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??? And 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 embarrassing 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.
“So,” Dylan said calmly. “I’m thinking the plane probably went down a mile or so to the southwest of here. At least, that was the direction it was heading when I left it.”
“That makes sense.” I nodded, relieved he wasn’t trying to convince me to run off with him to find a cozy little nest for two.
“So let’s do this thing,” he said, and made a running takeoff that was beautiful to see. I taught him how to do that only weeks ago. It was amazing how far his skills had advanced since then. Taller and more sturdily built than Fang, Dylan soared powerfully into the sky. The sunlight glinted off his hair, and his feathers shimmered. His wings were a little shorter than Fang’s but broader—more like a hawk’s—wings built for power and lift. The rest of us had wings that were narrower and more angled, designed for speed. For the first time, it occurred to me that the mad scientists who created us might have used different avian DNA to make each of us.
I had never thought of that before. I had sort of assumed that they’d had one vial of avian DNA and had gone around with an eyedropper, plopping it into our test tubes. The idea that they might have paired us with birds having different characteristics amazed me. So far, none of us seemed to have flamingo as part of our makeup, or penguin. There’s always something to be thankful for.
“Are you coming or what?” Dylan shouted to me. He’d been circling, waiting for me while I took a quick ride on my train of thought.
I started running, building speed, and after about thirty feet I threw myself into the air and whipped out my wings. I pushed down with hard, even strokes, rising fast. The sun shone on my face, my tangled hair streamed behind me, and I felt a burst of pride at my strength and the sheer joy of flying.
Dylan seemed to know what I was thinking. He grinned at me, even with his bruised face and swollen, blood-caked lip, and said, “There’s really nothing better.”
I nodded, then thought a moment. And here’s the weird part: at the exact same time, Dylan and I both said, “Except a white-chocolate mocha from Coffee Madness.”
We stared at each other as our voices trailed off. This wasn’t a “jinx” kind of thing, when we both said “yep” at the same time or anything like that. It was a long, weird sentence, and we had said it simultaneously.
Can you read my mind? I thought, but if he could, he was smart enough not to tell me. Instead, he frowned.
“Can you read my mind?” he asked accusingly.
Also a smart move. Offense is a strong defense.
“No!” I blurted, glaring at him.
It was weird. It was scary. And yet… I didn’t leave.
20
“HELLOOO, KATE!” RATCHET said, then whistled. “I think my senses just short-circuited.”
Fang cringed. Well, this was going to be fun. He had wanted mostly older kids so he wouldn’t have to worry about them, and now he had to deal with freaking flirting instead.
Kate Tan Wei Ying had finally arrived on the scene, and the girl was a bombshell. She had thick, glossy black hair that wouldn’t stay tucked behind her ears, supermodel cheekbones, and an easy smile. And she had her own cause, it turned out.
“You’re what?” Ratchet looked horrified.
Kate laughed and pushed her hair off her shoulder. “I’m vegan,” she repeated. “I don’t eat meat, seafood, or anything that comes from animals, like milk or butter or eggs.”
Ratchet looked at Fang like, First freaking sushi, now this? Fang shrugged. “I’m glad I booked us into nice digs.” He plopped down on one of the beds and started flicking through the channels. “I hear the hotel grub is pretty sweet.”
“You guys can still get room service,” Kate said good-naturedly. “I brought Tofurky Jerky to snack on.”
She was the opposite of razor-tongued Star, and given the look Star was shooting her, it was a little weird that they were friends. But then, maybe freaks just tended to find each other. And Kate and Star were certainly freaks. Ratchet was one thing—the tough street kid who had extrasensory skills. The girls were… something else.
Fang sighed. He should’ve just gone with guys. Way less complicated. He tried to focus on the news and not think about the fact that she would be here soon.
“And now back to Channel Seven News on the Hour,” said an announcer, and then two talking heads filled the TV screen. “A new environmental group is garnering attention worldwide.” A concerned woman with perfectly coiffed hair leaned forward slightly. “But what does their name mean, Dan? The Doomsday Group?”
Fang sat bolt upright. He turned up the volume, waving the other kids to be quiet.
Dan shook his head gravely. “We have very little information on the group at this time, Sheila. Calls to the organization have not yet been returned. I want to stress that, at present, no allegations have been made against the group, but its name is certainly attracting attention.”
Sheila consulted her notes. “Our European correspondent is standing by in Paris, where a Doomsday Group rally took place earlier. Perhaps she can provide us with a keener look into the group’s motivations. Sofia?”
The camera cut to a woman standing in front of the Eiffel Tower, her khaki trenchcoat flapping in the wind. “Greetings, Sheila,” she said with a French accent. “This is Sofia Tabernilla reporting from Paris, where the so-called Doomsday Group has been very active today.”
Behind her, Fang saw smiling people chatting with passersby and handing out leaflets.
“Sofia?” Sheila asked, pressing her fingers to her earpiece. “Can you tell us what the group is distributing?”
Sofia frowned. “Flyers. Notices.” Sofia held one up and read from it: “This is the group’s slogan, printed here in English, French, German, and Dutch. It says, ‘The Earth or Us.’
“I’m here with one of the key organizers of the Doomsday Group rally, though the group professes to have no leader. Beth, can you tell us more about your group’s message and your goals as an organization?” Sofia held the microphone out to an older-looking teenage girl.