different forest. Not telling you where.

Okay, it doesn’t take a genius to figure out that funerals suck. Even if you didn’t know the person, it’s still totally sad. When you did know the person, well, let’s just say it’s much worse than broken ribs. And when you just found out that the person was your biological half brother, right before he died, it adds a whole new level of pain.

Ari. My half brother. We shared the same “father,” Jeb Batchelder, and you can believe those quotes around “father.”

I’d first known Ari as a cute little kid who used to follow me around the School, the horrible prison-science facility where I grew up. Then we’d escaped from the School, with Jeb’s help, and to tell you the truth, I hadn’t given Ari another thought.

Then he’d turned up Eraserfied, a grotesque half human, half wolf, his seven-year-old emotions all askew inside his chemically enhanced, genetically modified brain. He’d been turned into a monster, and they’d sent him after us, with various unpredictable, gruesome results.

Then there had been that fight in the subway tunnels beneath Manhattan. I’d whacked Ari’s head a certain way, his neck had cracked against the platform’s edge . . . and suddenly he’d been dead. For a while, anyway.

Back when I thought I had killed him, all sorts of sticky emotions gummed up my brain. Guilt, shock, regret . . . but also relief. When he was alive, he kept trying to kill us- the flock, I mean. Me and my merry band of mutant bird kids. So if he was dead, that was one less enemy gunning for my family.

All the same, I felt horrible that I had killed someone, even by accident. I’m just tenderhearted that way, I guess. It’s hard enough being a homeless fourteen-year-old with, yeah, wings, without having a bunch of damp emotions floating all over the place.

Now Ari was dead for real. I hadn’t killed him this time, though.

“I need a tissue.” Total, our dog, sniffled, nuzzling around my ankles like I had one in my sneakers.

Speaking of damp emotions.

Nudge pressed closer to me and took my hand. Her other hand was over her mouth. Her big brown eyes were full of tears.

None of us are big criers, not even six-year-old Angel, or the Gasman, who’s still only eight. Nudge is eleven, and Iggy, Fang, and I are fourteen. Technically, we’re all still children.

But it takes a lot, and I mean a whole lot, to make any of us cry. We’ve had bones broken without crying about it. Today, though, it was like another flood was coming, and Noah was building an ark. My throat hurt so much from holding back tears that it felt as though I’d swallowed a fist of clay.

Angel stepped forward and gently tossed a handful of dirt onto the plain wooden box at the bottom of the big hole. A hole it had taken all of us three hours to dig.

“Bye, Ari,” she said. “I didn’t know you for very long, and I didn’t like you for a lot of it. But I liked you at the end. You helped us. You saved us. I’ll miss you. And I didn’t mind your fangs or anything.” Her little voice choked, and she turned to bury her face against my chest.

I stroked her hair and swallowed hard.

The Gasman was next. He too sprinkled dirt on the coffin. “I’m sorry about what they did to you,” he said quietly. His spiky blond hair caught a shaft of sunlight and seemed to light up this little glen. “It wasn’t your fault.”

I snuck a quick glance over at Jeb. His jaw was clenched, his eyes full of pain. His only son lay in a box in the ground. He had helped put him there.

Bravely, Nudge stepped closer to the grave and tossed some dirt onto it. She tried to speak but started crying. I drew her to me and held her close.

I looked at Iggy. As if sensing it, he raised his hand and dropped it. “I don’t have anything to say.” His voice was gruff.

Next it was Fang’s turn, but he waved me to go. Total had collapsed in sobs on my shoes, so I gently disengaged him and stepped over to the grave. I had two hothouse lilies, and I let them float onto the coffin of my half brother.

As the flock leader, I was supposed to come up with a speech. There was no way to sum up what I was feeling. I had killed Ari once, then watched him die again as he saved my life. I’d known him when he was a cute little kid, and I’d known him as a hulking Eraser. I had fought him almost to death, and I had ended up choosing him over the best friend I’d ever had. I’d hated everything about him, then found out we shared half of our human DNA.

I had no words for this, and I’m a word queen. I’ve talked my way out of more tight spots than a leopard has, but this? A funeral for a sad, doomed seven-year-old? I had nothing.

Fang came up behind me and touched my back. I looked at him, at his dark eyes that gave away nothing. He nodded and sort of patted my hair, then moved forward and dropped some dirt onto the coffin.

“Well, Ari, I’m sorry that it’s ended like this,” he said so quietly I could hardly hear him, even with my raptor super-hearing. “You were a decent little kid, and then you were a total nightmare. I didn’t trust you- until the very end. I didn’t know you much, didn’t care to.” Fang stopped and brushed some overlong hair out of his eyes. “Right now, that feels like the biggest tragedy of all.”

Okay, that so did me in. Mr. Rock being all emotional? Expressing feelings? Tears spilled down my cheeks, and I covered my mouth with my hand, trying not to make a sound. Nudge put her arm around me, feeling my shoulders shaking, and Angel held me tight. Then everyone was holding me, total flock hug, and I put my head on Fang’s shoulder and cried.

There’s no rest for the wicked. But you knew that.

As soon as the sob-fest was over and Ari was buried, Jeb said, “We need to go.” His face was pale and unhappy. “Dr. Martinez and I talked to you about this trip to Washington. We think it’s crucial that you guys attend this meeting.” He sighed, not looking at Ari’s grave.

“Why is this important, again?” I asked, trying to turn my back on feeling sad. Not so easy. “You said something about government, blah blah blah?”

Jeb began to head out of the woods. With me in the lead and Fang taking up the rear, we followed him cautiously.

“After everything that happened in Germany,” Jeb said, “we were contacted by some very important higher-ups in the government. People who understand, who are on our side.”

I felt like saying, “What’s this ‘our side,’ kemosabe?” but didn’t.

“They’re eager to meet with you,” he went on. “Frankly, these would be important and valuable allies- people who could actually offer you protection and resources. But they’re very hands-on- they need to see the miracle kids with their own eyes.” He turned back and gave us a rueful smile.

“If by ‘miracle kids’ you mean innocent test-tube babies whose DNA was forcibly unraveled and merged with two percent avian genes, yeah, I guess that would be us,” I said. “Because it’s a miracle that we’re not complete nut jobs and mutant disasters.”

Jeb winced and gave a brief nod, accepting his role in our short, hard lives. “Well, as I said, they’re eager to see you. And your mom- Dr. Martinez- and I really recommend you go.” We came to the edge of the woods, and there was a small landing strip, scraped into the forest like a wound. A sleek private jet waited there, two armed Secret Service agents standing at the entry stairs.

I halted about ten yards away, doing a quick recon. Force of habit. No one started shooting at us. No hordes of Erasers or Flyboys swarmed out of the woods.

“I don’t know,” I said, looking at the jet. “It feels weird that no one’s throwing a black hood over my head.”

Fang smirked next to me.

Jeb had walked on ahead, and now he turned. “Max, we talked about this. This jet will actually get you to Washington faster than you can fly yourselves.”

Are we junior pilots? you ask. Why, no. If there are a couple of new readers out there, welcome! That mutant thing I mentioned? We’re 98 percent human, 2 percent bird. We have wings; we fly. Keep reading. You’ll get it all soon.

“Yeah,” I said, still feeling doubtful. Mostly I just wanted to turn, run, and throw myself into the air. That sweet rush of freedom, feeling my powerful wings lift me off the ground . . .

Instead, Jeb wanted to pack me into a little jet, like a sardine. A sullen, feathery sardine.

“Max,” Jeb said more softly, and I automatically went on guard. “Don’t you trust me?”

Six pairs of flock eyes turned toward him. Seven, if you counted Total.

I mentally reviewed possible responses:

1) Sardonic laughter (always good)

2) Rolled eyes and snort of disbelief

3) Sarcastic “You have got to be kidding me.”

Any of those responses would have been fine. But lately I had grown up a bit. A little heartbreak, a little fighting to the death, finding out who my real parents were- it all aged a girl.

So instead I looked at Jeb and said evenly, “No. But I trust my mother, and she apparently trusts you. So, little tin-can jet it is.”

I walked steadily toward the plane, seeing the glimpse of pain and regret in Jeb’s eyes. Would I ever be able to forgive him for all the heinous things he had done to me, to the flock? He’d had his reasons; he’d thought he was helping, thought it was for the greater good, thought it would help me in my mission.

Well, la-di-dah for him. I don’t forgive that easy.

And I never, ever forget.

The jet didn’t have normal rows of seats. It looked more like a living room inside, with couches and easy chairs and coffee tables. There were more Secret Service agents here, and to tell you the truth, they gave me the creeps- even though I knew they were the same people who sometimes protected the president. But there’s something about plain black suits, sunglasses, and little headsets that just automatically makes me twitchy.

Combine that with the inevitable heart-pounding claus-trophobia that came from being enclosed in a small space, and I was basically ready to shred anyone who talked to me.

On the other hand, if anything dicey happened to the plane, I knew six flying kids who would come out okay.

I did a quick 360 of the plane’s interior. Angel and Total were curled up on a small couch, asleep. The Gasman and Fang were playing poker, using pennies as chips. Iggy was sprawled in a lounger, listening to the iPod my mom had given him.

“I’m Kevin Okun, your steward. Would you like a soda?” A very handsome man holding drinks stopped by my chair.

Don’t mind if I do, Kevin Okun. “Uh, a Diet Coke? One that hasn’t been opened yet.” Can’t be too careful.

He handed me a sealed can and a plastic cup of ice. Across from me, Nudge sat up eagerly. “Do you have Barq’s? It’s root beer. I had it in New Orleans, and it’s fabulous.”

“I’m sorry- no Barq’s,” said Kevin Okun, our steward.

“Okay,” said Nudge, disappointed. “Do you have any Jolt?”

“Well, that has a lot of caffeine,” he said.

I looked at Nudge. “Yeah, because after everything we’ve been through, we’re worried about your caffeine intake.”

She grinned, her smooth tan face lighting up.

The steward put the drink on the little table between me and Nudge.

“Thank you,” Nudge said. The steward headed back to the galley, and Nudge reached for the can.

When her hand was still a couple of inches away, the can slid toward her fingers, and she grabbed it.

Instantly we looked at each other.

“The plane tilted,” she said.

“Yeah, of course,” I agreed. “But . . . just to see, just for our own amusement, let’s . . .” I took the can away from her and put it back on the table. I reached for it. It stayed put.

Nudge reached for it.

It slid toward her.

Our eyes wide, we stared at each other.

“The plane tilted again,” Nudge said.

“Hm,” I said. I took the can away and had her come at it from a different angle. The can slid toward her.

“I’m magnetic,” she whispered, half awed and half horrified.

“I hope you don’t start sticking to fridges and stuff,” I said in disbelief.

Fang dropped down next to me, and the Gasman joined us, squishing in next to Nudge.

“What’s going on?” Fang asked.

“I’m Magnet Girl!” Nudge said, already coming to terms with her new skill.

Eyebrows raised, Fang picked up a metal pen and held it against Nudge’s arm. He let go, and it dropped to the floor.

Nudge frowned. Then she reached down for the pen, and it flew into her hand from a few inches away.

Gazzy gave a low whistle. “You’re kind of magnetic. Cool!”

“No, that’s not it,” said Fang quietly. “It’s that you can attract metal- maybe only when you want to.”

Well. The rest of the flight zipped by as we played with Nudge’s bizarre newfound ability. When we got close to DC, Jeb came over to give us a ten-minute heads-up. One glance at our faces and his eyes narrowed.

“What’s going on?” It was the same dad-like, no-nonsense tone that he had used years ago, when it was just us and him in our secret house in the Colorado mountains. He’d made that exact face the day he found the frogs in the toilet. I remembered it so clearly, but it seemed like three lifetimes ago.

Before I could say, “Nothing,” Nudge blurted, “I can make metal come to me!”

Jeb sat down, and Nudge demonstrated.

“I don’t know why you can do that,” he said slowly. “As far as I know, it was never programmed in.” He looked around at all of us. “It’s possible . . . It’s possible that maybe you guys are starting to mutate on your own.”

You are reading Fang’s Blog. Welcome!

You are visitor number: 4,792

Whatever the tally counter at the top tells you, your number is actually way higher than that. Our counter thing broke, and we finally got it working again. But it started again at zero. Anyway, thanks for checking in.

We’re all okay, but we just buried a friend. I know some of you out there have lost someone close to you, and now I get a little bit of what it’s like. The guy who died- I knew him for a long time, but not that well, and for the past six months, I’ve hated his guts. Then I suddenly didn’t. Then he died.

For me what was harder than losing him was watching what it did to people around me. The one thing I really can’t stand is when Max and the others are in pain or upset. Not upset like in angry or teed off, ’cause God knows if that got to me I’d be totally out of luck. But upset like in crying, sadness, regret- all that stuff. I hate it. It kills me. I know what it takes to make these kids cry, to make Max cry, and I hate that they had to go through that.

But enough of all that emo stuff. The end result is: We’re all good. We’re all alive. I’m glad about that, about the six of us. They’re who matter to me. Even when Max is being a pigheaded, stubborn idiot dictator, she’s still the one I want by my side. Though I can feel myself getting ulcers and gray hairs from dealing with her.

Anyway! We’re on our way to a hush-hush meeting with some top-secret bigwigs, ooh. Yep, fighting to the death one day, drinking frosty little drinks on a private jet the next. It’s enough to make anyone schizo.

I don’t have too much else to say right now, so I’ll answer some questions that you guys have sent in.

* * *

Dylan from Omaha writes:

Its so cool that you guys can fly. Do you have any other super-powers?

Well, Dylan, yes we do. Iggy is a crack accountant, as long as someone reads him the numbers. And Gazzy can whip up a lemon meringue pie like nobody’s business.

No, seriously, we may have a couple tricks up our wings, but we’re not gonna tell you or anyone else. The more that people know about us, the more ways they can think up to mess with us. Capiche? Nothing personal.

- Fang

Sweetmarie420 from Gainesville writes:

When you guyz grow up, will you lay eggz or have babeez ?

With any luck at all, I won’t do either. Not sure about Max, Nudge, and Angel. Don’t wanna find out anytime soon.

- Fang

Zeroland from Tupelo writes:

I wish ida been there at your big battle, man. It woulda been so awesome!!!!

Kid, you need another definition for awesome. You don’t want to be anywhere near one of our battles. I don’t even want to be near our battles. Unfortunately, the evil idiots usually don’t give me a choice.

- Fang

MelysaB from Boulder writes:

I know you have to hide out sometimes. I’m a guide in the Colorado mountains around Boulder, and I could help you find some good hiding places.

Thanks, MelysaB. We love the Colorado mountains. And we’re never gonna take you up on your offer. If you’re one of Them, then this is a trap. If you’re not one of Them, then doing anything for us puts you in danger. But thanks anyway.

- Fang

Okay, gotta go. Peace out.

- Fang

It had been only a few days since I’d seen Dr. Martinez- aka Mom- but it was great seeing her again.

Ella, my half sister, was back home in Arizona, but Mom had come to DC to be with us at our big meeting. We hugged for a long time, then she hugged the rest of the flock, who ate it up. Total coughed meaningfully at her feet, and she leaned down and hugged him too.

Mom and Jeb took us to a safe house where we could rest up before the meeting. To us, the words safe house have about as much meaning as jumbo shrimp. No house would ever feel safe enough. Maybe if it were on Mars, and we could see rockets coming from thousands of miles away . . .

After a fabulous hot shower, I got into clean clothes and untangled my hair. It was getting longer, after being cut pretty short in New York, months ago. I looked at myself in the mirror and, bonus, didn’t see an Eraser looking out at me with my eyes. This had happened to me a couple times in the past, completely freaking me out.

I didn’t look like a little kid anymore. I looked older, like a teenager.

“What are you doing in there, waxing your mustache?” Iggy yelled, pounding on the bathroom door.

I yanked the door open and pushed him backward hard, making him stagger. “I don’t have a mustache, you idiot!” Iggy giggled and put his arms up to protect himself in case I punched him. “And you know what?” I added. “You don’t have one either. Well, maybe in a couple years. You can always hope.”

I left him in the hallway, anxiously fingering his upper lip.

In the living room, the rest of the flock sat around looking uncomfortable and unnaturally clean. As soon as I appeared, Total trotted over to me, his fur glossy.

“I got bathed!” he grumbled.

“You look lovely,” I said with a straight face. I patted his back. “You’re all fluffy and soft.” I left him while he was deciding whether to be appalled or flattered.

Fang was standing by a front window, gazing out from behind a privacy curtain.

“Anything going on out there?” I asked.

He flicked a glance at me, shook his head, then took a longer look. “What happened to your tan?”

“It was dirt.”

He grinned, one of his rare grins that make the world spin a little faster. As if he didn’t know what he was doing, he reached out and touched my hair where it lay on my shoulders. “You look . . . like a girl.” His voice held bemusement.

“There’s a reason for that,” I said seriously.

“No, I mean like a real-” He seemed to catch himself, shook his head, and looked back out the window.

I crossed my arms. “Like a real what?” Watch your step here, Fang, I thought, or I’ll flatten you.

While he hesitated, Nudge came up. “Ooh, Max, you look great!” she said, admiring my clothes. “That top is totally hot! You look like you’re at least sixteen!”

“Thanks,” I muttered, now feeling embarrassed. Since my usual attire is ancient and usually bloodstained T-shirts and jeans, I guess I did look a little different.

Okay, Max.

My eyes flickered when I heard the Voice inside my head. (You mean you don’t have one? You can get ‘em at Target.)

This meeting is very important, so no funny business. Just remember your mission, keep your mind open, and listen to what they have to say.

Yeah, whatever, Jeb, I thought. Save the world, yada, yada, yada. You can go now.

I’m not Jeb, said the Voice. You were wrong about that.

Huh? I thought blankly.

You have part of the picture, Max, said the Voice. Not all of the picture. Sometimes when you’re at your most certain, that’s when everything you know is wrong.

Oh, God, not again. I wanted to scream. My whole life was taking two steps forward and one step back. Would I ever just get ahead?

You’re making progress, the Voice assured me. You’re a couple steps ahead.

Just then Jeb came into the room. He rubbed his hands together as if he were cold. “Time to go, kids.”

You’ve all seen the Capitol Building in Washington DC, like on postcards, right? It’s the big white one with the dome on top that isn’t the White House. Anyway, it’s gigundo. We drove up in our black limousine, feeling like celebrities. Inside we were led through a series of hallways and stairs until we were in a large conference room with a great view of some gardens.

In the conference room, about twenty people sat around a big wooden table. Some of the people were in military uniforms. Everyone sat up and turned to stare at us when we came in, surrounded by Secret Service agents. I didn’t even know I wanted to hold someone’s hand until Mom laced her fingers in mine and gave a squeeze. Suddenly it all seemed better.

“Welcome. Thank you for coming.” A tall man in an olive green uniform came forward and solemnly shook hands with Jeb, then Mom, then all of us kids. “Please sit down. Would you care for something to drink? We have coffee, tea, soda, ice water . . . Oh, and I see you brought your dog. A cute little Scottie.” He smiled uncertainly, as if wondering why someone had let an animal into the building. I bit my lip, wondering if Total was going to mouth off. But he didn’t. He just seethed quietly and hopped up onto his own chair by Angel’s.

The next hour was like, “This is your life, mutant bird kids!” They didn’t have any pictures or film of us when we were little and still living in dog crates at the School. But the past six months were decently documented. They had films of us flying, way overhead, and footage of various fights with people, Erasers, and the latest heinous incarnation of enemies, the Flyboys. There was some footage of us just chilling at Anne Walker’s house in northern Virginia. It made me tense up and get mad all over again.

Last, there were about three minutes of choppy, grainy film that had been shot inside Itex’s picturesque German headquarters. It showed me squaring off against Omega, poster boy for pathetic losers. It showed the riot that some of the clones had started, and the crowd of angry kids breaking through the castle wall.

It showed Ari dying.

The film stopped, and the dimmed lights brightened. Shades lifted automatically, revealing the large windows again.

Now I was in a totally rotten mood. It was bad enough that I was all dressed up like some fashion geek, but I’d managed to not think about Ari for about five minutes, and then I had to watch him die all over again. I snuck a glance at Jeb, who was white faced, one hand clenched tightly around a pencil as he stared at the table.

“You six are most impressive.” A woman in a tailored gray skirt-suit stood up and poured herself a glass of water. She smiled at us, but it was the kind of smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

“We’ve asked you to come here today because we’re very interested in your future,” said an older man. “We- the American government, that is- didn’t know of your existence until quite recently. Now that we know, we want to protect you and also explore whether we can be useful to each other.”

They were certainly putting their cards on the table. Usually there was a lot of mumbo jumbo about how special and unique we were, et cetera, but what they were always really getting at was: Can we make you do what we want you to?

So far the answer had always been “Nope!”

The man paused, looking at us one by one, as if waiting for a response. He got none.

“One way we could be useful to you would be for us to create a school, a place where you could live safely.” A younger blond woman was talking to us, but clearly her words were aimed at Jeb and my mom. Like they made decisions for us or something. “You’re very gifted at survival, but there are significant gaps in your education. We could fill in those gaps, help you realize your full potential.”

Again there was a pause while the government people waited for us to jump up and down with excitement over the idea of going to school. School was, of course, an unfortunate word choice on their part.

“To what end?” My voice was clear, no wavering.

“Excuse me?” The younger woman looked at me.

“What would you guys get out of it?” I asked. “Besides the sheer joy of helping us fulfill our potential.”

“We would get to study you, frankly,” said a tall, lean man who, I kid you not, looked just like Bill Nye the Science Guy. “You’re like nothing we’ve ever seen before. The idea that human children can actually fly is mind-blowing. While you’re at the school, we could study you, understand the physical changes that enable you to fly.”

“To what end?” I asked again. “So that you can make more of us?”

The man looked genuinely surprised. “No,” he said. “Just to . . . understand.”

I decided I liked him. Too bad he was one of Them.

“Okay, say you get to study us,” I said agreeably. “Somehow you get us to believe that it wouldn’t be a complete nightmare for us to be hooked up to sensors while we run on treadmills, or to hold our own in wind tunnels while you film us flying. Then what?”

Silence.

An older man with the collar stars of a general spoke next. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, what else?” I said. “You study us; you get the warm fuzzies from helping us with all that potential we have lying around. What else do you want from us?”

The general’s blue eyes were cold and intelligent in a ruddy, grandfatherly face.

“What makes you think there would be something else?” he asked.

“Um, because I’m not a complete moron?” I offered. “Because no grown-up has ever been completely straight with us? Because I don’t believe for one second that you’re giving us the whole story. I don’t believe for one second that all you want is to study us. You know and I know that you’ve got ulterior motives up that crisply starched sleeve. The only question is, when are you gonna show us what they are?”

The government people all seemed taken aback. It was kind of sad, how universally grown-ups seemed surprised when kids didn’t unquestioningly fall into line. I mean, what kind of kids were they used to dealing with?

I waited a minute while they regrouped. My mom squeezed my hand under the table. One by one I quickly met the flock’s eyes: Fang’s were alert, Iggy’s were leveled directly at me, Nudge’s were wide and trusting. The Gasman’s were full of mischief, and I had a moment’s worry before I realized he probably couldn’t have snuck any explosives into this building. Angel was watching me calmly, and now she gave me a little smile. Total put his paws on the table and drank noisily from a glass of water. People looked at him, horrified, and I almost cracked up.

“Any other questions?” I asked, deciding it was time to wrap up this sideshow.

“Why wouldn’t you want our protection?” a woman asked, seeming truly baffled. I guessed she hadn’t been working there too long.

“Because it comes with a price, with strings,” I explained. “The price is too high, and the strings are too tight.”

“You’re children,” said a middle-aged man in a blue suit. “Don’t you want a home, a family?”

“With, like, vitamin-fortified cereal and educational television?” I asked, my eyes wide. My voice hardened. “You didn’t offer us a home and a family. You offered us a school, where we could be studied. Next question.”

“It would be patriotic of you to help your country,” the blond woman said stiffly.

“And it would be nice if the Easter Bunny were real,” I answered. “But it’s interesting that you’ve gone from wanting to study us to wanting us to help our country. Next question.”

The woman flushed, and I saw several colleagues look at her as if she had messed up.

“Frankly, we consider you a national resource,” said a woman in uniform. “A national treasure, if you will.” She gave an unconvincing smile. “Like the Declaration of Independence.”

I sighed. “Which is kept in a sealed display case under lock and key, with armed guards. No, thanks. Anyone else?”

The cool-eyed general spoke again. “The fact remains that you are minors, and as such must be under adult supervision and guardianship, according to state law. We’re offering you such guardianship with a great many benefits and privileges. There could be many less-attractive options.” He sat back looking satisfied, as if he had just crushed an opponent at Battleship.

I blinked and looked around the room in disbelief. “You’re kidding,” I said. “We’ve escaped from top-security prisons, lived through mental and physical torture, lived on our own for years, made tons of smarty-pants grown-ups look like fools without even trying, eaten desert rats with no A1 steak sauce, and you’re telling me we’re minors and have to have guardians?” I shook my head, staring at him. “Listen, pal, I grew up in a freaking dog crate. I’ve seen horrible part-human mutations die gut-wrenching deaths. I’ve had people, mutants, and robots trying to kill me twenty-four/seven for as long as I can remember, and you think I’m gonna cave to state law? Are you bonkers?”

My voice had risen steadily and it filled the room. Everyone was stock-still, dead quiet.

Finally the man who had first greeted us cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Well, perhaps we should take a break and meet again tomorrow.” It was like someone looking at a horrible battlefield wound and saying, “Let’s put a Band-Aid on this thing, patch it right up!”

Once we were back in the limousine, my mom patted my hand and said brightly, “Gosh, that went well!” and I snorted.

Then we were all laughing, and I wished we could stay that way forever: all together and laughing. Of course, we couldn’t.

That night we decided to order in pizza like normal people.

Mom had a menu from a local place, and each of us kids got to order our own whole, large pizza. I would never get used to having enough to eat for more than a day or two at a time. It wouldn’t last, so I was going to enjoy it while I could.

“So, this whole government-control thing isn’t working for me,” I said while we waited for the delivery guy to show up.

My mom looked at me. “I’d feel better if you were being protected somehow,” she said. See? That’s what kind of mom she is. She doesn’t order me to do stuff, doesn’t try to pin me down. As long as I don’t leave my socks lying around, I’m golden.

“Their protection never lasts,” said Gazzy. “It turns into something else. Like a trap, or a nightmare, or an experiment. Did I remember to order extra pineapple?”

The rest of the flock nodded.

“I don’t want to go to school,” said Nudge, pulling her attention away from a TV show. “Unless it’s, like, fashion school or music school, like how to be a rock star. But math class every day? And spelling? Bleah.”

“I don’t think those people really know what they want,” said Angel thoughtfully.

“Did we remember to get garlic bread?” Total asked, and we all nodded again.

“But you’re not picking up out-and-out evil?” I asked Angel. Having a six-year-old mind reader does come in handy.

“No,” Angel said, stroking Total’s back. “I can feel secrets, and confusion. But no mad-scientist stuff.”

“Something new and different,” said Iggy.

“Anyone want refills on lemonade?” Jeb asked, holding out the carton.

“I do.” Gazzy handed him a cup, and Iggy said, “No, the blue one’s mine.”

Gazzy pushed him the blue cup, then looked up as we all realized that no one had mentioned cup colors. Iggy picked up his cup and drank, not seeming to notice anything odd.

“Which blue cup, Ig?” I asked casually. “Light or dark?”

“Light,” he said.

We were all silent, and then Iggy frowned. “Huh. Did you guys tell me what colors the cups were?”

“Nope,” I said quietly.

He stared at the table, then shook his head. “I’m still- I still can’t see squat. No vision. Nothing.” He reached out his hand, moving it slowly until he felt his cup. “But this cup is blue.”

Gazzy pushed over another cup. “What’s this one?”

Iggy felt for it, then closed his hand around it. “Yellow?”

“Yeah,” Fang said. “How about this?” He put the pizza menu into Iggy’s hand. “What color is it?”

“Green?” Iggy asked. “It feels green.”

No one said anything for a while as we digested this new development. I remembered what Jeb had said, about how we might be mutating on our own, without planning. Nudge seemed to be thinking the same thing. She timidly reached out her hand, and when it was a few inches away, her fork flew into her grasp.

“Have you guys been playing in toxic waste again?” Fang asked severely, putting his hands on his hips.

Nudge giggled. “No.”

“Been bitten by a radioactive spider?” Fang went on. “Struck by lightning? Drink a super-soldier serum?”

“No, no, no,” said Iggy. He started reaching for things around the table, and his hand landed on Total. “You’re black.”

“I prefer canine-American,” said Total. “When’s that pie coming? I’m starving.”

“What about me?” Nudge asked, putting Iggy’s hand on her face.

He smiled. “You’re sort of a chocolate-milk-slash-coffee color,” he said in wonder.

“Like, mocha,” said Gazzy.

So there you go. Iggy had a new, unexpected skill, like Nudge. Would we all develop them? Surely nothing more could happen to Angel- she was pretty much already loaded for bear in terms of special powers.

The rest of us would have to wait and see.

Then the doorbell rang, and we all leaped up. Dinner!

The flock stood out of sight of the door while Jeb answered it. A short guy in a red shirt stood there holding a large stack of pizza boxes. Jeb paid him, and the guy handed over the pizzas and hurried back to his car. Mom took the boxes, and Jeb shut and locked the door. The flock came out of hiding as if we were Munchkins and the good witch Glinda had just showed up.

“Yes, yes, yes,” Nudge breathed, almost jumping up and down. The incredible smell of pizza filled the room.

Mom put the boxes on the table and opened one. “Who got the extra pepperoni and mushrooms?”

“Me, me!” I said, feeling my stomach rumble.

My mom reached into the box, and Gazzy grabbed her arm and said, “Wait!”

“Get away from that pizza!” I ordered Gazzy, moving closer. “Yours is probably next.”

“No,” said Gazzy, a stricken look on his face. “Look!” He pointed into the pizza box, and when I looked closely, I could see a tiny bit of green wire sticking out from under the thick Sicilian crust.

“Take cover!” I yelled, and then we all dove.

Everything flashed brilliant white, and then a huge kaboom! practically punctured my eardrums. I was lying on the floor behind the couch, and Fang was behind me, his arms around me, one hand covering my face. There was a bit of crackling, and then the weird post-explosion silence that sounds much louder than ordinary silence. Slight fluttering sounds told me that bits of stuff were floating to the ground.

“You okay?” Fang said, but my ears were blown and muffled, and it sounded as though he was speaking through a pillow. I nodded and scrambled up.

“Report!” I said, then instantly choked on the fine dust that filled the air. I started coughing hard, tears streaming down my face, and every time I took a breath, I sucked in more dust and coughed more.

“I’m okay,” said Nudge, crawling out from the hallway where she had dived.

“I’m okay,” said Iggy, though I couldn’t see him. Then a pile of dust and debris moved on the floor, and he stood up, looking as if he’d been flocked. Like a Christmas tree.

“Okay here,” said Gazzy, and he started coughing too.

“What was that?” my mom asked, sounding shocked.

“Everyone all right?” Jeb asked, brushing stuff off his shoulders.

Amazingly, we were all fine, except for minor scrapes, cuts, and bruises. Total looked as if he’d been breaded in preparation for frying. If Gazzy hadn’t seen that wire, we all would have resembled pizzas ourselves: flat and messy.

“But what was that?” my mom asked again. She looked totally freaked out and kept patting everyone down for broken bones.

“A welcome wagon?” I said, already gathering our meager belongings. “Okay, everyone. Let’s scram before the cops show.”

We split up from Mom and Jeb, then met them fifteen minutes later at an inconspicuous motel out on the highway. They drove, and we flew overhead, looking for anyone tailing them. We didn’t see anyone, and I guessed that whoever set up the bomb assumed it had worked and that we had all been eliminated. No one had tried to blow us up in a while, and we were all a little shaken. It was a reminder that danger could come from anywhere, anyone.

After brushing themselves off as much as possible, Mom rented a room, and Jeb rented the one next door. We waited till the coast was totally clear, and then the flock and Total sneaked in. Maybe we’d be safe here for a little while.

That night, my mom and I stayed up talking after everyone else had gone to bed. I curled up on the couch next to her and tried not to imagine what my life would have been like if I could have been talking to her like this all the time.

“Who could have done that?” she asked, still looking upset and troubled.

I shrugged. “It could be anyone. Any of the bad guys, any of the good guys who are really bad guys, anyone working for any of them. Maybe the government gang didn’t want to take no for an answer.”

She shook her head. “I still feel that no matter how overbearing they are, how much they don’t understand the situation, they’re on the level. I don’t think they were behind this.”

“Do you trust Jeb?” I asked her.

“I do,” she said slowly. “But I also think you should always be on guard. With everyone, all the time.”

I nodded. “I’m not sure what we’ll do, after this.”

“The government school still not holding any appeal for you?” She smiled.

“No.”

“You’re always welcome at home,” she said, and took my hand.

I shook my head. “I wouldn’t do that to you- at least not too often. Anyone who helps us winds up getting hurt. Like tonight, for example.”

“Still. Never forget you have a refuge.”

“Okay,” I said with a smile. “I wish we could hang out like this more often.”

“Me too. There’s so much I want to talk to you about, so much I don’t know.” She hesitated. “Is there something going on between you and Fang?”

My eyes went wide, and I felt heat flush my cheeks. “No. What do you mean?” I said unconvincingly.

My mom stroked my hair and tried not to look worried. “Just be careful,” she said, and kissed my forehead. “There are other kinds of pain besides physical.”

Oh, like I didn’t know that.

“Yo, max.”

Fang. Fang’s voice. I blinked and sat up fast, grabbing the sheets. “Wha’?” I panted. “What’s, what’s-“

“Let’s take a little spin.” Fang motioned outside. I looked around. The girls were sleeping in this room, boys in the other. Outside, the night was deep but bright with moonlight.

“Why?” I whispered.

He smiled unexpectedly, and my heart gave a little squeeze. “Because we can.”

Sadly, I usually don’t need a better reason than that. Fang eased himself through the motel door and ran off into the night, while I quickly pulled on jeans and a jacket. Then I followed him, raced toward the dark part of the parking lot, and launched myself into the air.

My wings snapped out, full and strong, through the big slits in my jacket. I dipped several feet until my feathers gathered the air like sails, and then I rose powerfully over the rooftops of this quiet DC suburb. I smiled as I cut through the night sky, Fang a thousand feet above me, barely outlined by moonlight. In seconds I had reached him, full of the exhilaration that comes with free flying, flying for pleasure. Instead of for escape, for example.

We wheeled through the chilly air, not speaking, leaving the town far behind.

Soon we were near the ocean, close to Chesapeake Bay. Swooping lower in wide circles, we saw a small unused dock jutting out into the water. With unspoken agreement we coasted lower, finally making a sneaker-pounding running stop down the length of the dock. Scarcely breathing hard, we sat on the edge of the dock, leaving our wings outstretched to cool off. There was no room- one of Fang’s wings overlapped one of mine.

“This is pretty.” My feet dangled at least a yard above the water.

“Yeah. Peaceful.” Fang was looking at everything except me. “Are we back on track?”

I looked at him. “What do you mean? What track?”

“You and me. We . . . broke up.”

Oh, that. I gazed at the water, embarrassed.

“I don’t want to split up again,” he said.

“No, me neither.”

“Max . . .”

His face was unreadable in the moonlight. I felt the light, feathery heat of his wing lying over mine. What did he want from me? Why couldn’t he just let things be?

“What do you want from me?” he said.

“What do I- What do you mean? I want the usual stuff, like always.” I hated conversations like this, hated talking about my feelings unless I was, like, furious. Then words came easily. But this mushy hearts-and-flowers stuff? Ugh.

His eyes met mine. “Look, you didn’t like it when you saw me with that girl at school, back in Virginia.”

True. Seeing Fang kissing the Red-Haired Wonder had sent acid churning through my gut. I stayed silent, remembering.

“And I wasn’t thrilled about you and Sam, the possible traitor, also back in Virginia.”

“Yeah, Virginia basically sucked,” I agreed.

“Well, why? Why would it bother us to see us with other people?”

Oh, God, where was he going with this? If I had more than brother-sister feelings for Fang, I could barely admit them to myself, much less him.

“‘Cause we’re shallow and self-serving?” I tried, wishing he would just drop it.

He rolled his eyes and took my hand. His hand was hard and calloused, tough with muscle and old scars. The night settled around us like a blanket. I could hear the water lapping against the dock. We were totally alone.

“You’re . . .,” he began, and I waited, heart throbbing in my throat. “Such a pain,” he concluded.

“What?” I asked, just as his head swooped in and his mouth touched mine. I tried to speak, but one of Fang’s hands held the back of my head, and he kept his lips pressed against me, kissing me softly but with a Fanglike determination.

Oh, jeez, I thought distractedly. Jeez, this is Fang, and me, and . . . Fang tilted his head to kiss me more deeply, and I felt totally lightheaded. Then I remembered to breathe through my nose, and the fog cleared a tiny bit. Somehow we were pressed together, Fang’s arms around me now, sliding under my wings, his hands flat against my back.

It was incredible. I loved it. I loved him.

It was a total disaster.

Gasping, I pulled back. “I, uh-,” I began oh so coherently, and then I jumped up, almost knocking him over, and raced down the dock. I took off, flying fast, like a rocket.

So there you have it. I was every warning headline of every teen magazine. “Are you pushing him away? How to get him closer!” “Tired of being a tomboy? How to access your inner vixen!” “Not ready for a relationship? Here are 10 ways to tell!” I’m guessing one way to tell would be freaking out over a simple kiss, streaking off in the night, then lying awake in bed until dawn, tortured by emotions you don’t even recognize. I don’t know- seems like a clue.

When my mom patted my shoulder to “wake” me up in the morning, my eyes were dry and gritty. I had gotten about twenty minutes of sleep. I was dreading facing Fang, and wondering if he was mad, hurt, or what. Then Mom said, “Want pancakes? There’s an IHOP next door,” and my day started looking up.

It went downhill again after the pancakes. Fang was distant, Iggy kept touching things and yelling out what color they were, and Nudge kept making metal things leap toward her, like the zipper on my hoodie, for example. Gazzy and Angel were being themselves, which, face it, is a challenge even on a good day. Total for once was subdued, curled up on the motel sofa, licking his back.

And yet our Washington DC fun wasn’t over! Mom and Jeb convinced us to keep our other meeting, which involved us getting paraded in front of a special congressional committee. I guess it was like the Surprise Mutant Solution Committee.

Anyway.

“We have some exciting news,” a silver-haired man said. “We’ve been allocated the funds to create a special school for you. The location hasn’t been decided yet. Nor has it been decided whether you will be mainstreamed with other children.” He beamed as if he’d just told us we’d won the lottery.

“Uh-huh,” I said warily.

“I’m still unclear why the children can’t just live in peace somewhere, in hiding,” said my mom. Way to go, Mom!

“Well, you see, Ms. Martinez-,” a woman began.

“Doctor,” said my mom. “Dr. Martinez.”

“Ah, yes. Dr. Martinez,” the woman said.

“Like in the witness protection program,” my mom went on. “The government spends millions of dollars, so much time and energy, protecting witnesses who are often criminals themselves. Why can’t you make the same effort to protect innocent children?”

Nudge squeezed my hand. All of us had wanted real parents our whole life, and after a couple of disastrous false alarms, I’d actually found mine. And my mom was the best mom in the whole world, ever.

Though even I thought she was going a little far, calling us “innocent.” Maybe she didn’t know about the string of stolen cars or the vandalism of empty vacation homes.

But I digress.

An older woman in a navy suit leaned forward. “The witness protection program is limited in its scope and not intended to create a suitable environment for children. Which is why we were thinking more of a boarding-school situation, with appropriate guardians and teachers.” She smiled somewhat frostily. “It will be a most desirable situation, I assure you.”

“We’re not convinced that you understand the nature of these children,” said Jeb, speaking up for the first time. “We’re not sure why you believe yourselves to be the best judges of what would be best for them.”

“None of us have been associated, however peripherally, with Itex or its various research branches,” said a dark-haired woman. I thought Jeb flushed a little at that. “But we’ve made an extensive study of the situation, of the children, and of various rehabilitation systems that might be applicable here. Many of us are parents ourselves.”

“But you’re not their parents,” said my mom.

“With all due respect, Dr. Martinez, neither are you, nor is Jeb Batchelder,” said an older man wearing glasses. “We understand the genetic component, as it’s been explained to us. But the fact remains that these children have essentially grown up without any adult who could realistically be called a parental figure.”

Again Jeb flushed, and I wondered how guilty he felt about letting the flock down. I hoped it was a lot. I felt my mom tense beside me, and all of a sudden I’d had enough.

Max, I hate this. Can we get out of here?

Angel’s voice filtered into my head. I turned to see her big blue eyes pleading with me. Over her head, Fang’s eyes met mine, and I gave a barely perceptible nod. As usual, he and I were on the same page without even speaking.

I raised my hand, taking everyone by surprise. You’d think they would have been used to it by now. “I need to say something.”

“You guys are talking about us like we’re not even here. You’re sitting there deciding our fate without even asking us,” I said.

“Maximum, while children are often encouraged to express a preference, typically, responsible adults determine what’s best for them. Children just don’t have the life experience or education to understand the big picture.” The silver-haired senator gave me a reassuring smile, which, call me paranoid, I didn’t find at all reassuring.

A teen magazine would have encouraged me to get in touch with my inner feelings. So I searched deep within myself and realized that my inner feelings were telling me to punch all of them in the face. Which is why teen magazines just don’t seem to apply to my life.

“Life experience?” I repeated tightly. “Big picture? I’ve had more life experience in fourteen years than you’ve had in- what are you, like, a hundred?”

The senator’s face started turning pink.

“You’re the ones who don’t have the life experience,” I said. “Have you ever woken up with your mouth duct-taped shut, not knowing where you are or where your family is? Are you afraid of everything and everyone? Have you foraged for food in Dumpsters? Do you sleep with one eye open because at any second someone might try to kill you? Have you ever opened a pizza box only to find a bomb? You guys don’t have any idea.”

Some of the committee members looked horrified, and I wondered just how complete their files were.

“Angel’s only six,” I went on. “But ten bucks says she’s been in more fights to the death than any of you. You guys have unreal ideas about us that you wish were true. The kids you designed this school for are probably clean, polite, grateful, agreeable. Sadly, that isn’t us.”

The flock stood up around me, and I guessed they were all making their toughest faces, the ones that crack me up ’cause they’re so cute. But this committee wouldn’t know that.

“We don’t need to be ‘rehabilitated,’ ” I went on. “We’re survivors, and that pretty much cancels out good manners or patience or a burning desire to please. Your fancy school, your plans- none of that has anything to do with us, the real us. You go on and have fun spinning your wheels. But include us out.”

I rose and stalked past the line of grown-ups trying to figure out snappy comebacks. Good luck with that, I thought. I burst out the heavy door, ready to slug anyone who tried to stop me. But no one did, and I glanced back quickly to see the flock, Total, my mom, and Jeb all hurrying behind me. At the end of the hallway was another conference room. It had huge windows, some of which were cranked open for cleaning or something.

Without thinking, without planning- in other words, in true Max style- I gave my mom a fast, hard hug, put on my jacket, then stepped to the window and jumped out. I thought I heard her gasp, but the sound was torn away by the air rushing past me as I snapped my wings open. Then I was aloft, held securely by the air, supported and cradled by the atmosphere. I couldn’t help smiling, pulling cold air into my lungs, feeling free.

“Where are we going, Max?” Gazzy called. My flock was sailing powerfully alongside me, all looking as happy and relieved as I felt.

“Does it matter?” I called back, and he shook his head.

“Didn’t think so,” I said to myself, and surged upward.

“Look, the pentagon!” Gazzy said suddenly, pointing. He wheeled into a tight left turn and headed for it. “I always wanted to see it!”

“Me too!” said Iggy sarcastically, already flying after Gazzy.

“Yeah, you can touch it and feel that it’s white,” I said.

The rest of us turned to follow them, and it felt good to see how happy everyone was to be flying.

“Dive-bomb!” Gazzy cried, tucking in his wings and angling downward toward the Pentagon.

“No, Gazzy, don’t!” I yelled after him. “It’s a government building! They’re even more paranoid than we are!”

Cackling maniacally, Gazzy swooped down to within fifty feet of the Pentagon’s roof, then tucked into a fast flip and aimed upward again. The six of us soared and tilted and raced, remembering the tricks we’d learned from the hawks and the bats, performing split-second formations and upside-down turns like the kind swimmers make at the end of the pool.

“Okay,” I called finally. “Let’s head out-“

The air was filled with a roar, and I turned my head to see two jets streaking toward us, their pointy noses looking mean.

“What’s wrong with them?” Nudge cried, rushing closer to me.

“We violated the Pentagon’s airspace,” Fang guessed as the jets roared closer at incredible speed.

Total, in Fang’s arms, nodded. “I should have stopped you! I, at least, should have known better!”

“Let’s get out of here!” I yelled, and we turned as fast as we could, heading away from the Pentagon. I didn’t know how determined those jets were, and I didn’t know who had scrambled them. Had they been sent automatically to eliminate anything over the Pentagon’s airspace? Had the Surprise Mutant Solution Committee not taken no for an answer?

We weren’t going to hang around to find out.

“Into the trees!” I called, pointing to where several acres of trees made a weensy forest. By tucking our wings tightly back, we lost altitude like feathery rocks. I spotted several openings among the treetops, and we sank into them, immediately turning sideways and opening our wings so we wouldn’t hit the ground. We flew sideways for a while, slipping between tree trunks, knowing we were invisible to the jets.

Unless they had infrared sensors. In which case we were sunk.

“Whee-hah!” Gazzy shouted. It was much harder to fly vertically like this, but we’d all perfected the technique in the past year. Yes, jets can fly sideways too, and faster than we can, I have to admit. But they can’t weave in and out of trees, now, can they? Or turn practically on dimes?

No. If they try, they end up exploding in impressive fireballs.

These woods were so small that we had to keep circling and cutting back across them, which we did for about twenty minutes. Finally the noise of the jets lessened, and then it faded altogether. We cautiously left the woods and came to a landing nearby.

“That was awesome!” yelled Gazzy, holding up his hand.

Iggy slapped him a high five (I don’t know how he does that- he never misses), and they both cackled in triumph.

“Awesome, and yet stupid,” I said, ever the voice of reason. “Let’s keep under the radar from now on, guys.”

“We were under the radar,” Gazzy argued. “Totally under the radar.”

“I meant metaphorically,” I said. “Both under the actual radar and also just low profile, discreet, secret.”

“Uh-huh,” Gazzy said in a tone that told me he hadn’t heard a word I had said. “That was so awesome!”

Reason number 52 why Gazzy isn’t the flock leader.

And just like that, we were free again. Or as free as six homeless mutants could be. In three hours we were eight thousand feet over the Pocono Mountains, looking for a place to hang. Once again, a state park saved us. A big patch of green beckoned, and we slipped down through the trees as silently as we could, not far from the park entrance. The sun was setting, and we needed to find a good place to sleep, but there was something I had to do first.

I called my mom to let her know we were okay. Something I’d never, ever had to do before in my life.

“Oh, Max- are you all right?” She had answered her cell phone practically before it rang.

“We’re good,” I said. A pang inside me meant that I wished I could be with her but knew I couldn’t. I could never be a “home at five” kind of daughter. “They were just creeping me out.”

“I know,” my mom said. “They seem so arrogant. I really don’t think they have a good plan for you guys.” She paused, and I guessed she was biting her lip, trying not to ask where we were or where we were headed. Which was good, because as usual, I was operating without a game plan.

“No, me neither,” I said. “Give Ella a hug for me, okay?”

“Okay, honey,” she said. “Listen- Jeb is here and he wants to talk to you.”

I made an “ick” face, and Fang raised his eyebrows at me.

“Max?”

“Yes,” I said reluctantly.

“You’re safe?” His voice sounded warm and dad-like.

“Yes.”

“Good.”

“So you’re not the Voice in my head?” I asked. “I saw you be the Voice.”

“I can do the Voice, but I’m not the Voice,” said Jeb. “That’s all part of the larger picture.”

Great. Another puzzle. Good thing I got my kicks out of not understanding my entire life.

“Whatever,” I said, knowing that made him crazy.

“Listen, Max,” Jeb said. “Dr. Martinez- your mom- and I want you to know that we trust you. Your instincts have served you well so far, and kept you and the flock alive. We feel that you’ll do the right thing, whether you know you are or not.”

Hmm. Compliments always made me suspicious.

“Oh, yeah?” I said.

“Yes,” he said firmly. “You’re the right person to lead the flock. It’s what you were created to do. You’re doing a terrific job at it, finding your own way. We trust you to do the right thing now.”

If I could have believed him, it would have warmed the cockles of my little heart. All I had to do was decide to believe him, take him at face value. After all, my mom was right there, hearing him, and I did trust her.

“Huh,” I said.

There was a pause, as if he’d been hoping for more.

“Anyway, take care, Max,” he said finally. “Call your mom or me when you get a chance. We’ll be working on things from this end.”

“Working on what?” I asked.

“Oops, we better go,” Jeb said. “Don’t want to stay on the phone too long, in case someone’s tracing it. Give my love to the flock.”

The phone clicked and went dead.

I looked up. Fang was watching me. We still hadn’t talked about the Incident of the previous night. Nudge was shifting from one foot to another, the way she did when she got hungry. Total was taking a potty break in the bushes. Everyone looked tired, and we still needed to rustle up food.

Jeb had said that he and my mom trusted me and thought I was doing a good job. He’d said to trust my instincts.

My instincts asked me if he was playing another angle.

After a lame dinner of scavenged food, we settled onto various branches of the tallest trees we could find. Did we sleep in trees a lot? Yes. Had we ever fallen out of a tree while asleep? As amusing as that would have been, no.

I was exhausted, still pretty hungry, and clueless about what the next day would bring. But I double-checked my flock before I let myself relax. Angel and Total were snuggled in the deep vee of an enormous oak. Iggy and Gazzy were close together in the same tree. Nudge was stretched out along a thick branch, one arm hanging down. Fang was-

I looked. He’d been right there a second ago. Now, no Fang.

“Where’s Fang?” I tried to keep alarm out of my voice- don’t panic till you need to- but I’m so not into the whole missing-flock thing.

Angel and Gazzy looked around, and Fang said, “I’m right here,” sounding surprised. And there he was, straddling a branch with his back against the trunk.

I blinked. “I looked- you weren’t there.”

“Yes, I was,” he said, eyebrows raised.

“No,” said Nudge. “I looked for you too. Were you behind the tree?”

“I was right here!” Fang insisted, waving his arms.

“I didn’t see you either, man,” Iggy said with a straight face.

I rolled my eyes at him, then said, “I’m rolling my eyes, Iggy.”

“Well, I was here the whole time,” said Fang, shrugging.

Five minutes later, he disappeared again.

“Fang!” I said, peering all around. True, it was dark, but thanks to raptor vision, we can all see perfectly well at night. Every other flock member was there, clear as day.

“I’m here,” said Fang.

There was nothing where his voice was coming from.

“Behind the tree?” I was starting to get irritated.

“Are you blind?” Fang demanded. “I’m right here!”

And there he was. Complete with a brand-new skill. Let’s hear it for spontaneous mutation, folks!

No, fang could not actually make himself invisible. It was more like his natural stillness and darkness just sort of made him fade into the background till he kind of disappeared. As soon as he moved again, he was visible. If he stayed still, we could search for an hour, but our eyes would skate right over him.

“I want to do it too!” said Gazzy, sitting very, very quietly, completely motionless.

“Nope,” said Nudge, shaking her head. “You stand out like a fart in church.”

“Appropriately enough,” I muttered.

“What about me?” Iggy asked. He folded his wings in and went statue still.

“No, you’re visible,” I told him.

“Am not!” Iggy said.

I hurled a big prickly pinecone at him and heard it thunk hard against his chest. He howled in pain.

“Could I do that if I couldn’t see you?” I pointed out.

“Seriously, you can’t see me?” Fang sounded pleased.

“Not when you’re still and quiet,” I admitted.

He smiled big, and it was horrible, seeing only a mouthful of white teeth against the rough tree bark. He shook his head, and bam, there he was, all of him. I started to get an idea of how incredibly annoying he could make himself with this skill.

“Oh, guys, I had a couple thoughts I wanted to go over with you,” I said, suddenly remembering. I heard Total mutter something, but I paid no attention.

Iggy pretended to snore loudly. I threw another pinecone at him.

“Quit throwing things at me!” He rubbed his arm.

“Glad you could join us,” I said. “Now, listen up. We’re on the road again. Erasers don’t seem to exist anymore, and we haven’t seen any Flyboys. But you know whatever’s left of Itex is regrouping and gearing up for the next war. Plus, someone tried to explode us. So, a couple guidelines: We need to move every other day, keep on the go. No staying in one place more than forty-eight hours.”

“Ugh,” Total said. He was curled up in Angel’s lap.

“We will not make friends with humans until after the apocalypse,” I went on, ticking items off on my fingers.

“What’s the apocalypse?” Gazzy asked.

“Basically, the complete destruction of the world as we know it. And we will not trust humans, even after the apocalypse.”

But Max, you’re mostly human, said the Voice.

So were Erasers, I shot back. Besides, you know what I mean.

“However,” I went on, “I do want us to try to recognize the good in things. Like my mom. And Ella. And chocolate-chip cookies. It just seems like we shouldn’t let our enemies make us all bitter and full of hate and stuff.”

I waited for everyone to give me a hard time about being all Hallmarky.

“Oh, yeah, ix-nay on the ate-hay,” said Fang.

“Who are you, and what have you done with the real Max?” Iggy asked.

“Ha ha. So I think we should take turns naming three good things that have happened to us. Who wants to start?” I said brightly.

Silence.

“Nudge?”

“Um,” she said.

“Well, dinner was delicious,” said Total. I gave him a Look. “Okay, okay,” he said. “Um, well, no one tried to kill us today.”

“That’s one,” I agreed.

“We’re all together,” he said.

“Okay, two. You’re doing good. Go on.”

“I don’t have fleas.”

I was taken aback. “Uh, yep, I guess that’s true. That’s a good thing.” Couldn’t deny it.

Total looked pleased.

“I don’t have fleas,” said Iggy.

“Bet you do,” Gazzy said.

I sighed as the discussion dissolved into accusations and defenses. I would try again tomorrow. Sometimes this leader stuff was a huge pain in the butt.

Subterranean

The salt dome located a quarter of a mile below the earth’s surface could easily have held several football stadiums. Though salt domes occured naturally in many different places on the globe, this one happened to be beneath a certain country in middle Europe. During World Wars I and II, many national treasures had been stored here to avoid destruction by Allied bombs. Nowadays there was talk of turning this enormous network of caves and tunnels, most as wide as four-lane highways, into an impermeable storage center for radioactive waste.

“Since those fools keep producing nuclear power without having the slightest idea of what to do with its toxic by-products,” the Uber-Director muttered to himself. His small motorized chair wheeled silently over the smooth crystalline floors. Eventually, perhaps, this cavern would be sold, and the Uber-Director would have to relocate his base of operations. But for right now, this was a most acceptable, and unusually safe, headquarters.

Heavy lines of cable, some almost a foot in diameter, snaked down from the surface, bringing electricity, water, fresh air. In addition, mobile, self-contained air scrubbers hummed quietly as they scooted from room to room, trapping carbon dioxide and releasing oxygen. When they touched a barrier, they simply reversed and scooted off in another direction. The Uber-Director himself didn’t use that much oxygen- only 23 percent of his being required oxygen to function. But stale air was unpleasant.

The Uber-Director’s conference room was off the main tunnel. It adjoined his actual “office” and held an antique table whose top had been hewn from a single slab of rosewood. A bank of plasma screens, five wide and four high, covered most of one wall.

“Sir?”

A human assistant stood nearby, head lowered in respect.

“Have the arrangements been made?” asked the Uber-Director.

“Yes, sir. Everything is prepared. The auction preview can begin at your signal.”

“Excellent. Have all the parties accepted the invitation to attend?”

The assistant straightened proudly. “Yes, sir. All of them.”

“Then let’s begin.”

Subterranean

Electronic relays responded to the Uber-Director’s eye signals. The plasma screens popped on, each framing the leader of a different country or corporation. The men and women on the screens, aware that they were now live on camera, shifted in their seats and adjusted the minuscule microphones in front of them. If any of them were shocked by the Uber-Director’s unconventional, even grotesque, appearance, they showed no sign. They had been advised beforehand.

“Greetings,” said the Uber-Director in his odd, machinelike voice.

He interrupted the chorus of responses from his onscreen clients.

“To clarify what we’re doing here today, let me go over some salient points.” He turned his chair slightly and looked at another large screen to his right. It came on, showing a picture of six scruffy, scowling children. “These are the items up for auction. They come as a set. Though the set could be split up, it would not be wise, and would no doubt hamper the success of your mission.”

“Could you detail exactly what we’re looking at?” a dictator who had recently made CNN’s “Ten Worst Abusers of Human Rights” list broke in forcefully. “There have been rumors.”

“You are looking at six juvenile avian-human experiments in recombinant-DNA science. They are the most viable of any that have been produced. They can actually fly like birds.” The Uber-Director blinked twice, and the screen behind him showed a short video of six flying children. He was gratified by the gasps and murmurs coming from the viewers, but his “face” showed no expression. “They fly well,” he went on. “They have an uncanny sense of direction and superior regenerative and healing powers. They’re smart, wily, and relatively sturdy.”

“You sound as if you admire them.” A woman who had been nicknamed “the Iron Maiden of Silicon Valley” leaned forward.

“Admire?” said the Uber-Director. “No. Not at all. To me they are genetic accidents, mistakes.” No one dared mention his own form. “Nor am I so foolish as to underestimate them, as my predecessors have.”

There were a few seconds of silence, as the potential bidders contemplated the Uber-Director and the possibilities of his offered product. Then he blinked again, and the screen behind him went blank.

“You have received your packets of information,” he said. “I will answer no more questions. I will alert you as to when and where the bidding will take place. Please be aware that the opening bid is five hundred million dollars.”

More murmurs broke out from the wall of screens.

The Uber-Director permitted himself a slight smile. “After all, it is difficult to put a price on the ability to rule the world.”

Terranean

“The demonstration is ready, sir.” The assistant stood with head typically bowed, barely managing to avoid saying “My Lord” or even “Your Grace.” That was the trouble with old-fashioned humans. Too ruled by emotion, too easily cowed. There would be no place for them in the New Age.

With a blink, the Uber-Director gave permission to begin.

Ten yards above him, a slight shadow signaled an existing cave. His informants had told him the bird kids often rested in caves. He hoped this demonstration would be more successful than the last.

“Why hasn’t it beg-,” he started to ask, only to have a movement catch his eye and draw it upward. He looked directly at the rock wall but saw nothing. Then- there! The camouflage was excellent. Only a small patch of skin matrix was visible as the soldier moved sideways across the rock, like a crab. By focusing intently and increasing his internal zoom by 400 percent, the Uber-Director could now see a swarm of soldiers moving toward the opening in the rock face.

One of them had shot a fine, almost invisible net over the cave opening. The Uber-Director smiled. Even at this magnification, he had to concentrate hard to see the occasional patches of matrix. His assistant frowned and squinted at the rock wall. An ordinary human would have a great deal of trouble spotting these new soldiers.

With his mind, the Uber-Director turned on a channel that allowed him to listen in on the coded transmissions between the soldier units. This generation, Generation J, had been endowed with some intelligence and only rudimentary emotion, but they seemed to be using and channeling them more effectively than their predecessors.

They were much more controllable than either Erasers or their flying-machine replacements, and smart enough to make quick decisions and improvise.

Earlier versions had been smarter- too smart. Smart enough to question orders, to want to make their own decisions. Others had had only a machine’s ability to follow orders. Their ability to think on their feet, to make snap decisions, to adapt to changing circumstances, had been practically nonexistent.

Even more disastrous had been Generations D through G. Either they were so blood hungry that they couldn’t be controlled once they scented their prey, or their empathy was so heightened that they couldn’t bring themselves to actually kill anything.

The soldiers paused, patched into one impulse, one global command. Then they quickly detached the netting and sprang into the cave entrance. Moving as one, they left no space to escape.

Several of the units reappeared at the cave’s entrance. They tossed down mannequins filled with hamburger, buzzing with flies. They had not eaten them. They had followed their orders and captured their prey. Now they raised their arms in victory.

The Uber-Director blinked at his assistant, who was gazing at the mannequins with dismay and revulsion.

“Yes, sir.” The assistant opened a small black suitcase. It contained a highly efficient electric generator.

The Uber-Director sent his solders the message, and instantly they swarmed down the rock wall like spiders, moving surely and easily over a surface with few ridges, no handholds.

The assistant was afraid of them but knew not to show it. The soldiers circled him, their faces expressionless.

“Here,” the assistant muttered nervously. One soldier stepped forward, his left shoulder turned to the assistant. Hands trembling slightly, the assistant hooked the generator to the soldier’s shoulder and turned it on. A quick burst of electricity made the soldier jolt and stiffen, then relax. His face smoothed. The next soldier stepped up.

A burst of electricity acted like a drug on this series, both exciting and calming them. The soldiers craved it, and it was a useful reward. When they didn’t get it, their behavior became unpredictable and violent. It was a drawback, a design flaw.

But one they were working on.

“Where are we headed next, Max?” Nudge carefully turned her hot dog over the small open fire.

I had been thinking about just that all day. “Chili?” I stirred the open can, nestled among the burning embers, with a clean, peeled stick.

Gazzy held out his hot dog and I glopped some chili onto it. Not a tidy process.

“Let’s go back to France,” said Nudge. “I loved France.”

“Yeah, France was nice,” I agreed. “Except for the four Itex branches.”

Recently we’d done the Bird Kids’ Whirlwind Tour of Europe, focusing on various spots for imprisonment and abuse, run by madmen and madwomen under the guise of the Itexicon Corporation, mingled with pastry and trendy European fashion. Our lives were nothing if not eclectic.

“How about Canada?” Iggy suggested. “Seems cool.”

“Hm,” I said. To tell the truth, I hadn’t actually decided yet. Nowhere seemed far enough away from Itex minions or the School or the Institute or any of the other faceless entities that seemed bent on using or destroying us. I wanted to get far, far away from everyone.

Iggy felt for trash on the ground, stuffing it into a plastic grocery bag. I heard him mutter, “White. Tan. Ooh, clear, weird. Tan. Blue,” as he touched various things.

“Oh, guess what,” said Angel, taking a bite of hot dog. Hearing those words from Angel always made me tense up. “I have a new skill!”

Oh, great. Fang and I made appalled faces at each other over Angel’s head.

“You mean- besides the talking-to-fish stuff?” I asked cautiously.

She nodded.

Oh, holy mud, I thought, hoping she hadn’t suddenly developed the ability to shoot lightning out of her eyes. Or something.

“Um, what is it?” Please let me not freak out at the answer.

“Look.” She raised her head and looked up into my face. The whole flock leaned closer, watching her. I searched Angel’s face, praying that horns wouldn’t pop out of her forehead. I was about to ask what her skill was, when I saw it.

“See?” she said.

“Uh, yeah,” I answered, staring. Staring at her smooth, tan skin, dark brown eyes, her much straighter brown hair.

“I can change how I look!” she said unnecessarily.

“Uh-huh, yep, I see that,” I said.

“Show them bird girl,” said Total. “I love that one.”

Angel smiled. While we all waited, holding our breath, she began to change again. Two minutes later, we had a blue bird of paradise with Angel’s eyes. I mean, she still had a human shape. But her face and head were covered with fine turquoise feathers and she had two spectacular plumes. It was the weirdest freaking thing I’d ever seen, and believe me when I tell you, that’s saying something.

She held out slender feathery hands and wiggled her fingers.

“Oh, my God,” breathed Nudge. “That is so awesome.”

Angel smiled and, just as quickly, turned back into herself. “So far I can only do those two,” she said. “But I bet if I practice, I can do other stuff.”

“Uh-huh,” I said weakly.

“How come she can do that and I can’t?” the Gasman asked.

“You’re siblings, not twins,” I said, giving mental thanks.

“We’re all changing a lot,” said Nudge, sounding worried. “We’re changing in ways they didn’t plan, didn’t expect.”

“Yeah,” said Iggy. “By the end of the week, we’ll be tadpoles.”

“Iggy,” said Nudge, “I’m serious. We don’t know what’s going to happen to us.”

I looked at my flock. Fang was guarded; the rest looked varying degrees of anxious. Time to put on my leader hat.

“Listen up, guys,” I said, sounding calm and in charge. I should be on Broadway, I really should. “It’s true we’re changing, and in ways they didn’t program. And we have no idea what’s going to happen next. But you know what? No one else does either. It’s the one way that we’re like the rest of all the people out there.” I waved my arms to demonstrate “world.”

“No one ever knows what’s going to happen next,” I went on. “People change all the time, and they’re not sure how they’ll end up. They might be short or tall, able to play the piano or not; they might have their mom’s eyes or their dad’s nose or their uncle’s bald spot. It’s always a mystery. It’s the one constant, everywhere, with everyone. We’re just a little more exciting, a little cooler than most.”

Was I good or was I good?

My flock looked calmer, more cheerful. They nodded and smiled.

“Okay, now,” I said more briskly. “Time for bed.” I held my fist out. One by one, my flock stacked theirs on top, and then we headed up into the trees to sleep the sleep of the innocent.

Well, okay, maybe not so innocent. But the sleep of the much less guilty than others, for sure.

You are reading Fang’s Blog. Welcome!

You are visitor number: 98,345

Greetings, faithful readers. This site has had over 600,000 hits, which is unbelievable. It’s not like we’re here dropping Mentos into Coke bottles or anything. This is just us. But I’m glad you’ve tuned in.

The big news of today is that we’ve all decided to settle down and go to regular school and stuff, and Fox is going to make a reality TV series out of it, called Bird Kids in the House! They’ll have like a hundred cameras all over the place, and they can film Iggy cooking and Angel doing her weird stuff, and Total listening to his iPod.

They can film Max leading.

Nah, I’m just kidding. No reality series. Our lives are probably a little too real for most people, if you know what I’m saying. Although, hey, if anyone from Fox is reading this, make us an offer!

We’re not sure what’s going to happen next. After our weird meetings in DC, we’re craving more fresh air and fewer desk jockeys. But it’s starting to occur to me (forgive me if I’ve been a little slow) that maybe we, the flock, I mean, should be working toward something besides just trying to eat enough every day. For a long time, our goal was to find our parents. And look how well that turned out for us. Now we’re fresh out of goals, and you know what? It feels a little- tame. I mean, if we’re not out there butting heads with the buttheads that are destroying the world, then what are we doing? What’s our point? Why are we here?

Granted, our options are somewhat limited, given the number of people who want to kill us, or worse. Plus, I understand there are pesky child-labor laws that will get in our way. Frankly, though we can do all sorts of cool stuff, we’re not actually qualified for a lot of occupations. Like, any occupation that requires actual education. Which pretty much leaves the entertainment industry.

But I’ve been thinking . . . maybe we could become spokesmutants. For different causes. We could be the poster children for both animal and child abuse, for example.

If anyone has any answers, drop me a line.

- Fang out