Part 28 (1/2)
”Don't sharpen your fangs just yet, dog boy.”
He opened his mouth to say something but then c.o.c.ked his head and pressed a finger against his ear, as if hearing something.
”The Director wants to see us,” he barked at his team. ”Now!”
After one last lingering look at me, he turned and followed the other Erasers. They melted into the twilight shadows like smoke.
107.
Up in the tree, Angel was clutching Celeste tightly, murmuring softly to her.
”I heard them mention the Director at the School,” Nudge said. ”Who is it?”
I shrugged. ”Some big, very bad person.” One of many who were after us. I wondered if it was Jeb, our fake father. Our savior and then our betrayer.
”You okay?” Iggy asked. I saw his white-knuckled hold on his branch and gave him a gentle tap with my boot.
”Hunky-dory,” I said. ”But I want to get out of here right now.”
In the end, we settled in the top floor of a ninety-story apartment building that was being built on the Upper East Side. The first seventy or so floors had been windowed in, but up here it was just an empty sh.e.l.l with piles of drywall and insulation. Huge gaping holes gave us a great view of the East River and Central Park.
Nudge and I went to a local grocery store, then schlepped three heavy bags of groceries back to the others. It was breezy up in our aerie, but private and safe. We watched the last of the sun go down and ate. My head was aching, but not too badly.
”I'm tired,” Angel said. ”I want to go to bed.”
”Yeah, let's try to get some sleep,” I said. ”It's been a long, relatively yucky day.” I held out my left fist, and we all stacked up. Tapping our hands seemed so familiar, so comforting, connecting us.
The Gasman and I cleared construction debris away, and Iggy and Fang moved stacks of drywall to make windbreaks. In the end we had a cozy s.p.a.ce, and the flock was asleep within ten minutes.
Except me.
How were the Erasers tracking us so easily? I looked hard at my left wrist, as if staring at it would make my chip float to the surface of my skin. I myself could be a beacon without knowing it, without being able to do a thing about it-except leave the flock and strike out on my own. The Erasers were tracking us but not killing us. Why had Ari stopped them today?
And what in the world was happening with Angel? Her telepathic powers seemed to be growing. I groaned to myself, picturing a strong-willed Angel demanding birthday presents; junk food before dinner; stupid, trendy clothes.
Don't borrow trouble, Max, said my Voice. said my Voice.
Long time no hear, I thought. I thought.
Worry is unproductive. You can't control what happens to Angel. You can save the world, but the only thing you can control is you. Go to sleep, Max. It's time to learn.
Learn what? I started to ask, but then, as if someone had flicked a switch, I sank into unconsciousness.
108.
When I blinked awake the next morning, I was greeted by newspapers and breakfast in bed.
”Wha'?” I mumbled.
”We got breakfast,” Fang said, taking a bite of m.u.f.fin. ”You were out for the count.”
As I took my first bite of m.u.f.fin, I became aware of the quivering tension around me. ”What else?”
Fang nodded toward the newspapers.
”I figured you got 'em for the comics,” I said, pulling the pile closer.
Up to now, our main survival strategy had been to stay inconspicuous, to hide as much as possible. I guess having our pictures plastered on the front page of the New York Post New York Post under the huge, screaming headline ”Miracle or Illusion? Superhumans or Genetic Freaks?” blew that strategy out of the water. under the huge, screaming headline ”Miracle or Illusion? Superhumans or Genetic Freaks?” blew that strategy out of the water.
Fang had gotten four different papers, and fuzzy pictures of us swooping gaily around the Garden Tavern were on every front page.
”Saw them when we were out,” Fang explained, draining his juice. ”Guess we better lie low for a while.”
”Yes, thank you, Tonto,” I said irritably. I mean, would it kill him to speak in full sentences? I checked out the New York Times. New York Times. Under a blurry photo, it said, ”No one has taken credit for what may be this year's most unusual stunt . . .” Under a blurry photo, it said, ”No one has taken credit for what may be this year's most unusual stunt . . .”
Finally, I sighed and picked up my m.u.f.fin again. ”The upshot is, we might as well glow in the dark in terms of staying inconspicuous. So it looks like it's ix-nay on the Inst.i.tute, at least for a while.” I felt so frustrated I could have screamed.
”Maybe we could wear disguises,” the Gasman suggested.
”Yeah, like gla.s.ses and funny noses,” Angel agreed.
I smiled at them. ”You think?”
109.
That afternoon, we had to venture out to get food again. Six pairs of gla.s.ses with funny noses hadn't materialized, so we went as is.
At the nearest deli, we stocked up on sandwiches, drinks, chips, cookies, anything we could carry and eat at the same time.
”So I'm thinking we should leave the city as soon as it gets dark,” I said to Fang.
He nodded. ”Where to?”
”Not too far,” I said. ”I'm still bent on getting to the bottom of the Inst.i.tute, so to speak. Maybe upstate a bit? Or somewhere by the ocean?”
”You!”
I recoiled and dropped my soda as a young guy with a mohawk haircut jumped in front of us. Nudge b.u.mped into my back, and Fang went very still.
”You guys are perfect!” he said excitedly.
How nice that someone someone thought so. But who was this wing nut? thought so. But who was this wing nut?
”Perfect for what?” Fang asked with deadly calm.