the sack. I looked at my tired flock. “You guys wait here — I think chow’s coming. And drink some water.”
“I’ll help you with that,” said Fang, nodding at the tent.
“Sure,” I said casually, but my heart was already speeding up.
We ducked through the worn nylon flap of our tent, and I dropped the sack. In the next moment we had our arms around each other, ignoring the dust on each other’s lips and our hot and sticky skin.
“The flying was amazing, but … I’ve missed you,” Fang murmured, his hands getting stuck in the snarls in my hair.
“Yeah. And this is probably our only chance to be alone for a while.”
“I couldn’t stand seeing you get shot at today,” Fang said, kissing my neck.
I drew back in surprise. “You’ve seen me get shot at, like, a million times!”
He shrugged, scratching my back between my wings, making me shiver. “It’s worse now.”
“Yeah, I know what you mean,” I said, and held his face so I could kiss him again. It felt like we were in a time-free bubble, the only two people around, and in the ninety-eight-degree weather, I felt like I was burning up from my head to my toes.
“Max! Fang! Dinner!”
I jumped and pulled back. But no one came into the tent, so Fang’s lingering hands stroked up and down my arms as we tried to get normal expressions back on our faces. Part of me wanted to stay in there forever and forget the rest of the world, but I immediately felt guilty, thinking of the flock waiting for us outside. I was still responsible for them; we were still a family.
And always would be.
8
“PASS THE … GRUB,” said Iggy a few minutes later, holding out his hand.
“The brown grub or the yellow grub?” I asked. My face still felt flushed from my time with Fang. I hoped the others couldn’t tell.
“Either.” Iggy ran a hand through his reddish-blond hair, making it stand up stiffly with dirt and sweat. Later I was going to march everyone to the one water pump in this tent village, pump up a couple gallons of water, and try to decrust the flock as much as possible. We’ve got certain standards. They’re way low, but we have them.
“You guys did great today,” said Patrick. “You must be exhausted.”
“Um-hm,” I mumbled, picking up a white ball of millet paste. Dipped in the peanut–goat stew sauce, it was about a three on the Max Culinary Scale — above roasted desert rat or lizard-on-a-stick, but well below, say, a steak.
Roger, the nurse, handed Iggy a small dented bowl. “Dried fish, mixed with … stuff. Try it.”