Part 4 (1/2)

17.

WHEN THE FUSELAGE hit the ground and exploded, I saw my future right below me, just seconds away. My wings were burning, as I gulped air, my muscles shaking from the strain of keeping us both aloft. We were going to land hard-and soon.

”Max!” my mom cried, looking down in horror. For her, Jeb was almost out of sight, dropping to earth like an unaerodynamic rock. Unfortunately for me, because of my raptor vision, I could still make out his terrified expression with utter clarity.

”Gazzy couldn't hold-” I started to say, but then something big dropped past me, actually brus.h.i.+ng my feathers and b.u.mping my feet. It was Dylan shooting down to Jeb.

”Go!” I shouted to Gazzy. ”Help Angel!”

Gazzy angled his body in a tight arc that brought him close to the others with just a few strokes. He braced himself under Nudge, taking half her weight-possibly reducing her speed enough to keep her from imploding when she hit the ground. Angel focused on guiding Iggy down for what she hoped would be a less-than-fatal landing.

”When we get there, land on your feet, then fall sideways,” I told my mom.

Ordinarily, I do a running landing. I can also do a hover-type landing, which involves dropping down from the sky into a standing position. (Kids, don't try that at home-you'll pop your knees.) This time, I rolled sideways, way too close to the ground for comfort, to let my mom slide off me. She landed much harder than I expected and then didn't move. Meanwhile, I tripped and plunged headlong, somersaulting a couple times and coming to a stop on my hands and knees like an amateur.

Right behind me, Dylan and Jeb did about the same. They were still alive, which was all we could really hope for at this point.

About twenty yards away, the ungainly ma.s.s of Nudge, Iggy, Angel, and Gazzy finally landed hard, sliding through the red Arizona dirt, then tumbling head over heels, ingesting mouthfuls of sand. Considering that I'd been sure Gazzy would end up being a big Rorschach blot on the ground, I thought they did real well.

I crawled over to my mom. ”Mom? Are you okay?”

Gingerly she rolled over onto her back, shading her eyes from the blazing Arizona sun. ”Well, actually, I think my arm's broken,” she said. My eyes flew to the arm pinned beneath her. It was bent at an unnatural, nauseating angle. I gently reached for her other hand, her face ashen, her mouth tight with pain.

”And my leg,” Jeb said, grimacing.

”Nudge?” I said. ”Iggy?”

”Bleeding,” Iggy said faintly. ”Don't think I can move my wings anymore.”

”Me neither,” said Nudge, sounding like she was trying not to cry.

”I'm fine,” Dylan offered. Then I caught sight of the other side of his face. It was caked with dust and pebbles, blood still oozing, and his lip was split.

”Okay. We need help,” I admitted.

Not something you'll hear from me every day.

18.

WE'RE NOT FANS of regular hospitals. ”We can patch everyone up at my office, do x-rays, put on casts,” my mom said. That way, we didn't have to worry about explaining the whole wing situation or the fact that we have bird-type blood-ix-nay on any on any anfusions-tray anfusions-tray.

I unclipped my cell phone from my belt and handed it to her so she could place a rescue call to her colleagues.

Nudge and Iggy were still bleeding as we waited for help from my mom's office to arrive. I pushed Nudge's hair back from her dusty, sc.r.a.ped face, still shaky from how close to the end we had all come. Gazzy was exhausted, with pulled muscles and banged-up hands and knees. My chest and back muscles ached, and that sliced tip of my wing was sore-but just a little bit. I'd gotten off easy.

”So... no one saw what happened to the good doctor?” I asked.

Everyone shook their heads no. I turned to Dylan.

”And where were you, newbie? Why didn't you jump out of the plane right after Jeb? Was Dr. Hans still in the plane when you jumped?”

Dylan grimaced and nodded. He walked stiffly as if in pain, but everything seemed to be functioning. His face and lip were already scabbing up, since he'd been engineered with the ability to heal himself. ”The plane spiraled back and headed into the wires again. If I'd jumped out, I'd have been sliced into deli strips. I yelled at Dr. Hans to jump, but he pushed me out first. Last I knew, he was right behind me, but then he never jumped. I banged my face on the way out.”

”Klutz.” I snickered, then felt a tiny bit guilty. Dylan had helped everyone else out of the doomed plane, at his own peril. I had to give him props, but how annoying of him to be a hero when I was trying so hard to dislike him. It was downright selfish.

”I want to make sure you don't have a concussion, Dylan,” my mom said wanly.

Dylan shook his head. ”Sorry-I'm not going back with you. I've gotta find what's left of Hans and the plane. Thought I would do some recon after you guys head off.”

”I'd feel better if you had an x-ray,” my mom protested.

”Later,” Dylan promised. ”There's no way I can let this go. I have to find Hans, if only so we can send his body back to Germany.”

I understood where he was coming from. There were so many ifs, buts, and maybes in our topsy-turvy world, it was comforting to nail down as many details as possible. Even if that meant finding his unquestionably evil creator in pieces.

”Max, you'll come with us, won't you?” my mom said, her face drawn with pain.

I wanted to say, ”Yeah, of course,” but the words got stuck in my throat. I paused for a moment, thinking, then had a stunning realization-and this is just between you, me, and this cactus here. I didn't want to let Dylan go off on his own.

And it wasn't even for a good reason, like I didn't trust him and wanted to make sure he wasn't in league with Hans.

It was just that I didn't want to leave him. Something in me wanted to stay with him.

I had two follow-up thoughts: Why??? Why??? And And Ew!!! Ew!!!

Dylan had said that he'd been programmed to want to be with me. Was it possible that I'd somehow been programmed for him? Nah, there was no way, not after what Fang and I had meant to each other.

My face must have shown my confusion, because my mom said, ”What is it? Are you hurt?”

”I think I'll go with... Dylan,” I heard myself say. I felt like a traitor, leaving my injured flock. But they had my mom-and even Jeb, as long as he didn't turn into a backstabbing weasel.

When I looked at Dylan, I saw surprise on his face and then a rush of pleasure, and I felt... good.

19.

”WE'LL BE OKAY,” Angel said to me, as my mom's office manager climbed back into the front seat of the van. ”You do what you need to do.” I got the embarra.s.sing feeling that Angel wasn't just talking about finding Hansy. Then my injured flock was driving across the bare land, and it was Dylan and me, alone, as the trail of dust kicked up by their departure gradually settled and the van disappeared from view.

Now that we were alone, I was self-conscious and cranky again. Why had I wanted to stay? If I had been programmed to want to be with Dylan and only Dylan, heads were gonna roll, I promise you that.