Then we
all heard the horrible whup, whup of a chopper headed our way, and the Erasers started to shout and wave their arms.
“What a touching scene,” Ari called down at me. “We’re all going home. Just like old times.”
59
Angel was alive. As long as she was, I could deal with just about anything else.
I knew she was alive because I could see her in the pitiful cage next to mine. If we pushed our fingers through our bars as hard as we could, we were an inch away from actually touching each other.
“At least they gave you a big crate,” she said in a small, raspy voice. “I’m in a medium.”
My throat closed up. That she was still trying to be brave just rocked my world. I felt ashamed for taking so long to get here, ashamed for letting the Erasers catch us, ashamed for being a failure, even as a freak.
“It’s not your fault,” she said, reading my thoughts. She looked just terrible. Her eyes were hollow and smudged with huge purple shadows. One whole side of her face was a bruise going yellow and green at the edges. Angel looked thin and dry, like a leaf, her bones as delicate as stems. Her feathers were limp and dirty.
Across the aisle from us, Nudge and Fang were in crates of their own. Nudge looked really shaky, trying to get her fear under control but losing the fight. Fang sat with his hands clasped around his knees, not moving. He’d smiled at Angel when he’d first seen her, but mostly he looked cool, removed, distant. He was retreating into himself, the only place left to retreat to.
“I’m sorry, Max,” Angel whispered, her eyes troubled. “This is all my fault.”
“Don’t be dumb,” I told her, sounding Elmer Fuddish because of my clogged and broken nose. “It could happen to any of us. And it’s my fault that Fang, Nudge, and I got caught.”
All around me, the smells of cold metal and antiseptic were awakening horrible memories I had buried deep a long time ago. Flashes of light, pain, and fear kept popping inside my head, making me feel a little crazy. My nose had finally stopped bleeding, but it hurt. My headache was back—big-time—and I was seeing flashes of the strangest images. What was that all about?
“Max, there’s something I have to tell you.” Angel started to cry.
“Shh,” I said soothingly. “It can wait. Just rest. Try to feel better.”
“No, Max, it’s really important—”
A door opened, and loud footsteps sounded on the linoleum tile. Angel’s eyes were panicked in her bruised little face. Fury ignited in me that anything, anyone, could make a little girl so afraid.
I coiled my muscles, narrowing my eyes and putting on my fiercest look. They were going to be sorry they ever picked Angel to mess with. They were going to be sorry they’d ever been born.
My hands clenched into fists. I crouched in my crate, ready to spring at whoever opened it so I could rip their lungs out. I’d start with Ari, the creep of creeps.
Angel was hunched over now, crying silently, and inside I started freaking, wondering what on earth they had done to her. I felt totally wired on adrenaline, just nuts.
A pair of legs stopped right in front of my crate. I could see the edges of a white lab coat brushing the knees.
He bent down and looked into my crate with a gentle, rueful expression.
My heart almost stopped, and I fell backward off my heels.
“Maximum Ride,” said Jeb Batchelder. “Oh, I’ve missed you so much.”
60
I’m hallucinating, I thought dazedly. I’m having an out-of-body experience.
Everything else in my vision faded away. I could see only Jeb, smiling at me through the bars of my dog crate.
Jeb had been the only parentlike person I’d ever had. He had kidnapped the six of us four years ago, stolen us away from this freak show and hidden us in the mountains in our house. He’d helped us learn how to fly—none of us had ever been allowed enough space to try before. He’d fed us, clothed us, and taught us survival skills, how to fight, how to read. He’d told jokes and read stories and let us play video games. He’d made us dinner and tucked us in at night. Whenever I’d felt afraid, I’d remind myself that Jeb was there and that he would protect us, and then I’d always feel better.
Two years ago, he’d disappeared.
We’d always known he’d been killed. We’d known that he would have died rather than disclose our location. That he died trying to protect us. That kind of thing.