Moving my head carefully so I wouldn't hurl, I examined our surroundings. We were in a plain white room, which was windowless. I thought I saw a door beyond Nudge's bed, but I couldn't be sure.
Iggy, Fang, me, Gazzy, Nudge, Total.
Angel wasn't here.
I drew in a breath, readying myself to struggle against the straps, and it was then that it hit me: the smell. That chemical, antiseptic smell of alcohol, floor cleaner, plastic tubing. The smell that had filled my nose every day for the first ten years of my life.
Horrified, I stared at Fang. He gave me a questioning look.
Wishing desperately that I was wrong but with the terrified, sinking knowledge that I wasn't, I mouthed the answer: "The School."
Fang's eyes flared in recognition, and that was the only confirmation that I needed of this nightmare.
We were back at the School.
38
The School-the awful, terrifying place we had spent the past four years trying to get over, get away from. At the School, we'd been experimented on, tested, retested, trained. Because of this place, I would never be able to deal with people in long white coats and could never major in chemistry. Because of this place, when I saw a dog crate at a PetSmart, I broke into cold chills.
"Max?" Gazzy's voice sounded dusty and dry.
"Hey, sweetie," I said as quietly as I could.
"Where are we? What's going on?"
I didn't want to tell him, but while I was trying to come up with a convincing lie, the reality broke into his brain, and he stared at me, appalled. I saw him silently say, "The School," and I had no choice but to nod. His head flopped back against his bed, and I saw that his once fluffy blond hair was a dusty, matted gray.
"Hey!" Total said with weak indignation. "I demand a lawyer." But his characteristic belligerence was betrayed by the sad pain in his voice.
"Do we have a Plan B? Or C? Even Z?" Iggy's voice had no life in it, no energy, and I got the impression that he'd given up and was only going through the motions.
I cleared my throat and swallowed. "Yes, of course," I said, scrabbling for any shred of authority I could muster. "There's always a plan. First, we get out of these straps."
I felt Nudge awaken and looked over at her. Her large brown eyes were solemn, her mouth stiffly trying not to quiver. A purplish bruise mottled her cheek, and I saw more on her arms. I'd always thought of her as a little kid, like Gazzy and Angel, but all of a sudden she seemed ten years older.
Because she knew, and it showed in her eyes.
She knew we were way, way up a creek, and that I had no plan, and that we had no hope.
Which pretty much summed it up.
39
I don't know how much later-after my arms had gone numb but before my ankles started burning with pins and needles-the door opened.
A little gray-haired woman in a white coat walked in, carrying a tray. Somebody's evil grandma.
A new scent filled the air.
I tried not to breathe it in, but it was unavoidable.
The woman walked right up to me, a smile on her pleasant face.
Get it together, Max. That was me talking. I hadn't heard the Voice since the melee in the desert.
I tried to look as unconcerned as a fourteen-year-old bird kid strapped to a hospital bed in hell could look.
"This is a first," I said coolly. "Torture by chocolate-chip cookie. Was this all your idea?"
The woman looked disconcerted but tried to smooth out her expression.
"We thought you might be hungry," she said. "These are hot out of the oven."
She waved the tray a bit, to make sure the incredible vanilla-tinged aroma of fresh-baked cookies reached all of us.
"Uh-huh," I said. "Because all you mad, evil scientists sit around whipping up batches of Pillsbury's finest during your coffee breaks. I mean, this is pathetic."
She looked surprised, and I felt anger warming my blood.
"I mean, points for the jail cell," I went on, motioning at the room with my head. "Kudos for the Velcro straps. Those were good starts. But you're sort of falling down with the chocolate-chip cookies. Like, did you skip school the day they taught hostage treatment?"
Pink patches flared on her cheeks, and she stepped back.
"Keep your lousy cookies," I said, narrowing my eyes and letting a snarl enter my voice. "Whatever you sick freaks have planned for us, get on with it. 'Cause otherwise you're just wasting our time."
Now her face was stiff as a mask, and she started to head to the door.
This is a plan, I thought. When they came in to get us for whatever, that would be our chance. And we would seize it.
She was almost to the door when Total raised his head weakly. "Not so fast," he croaked. "I'll take a cookie. I'm not proud."
Fang and I exchanged looks, and we rolled our eyes.
The woman looked startled when Total spoke and didn't know what to make of his request. So she just hurried out the door, and when it slammed behind her, I felt it in my bones.
40
"Okay, the second they undo us, make sure all heck breaks loose," I said when everyone was awake the next morning-at least I figured it was morning, since someone had turned the lights on again.
The flock nodded, but with none of the angry thirst for revenge they would need to escape.
"Look, we've had our backs against the wall before," I reminded them. "These guys always screw up, always make a mistake. We've gotten the best of them every time, and it'll be the same here."
No reaction whatsoever.
"Come on, guys, buck up," I coaxed. "Let's see some insane rage put apples in those cheeks."
Nudge smiled faintly, but the others seemed lost in their own worlds, tugging without purpose against their straps. Fang sent me an understanding look, and I felt so frustrated and stuck that I wanted to howl.
The door opened with a whoosh, and I quickly met everyone's eyes: This was it!
It was Jeb. Followed by Anne Walker, whom we hadn't seen since we ditched her Martha Stewart farmhouse in Virginia. And the unholy trio was completed by a golden-curled little girclass="underline" Angel, who was eating a chocolate-chip cookie and calmly watching me with her big blue eyes.
"Angel!" Gazzy's voice broke as he understood that his sister had turned against us. "Angel, how could you?"
"Hello, Max," said Anne Walker, not smiling, not looking at all adoptive mom-like.
I sighed heavily and stared at the ceiling. No crying. Not one tear.
Jeb came and stood right next to my bed, so close I could smell his aftershave. Its scent awoke a slew of childhood memories, the years between ten and twelve years old, when I'd felt the happiest I ever had.
"Hello, Max," he said quietly, searching my face. "How do you feel?"
Which was a ten on the "imbecilic question" scale of one to ten.
"Why, I feel fine, Jeb," I said brightly. "How about you?"
"Any nausea? Headache?"
"Yep. And it's standing here talking to me."
His fingers brushed the covers on top of my leg, and I tried not to shudder.
"Does it feel like you've been through a lot?" he asked.
I stared at him. "Yeah. Kind of. And sadly, I'm still going through it."
Jeb turned and nodded at Anne Walker, and she made a noncommittal face back at him.
I started to pick up that something was happening here that I didn't fully understand.
Good thing I'm used to that feeling.
"Max, I've got something to tell you that I know is going to be hard to believe," Jeb said.
"You're not evil? You're not the worst lying, cheating, betraying jerk I've ever met?"
He smiled sadly. "The truth is, Max, that nothing is as it seems."
"Uh-huh," I said. "Is that what the aliens told you when you quit wearing your foil hat?"
Anne stepped forward. Jeb made a motion like, Let me do it, but she waved her hand at him. "The truth is, Max, that you're at the School."