“No,” said Jeb, looking irritated.
“Yeah, because how likely is that?” I scoffed. “That would never happen! It’s crazy!”
“Just hear me out. An evolutionary revolution is happening all over the world.”
“Which means what exactly?” I asked.
“Worldwide, a new generation of children with supernatural powers has appeared,” Dr. Hans said.
“So far, you’re not riveting my attention,” I said.
“You know that there are labs and schools all over the world that are trying to speed up the human evolutionary process,” Jeb said.
“I do now,” I said.
“Dedicated men and women of science are trying to find a way to save the human race. And they’ve been successful. Overwhelmingly successful, for the first time.”
I got a prickle on the back of my neck. The flock and I had been created in just such a lab, a nightmarish place called the School, where another way to say “dedicated men and women of science” was “power-hungry mad scientists with Frankenstein complexes.”
“You know that, historically, you’ve been among the most successful of the recombinant-DNA life-forms,” Jeb said. “You were the fifty-fourth generation of DNA experiments.”
Some kids get called “bundles of joy” or “slices of heaven” or “dreams come true.” We got “the fifty-fourth generation of DNA experiments.” Doesn’t have the same warm and fuzzy feel. But maybe I’m oversensitive.
“The Erasers were the seventeenth,” Jeb said, and we all flinched involuntarily. (If you want to delve more deeply into the wild ’n’ wacky world of human-wolf hybrids, check out the earlier Max chronicles.)
“Not that I’m not enjoying this little jaunt down memory lane,” I said curtly, “but you’re not making a lot of headway here. In fact, so far you’re just annoying the heck out of me and making me remember all the reasons I never want to talk to you again.”
Jeb glanced at Dr. Hans and then at my mom. She made a face that said, “Way to go, bucko,” and he cleared his throat.
“My point is that you guys were successful,” he said. “I’m sure you remember all the versions that weren’t successful.”
“I’ll have their catastrophic images burned into my brain till I die,” I said. “Are we done here?”
“No,” said Dr. Hans. “These children, this new generation, are the ones you’ll be leading, after you save the world. It’s time you start leading them. Now.”
7
OKAY, SLIGHT FLICKER of interest. I’d been doing the “save the world” dance for a while, and so far it had been mostly saving the world one small part at a time. It was exhausting. This sounded more like “big picture” stuff.
“What are you talking about?” My mom’s question broke the silence.
“There’s like a ton of new mutants?” Nudge asked, her eyes wide.
“We don’t use the word ‘mutant’ anymore,” Dr. Hans corrected.
“This new generation,” Jeb said, “and it includes children who were genetically engineered as well as a large groundswell of spontaneous genetic evolutions—”
“Or mutations,” I butted in.
“We call them Gen 77 kids,” he continued. “They’re the seventy-seventh generation of genetically modified or genetically enhanced humans. And yes, there are lots of them. Dr. Gunther-Hagen is correct when he says it’s time for you to take on your mantle of responsibility, Max. It’s very likely that there will be a significant number of these Gen 77 kids among the human survivors of the apocalypse.”
“You know, most kids spend their Saturdays arguing about what cartoons to watch,” I said. “They don’t have the apocalypse thrown at them so early in the day.”
“You’re not just any kid, Max,” Jeb said. “You know that.”
“What is this new generation of kids like?” my mom asked. She’s a woman of science herself—a veterinarian. Yes, I know. How ironic. Ha-ha.
“They’re completely unpredictable,” the Hanselator said. “Some of them can breathe underwater, fly, or are telepathic or telekinetic.”
(Check, check, check. Not all of us, but Angel is telepathic, and Nudge has been known to draw metal to herself without touching it.)
“Some of them are brilliant,” said Dr. H. “Some of them have heatproof skin and can see the thermal images of living creatures.”
(Okay, well, whatever.)
“But the important thing is that there are so many of them,” said Jeb.
“You are an exceptional leader, Max,” Dr. Hans added. “We’ve been monitoring the astonishing development of this new generation for a while now, and it’s imperative that we unite all the Gen 77 kids under one leader—you. Together, we’ll be able to prepare them for whatever the future holds.”
“Thus far, you’ve done very well,” said Jeb. “But this is only the beginning of your journey. There is much to do to ensure that humans survive.”
“Humans in any form?” Dylan spoke up for the first time. “Some people will say that mutants don’t deserve to survive at all, much less be among the only survivors.”
“We don’t use the term ‘mutant’ anymore,” Jeb reminded him. “And yes, there will be detractors, of course. There always are. Which is why Max needs to become their leader now, to start laying the foundation for the New World. With this sudden emergence of enhanced children, we have more weight, more power.”
“And that’s not all, Max,” said Dr. HGH. He’d been looking more and more anxious as our meeting went on, and now he turned toward me eagerly. “There are some crucial developments—”
“Hans!” Jeb said under his breath, “I told you she’s not ready for that.”
“Not ready for what?” I asked, just as Angel’s eyes got big and she slipped off the arm of the couch where she’d been perched.
She put both hands to her cheeks and said, “Oh, no. Not that! You have to be kidding!”
I mentioned the whole reading minds thing already, didn’t I? It sounded like she’d read Jeb’s.
8
“NOT THAT, WHAT?” I demanded, hands on my hips. Jeb and Dr. Hans were looking at each other guiltily, as if they were sending each other telepathic messages. I guess they could have been, but Angel would have ratted them out by now.
“Just tell her,” Angel advised, sitting back down.
“We don’t have to discuss it now,” Jeb finally said unconvincingly.
“Time is running out,” Dr. Gub-Hub said.
“She’s fourteen!” Jeb countered.
“Fifteen,” I reminded him. Everyone in the flock had had a birthday not that long ago. We’d all gotten a year older at once, like racehorses.
“That’s still way too young!” Jeb snapped.
“Too young for what?” I was practically shrieking now.
Dr. Hans turned to face me. “Max, you know that we think something catastrophic will happen to our planet, and soon,” he said. “And that only some people will survive. And that you will lead the survivors.”
“Yeah, I’ve heard all that,” I said. “So?”
“Well, what happens then?” The doctor looked at me intently.
I looked back at him. “We all live happily ever after?”
“No. Say you’re the leader. We don’t know how long your life span will be…”
Ouch. Call a spade a spade, why don’t you? Many recombinant life-forms have built-in expiration dates, when they just suddenly die. The flock and I assumed that we did too.
“Yeah, so?”
“So what happens after you die? Chaos? War? A struggle for power?”
Who the heck even thought that far ahead? I sure didn’t. I was still kind of stuck on the whole “save the world” thing at the top of my to-do list.