"That place was way secluded and easy to defend. And if the Erasers are all dead..." Fang pulled a stick out of the fire and blew on a crisp piece of roasted rabbit.
Yes, rabbit. We'd caught it, and now we were going to eat it. I won't go into all the steps in between. The thing is, when you have to survive, you have to survive. I hope you never need to find that out for yourself.
He handed the stick to me, and I started gnawing, grinning at how surprisingly few etiquette rules seemed to apply here. Then I started laughing.
Fang looked at me.
"Thanksgiving at Anne's," I said. "Sit up straight, napkin in lap, wait for everyone to be served, say grace, take small amounts, use the salad fork, no burping."
I waved a hand around the dusty cave, where we squatted by a fire, tearing off strips of Thumper with our teeth.
Fang gave a half smile and nodded. "At least it isn't desert rat."
Okay, you sissies in the back, the ones going "Eew!" Let's see you go without anything to eat for three days, especially if you're a biological anomaly who needs three thousand calories a day minimum, and then someone presents you with a hot, smoky, charred piece of rat au jus. You'd scarf it down so fast you'd burn your tongue. There would be no quibbling about ketchup either.
"You know what they say about rat," I began.
"Everyone gets a drumstick," Fang and I finished together.
I looked at Fang, his sharp, angular face cast with shadows from the fire. I'd grown up with him, I trusted no one more than him, I depended on him. And now we felt a little like strangers.
I moved away from the fire and sat down with my back against the cave wall. Fang wiped his hands on his jeans and came to sit next to me. Outside, it was nighttime, the stars blotted out by thick, rolling clouds. This place probably got only a few inches of rain a year, and it looked like it was about to get some. I hoped the rest of the flock was curled up safe and warm where we had left them.
"What are we doing here, Fang?"
"The kids want us to find a place to settle down."
"What about the School and saving the world?" I asked with scalpel-like delicacy.
"We have to quit playing their game," Fang said softly, watching the fire. "We have to remove ourselves from the equation."
"I can't," I admitted in frustration. "I-just have to do this."
"Max, you can change your mind." His voice was like autumn leaves dropping lightly onto the ground.
"I don't know how."
Then my throat felt tight, and I rubbed my fists against my eyes. I dropped my face onto my arms, crossed over my knees. This sucked! I wanted to be back with the oth-
Fang's hand gently smoothed my hair off my neck. My breath froze in my chest, and every sense seemed hyperalert. His hand stroked my hair again, so softly, and then trailed across my neck and shoulder and down my back, making me shiver.
I looked up. "What the heck are you doing?"
"Helping you change your mind," he whispered, and then he leaned over, tilted my chin up, and kissed me.
18
At that moment, I had no mind to change, or not change, or throw against the nearest wall. My mind had shorted out as soon as Fang's lips touched mine. His mouth was warm and firm, his hand gentle on my neck.
I'd kissed him once before, when I thought he was dying on a beach. But that had lasted a second. This was...going on and on.
I realized I was getting dizzy, and then realized it was because I hadn't taken a breath yet. It seemed like an hour before we broke apart. We were both breathing raggedly, and I stared into his eyes as if I would find answers there.
Which of course I didn't. All I saw was the dancing flames of our small fire.
Fang cleared his throat, looking as surprised as I felt. "Forget the mission," he said, his voice barely audible. "Let's just all be safe somewhere together."
And boy, did that seem like a swell idea just then. We could be like Tarzan and Jane, swinging through a jungle, snagging bananas right off a tree, living at one with nature, la-di-da-
Tarzan and Jane and their band of merry mutants!
Fang's hand was making slow, warm circles between my wings, and that plus the hypnotic fire and the stress of the day all combined to make me tired and unable to think straight.
What does he want from me? I thought. I half expected the Voice to chime in here, sure it had been eavesdropping on this whole embarrassing scene.
Now Fang was rubbing my neck. I was both exhausted and hyperaware, and just as he leaned in-to kiss me again?-I jumped to my feet.
He looked up at me.
"I-I'm not sure about this," I muttered. How's that for silver-tongued rapier wit, eh? Overreacting impressively, I raced to the front of the cave and launched myself out into the night, unfurling my wings, feeling the wind against my burning face, hearing the rush of air all around me.
Fang didn't follow, though when I glanced back I saw his tall, lean form standing in the cave entrance, highlighted by the fire.
Not too far away, I found a narrow rock ledge, well hidden in the night, and I collapsed there in tears, feeling confused and upset, and excited and hopeful, and appalled.
Ah, the joys of being an adolescent hybrid runaway.
19
What was Fang going to do, blog about Max throwing herself out into space just so she wouldn't have to kiss him again? No! Instead he smashed his fist against the cave wall, then grimaced with the pain and stupidity, seeing his bloodied knuckles, the almost instant swelling.
He banked the fire, keeping a small pile of embers glowing in case she came back and needed help finding the entrance. Neither was likely.
He kicked most of the rocks off a Fang-sized place and lay down, rubbing his wings against the fine silt because it felt good. He didn't want to check his blog-he'd had almost eight hundred thousand hits earlier-didn't want to do anything except lie still and think.
Max.
God, but she was stubborn. And tough. And closed in. Closed off. Except when she was holding Angel, or ruffling the Gasman's hair, or pushing something closer to Iggy's hand so he could find it easily without knowing anyone had helped him. Or when she was trying to untangle Nudge's mane of hair. Or-sometimes-when she was looking at Fang.
He shifted on the hard ground, a half-dozen flashes of memory cycling through his brain. Max looking at him and laughing. Max leaping off a cliff, snapping out her wings, flying off, so incredibly powerful and graceful that it took his breath away.
Max punching someone's lights out, her face like stone.
Max kissing that weiner Sam on Anne's front porch.
Gritting his teeth, Fang rolled onto his side.
Max kissing him on the beach, after Ari had kicked Fang's butt.
Just now, her mouth soft under his.
He wished she were here, if not next to him, then somewhere in the cave, so he could hear her breathing.
It was going to be hard to sleep without that tonight.
20
Before Fang took the computer with him, and before they'd almost gotten nailed by robot Erasers, Nudge had been reading camping recipes online. She was tired of Ding-Dongs and hot dogs on a stick.
She'd found out that you could do amazing stuff, like cooking whole meals wrapped in foil in the embers of a fire. She decided to get a frying pan next time she had a chance. It wouldn't be too hard to carry around one little frying pan, would it? And if they had a frying pan, Iggy could make almost anything. Just thinking about it was making her stomach rumble.
"That smells good," said Angel, coming over to kneel by the fire. "Is that what that foil was for?"
"Uh-huh," Nudge said, poking at the foil package with a stick.
The next second, the waning sun blinked out.
They both looked up in surprise, and Gazzy and Iggy stopped playing tic-tac-toe.