Ari punched me again, and I thought I heard a rib crack. He was taking me apart bit by bit. Why did he hate me so? Why did all of the Erasers hate us?
“Yes, Maximum, I am enjoying this. I want it to last a long, long time.”
I was his pummeling bag now, and there was nothing I could do about it. You can’t imagine the hurt and pain, or his strength, or the fury aimed at me.
The only thing saving me from destruction was the slippery footing in the tunnel, the grime under his feet.
Just then Ari lost his balance again, and I saw the smallest opening. A chance, at least.
I kicked him once more, this time in the throat. Solid, a good one.
Ari gagged and started to go down. I threw myself at him, grabbing his head, and we fell as one in slow motion. He was huge, heavy, and we dropped like lead. Wham! Butt, back, head . . . I held on tight—as Ari’s neck slammed against the hard side of the tunnel. I heard a horrible, stomach-turning crack that vibrated up my arms. Ari and I stared at each other in shock.
“You really hurt me,” he gasped rawly, terrible surprise in his voice. “I wouldn’t hurt you. Not like this.” Then his head flopped down, and Ari went totally limp. His eyes rolled up and the whites showed.
“Max?” Iggy was trying to sound calm. “What was that?”
“I—I . . .” I gulped, sitting on Ari’s barrel chest, still holding his head, “I think I broke his neck.”
I gulped again, feeling like I might be sick. “I think he’s dead.”
131
We heard angry voices and heavy, pounding footsteps on the stairs above us.
No time to think, to try and make sense out of what had just happened.
I jumped off Ari’s lifeless body and grabbed Angel’s hand. Angel grabbed Iggy, and we started running with Nudge and the Gasman right behind us. I was aching everywhere, but I ran. I ran like the dickens, whatever that is. I saw no sign of Fang and the other mutants—they’d already gone.
“Fly!” I shouted, dropping Angel’s hand, and she instantly leaped out over the sewer water, snapping her wings open and pushing down hard. Her sneakers dipped into the water, but then she rose again and flew off down the tunnel, her white wings a beacon in the darkness. The Gasman went next, looking freaked out and pale, and Iggy took off after him.
I heard a booming voice.
“He was my son!”
Jeb’s anguished cry echoed horribly after me, bouncing off the stone walls, coming at me from all angles. I felt short of breath. Had I really killed Ari? Made him die? It all seemed surreal—the sewer, the files, the mutants, Ari . . . Was I dreaming?
No. I was painfully awake, painfully myself, painfully right here, right now.
I turned and looked back at Jeb, the man who’d been my hero once upon a time.
“Why are you doing this?” I shouted at the top of my voice. “Why this game? This test? Look at what you’ve done.”
Jeb stared at me, and I remembered clearly when he was like my father, the only one I trusted. Who had he really been back then? Who was he now?
Suddenly, he changed gears completely. He wasn’t yelling anymore. “Max, you want answers to the secrets of life, and that’s not how it works. Not for anybody, not even you. I’m your friend. Never forget that.”
“I already have!” I yelled, then turned away, leaving Jeb behind.
“Take a right!” I shouted at Angel, and she did, swerving gracefully into a larger tunnel.
Just as I swerved after her, almost crashing into a wall because I banked too late, I heard one last, haunting cry. Jeb had changed his tone again—he was screaming at me, and I pictured his red face, red as a stop sign.
“You killed your own brother!”
132
Jeb’s horrifying words echoed in my head again and again, the meaning and consequences seeming worse each time. You killed your own brother. Could that be true? How? Or was this just more theater? Part of my test?