We were maybe three thousand very short feet up, and my heart was in my throat as I saw Nudge, then Angel, then Gazzy and Iggy jump out of the plane. Dylan, making good use of his genetically enhanced strength, braced his body in the doorway to help keep the others from being sucked out violently by the riptide of air.
“Go south!” I shouted. “Three o’clock!”
Okay. Thank God. My flock was out safely and could land under their own power. But my mom… I saw her approach the doorway, looking terrified. Dylan yelled something, and she nodded, her face white.
“Help!” Nudge shouted. I spun around to see her caught in the whirling slipstream of the plane—Iggy too! The powerful blast of air had shot them toward the diamond-dust razor wire. There were deep gashes in their wings. Blood spiraled away from them in fine arcs.
“Get out of there!” I yelled, as if that hadn’t already occurred to them. Nudge and Iggy were now totally out of control, cartwheeling through the air. The pain in their sliced wings made them want to close them, and the air billowing through their feathers was making their injuries worse. But pulling in their wings meant certain death—they would only drop that much faster.
“Nudge! Iggy!” I screamed as they fell away from me. “Hang on! We’ll help you!” Then—
“Max!” my mom shouted and jumped out of the plane. Angel and I shot over to her and grabbed her, synchronizing our wings so they didn’t hit each other.
The wind and slipstream tried to pull the three of us away from each other. I concentrated on Angel, seeing the strain on her face. Her wings were powerful; she was using all her strength. My brave little soldier.
Below me, Nudge and Iggy were still struggling, their tattered wings barely keeping them aloft. I made an executive decision.
“Angel, go help Iggy and Nudge,” I directed.
Angel looked at me, and I knew that we were both thinking the same thing: Could I hold my mom up by myself? Would Angel even be able to help Iggy and Nudge?
And where were Gazzy, Dylan, Jeb, and Dr. Hans? I couldn’t let go of my mom, but everything in me was telling me to save the rest of the flock.
This didn’t even qualify as a choice.
14
“SO… YOU IN?” Fang said, meeting the guy’s gaze.
Ratchet’s face, now hidden behind aviator sunglasses, gave nothing away. In the shadows, his skin seemed to absorb what little light there was. He slouched in the booth, his hoodie pulled up over massive, noise-canceling headphones. Fang had chosen the darkest corner in the diner on purpose, but this guy seemed to think they were still at risk.
Finally, Ratchet nodded. “I’m in, like I told you. But we need to get out of here—fast. My gang won’t be happy that I’ve disappeared. I was, like, their most valuable player, you know? ‘The Man’ when something was up.”
Fang’s expression remained neutral. “You were kidnapped,” he pointed out. “If anyone saw anything, they’ll think it was against your will.”
Ratchet shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “It’s really loud in here. Think we can go talk somewhere a little quieter?”
Fang glanced at the two other people in the diner—the waitress, who looked to be about sixty, was humming to herself, and a man wearing a trucker hat was sipping coffee alone. Fang raised his eyebrows.
“Wish we could—coffee’s terrible—but I’m waiting on another contact. How’d you get messed up in that street business anyway?”
Ratchet let out a breath and shrugged. “My mom. She kicked me out. Thought I was spying on her ’cause I could hear what she was saying anywhere in the house, even when she was whispering. Got to thinking I was a demon or something, reading her thoughts and stuff.”
Fang nodded, thinking of Angel.
“Spent a couple of weeks on the street, and let me tell you, it’s not as fun as you’d think. I was like a starved rat by the time these brothers picked me up, offering protection. They didn’t care if I was a freak, ’cause they needed a lookout.”
“How long ago was that?”
Ratchet shrugged. “Four, five months, but when you’re in—” Suddenly, he looked up. “Who’s she?” Ratchet asked, peering over Fang’s shoulder. Fang turned around and looked through the grubby diner window. He saw no one.
“Who?”
Rachet sighed, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “The blond chick. She’s got your name scribbled on a Post-it.”
Fang turned around again and squinted. He could just barely make out a figure approaching from two or three blocks away.
He had to admit—he was impressed.
15
FIGHTING PANIC, STAYING ALOFT, Gazzy looked all around him. To his horror, he saw Jeb standing in the doorway of the spiraling, smoking plane.
Another quick look showed no Dylan, no Dr. Hans. Max had Dr. Martinez, and Angel was helping Nudge and Iggy as best she could. That left only Gazzy…
He tucked back his wings, angled his body, and shot down. Gazzy reached Jeb just as he leaped desperately into the air. Moving fast, Gazzy wedged his hands beneath Jeb’s flailing arms. Jeb twisted around and clutched Gazzy’s forearms, but he hung like dead weight.
“Spread your arms and legs out wide!” Gazzy yelled to Jeb. “It’ll help slow you down!”
“I’m too heavy!” Jeb cried into Gazzy’s ear. “You can’t support my weight by yourself!”
“Uhh,” Gazzy said nervously, but it was the truth.
“Gazzy! Listen to me! You all need to know”—he felt Jeb loosen his hold—“the human race will have to die to save the planet!”
Gazzy grimaced and his heart pounded with panic as he watched the ground rushing up at them horribly fast.
“Just like I have to die—to save you!”
And before Gazzy could say anything, Jeb had let go. Reflexively, Gazzy reached out to grab Jeb, even as he dropped ten, twenty, thirty feet away from him in seconds.
“I’m sorry, Jeb!” Gazzy yelled. “I’m sorry!” All he saw was Jeb’s face, white and scared, as it got smaller and smaller below him.
Then Gazzy realized that was the last time he would see Jeb alive, ever again.
And it was his fault.
16
STAR LOOKED DISGUSTED by the sushi. And by everything else. Her cold blue eyes were dancing between Fang and Ratchet, and Fang wondered if she was about to bolt, to blow this whole thing off. She’d almost wrecked the joint when she learned they didn’t serve burgers and shakes.
Ratchet eyed Star’s school uniform, her designer bag, and her immaculately painted nails, and scowled. “We don’t have very much in common, Twinkle,” he huffed. “But sushi’s a barfathon, I’ll give you that.”
“How can you not like sushi?” Fang said, spearing another California roll and trying to be sociable to ease the tension. “Wasabi. It’s like a party in my mouth.”
Star regarded the two of them coolly, her light blond hair swinging softly around her shoulders. “You guys don’t get it. It’s not that I don’t like it. It just isn’t enough. I need more. Bigger. Better.”
“Ooh, daddy’s little girl is used to bigger,” Ratchet said in a high, mocking voice. Then returning to a coarse rumble, he said, “I guess size matters to you, huh?”
Star’s glare was so icy that Fang almost felt a chill in the air. If it was possible for a Catholic schoolgirl to look lethal, at that moment Star certainly did.
She turned to Fang and said, “I can’t work with him.”