AIN.

Fang’s head was killing him. He lifted a hand to his temple and felt a large knot there. A scrape on the skin was clotted with blood. There was a large, pulpy lump on the back of his head — that too had dried blood on it. His lip was split and swollen. He couldn’t move the fingers of his other hand — they felt like they’d been dipped in gasoline and set on fire.

Breathing hurt so much that Fang knew several of his ribs were broken. He’d felt it before. Where was he? He struggled to remember. What had happened to him?

“Fang?” Angel’s voice slowly sank through the haze surrounding him.

“Unggh.” Fang tried to swallow. The taste of blood filled his mouth. His nose was probably broken as well. Finally, with all of his concentration, he managed to pry open one eye. The other eye was swollen shut.

He blinked a couple times. The world was blurry and indistinct. He was aware of bright lights, splotches of darkness, the subdued beeping and hissing of machines. Oh, God — was he back at the School?

“School,” he managed to croak. A machine started beeping more quickly as fear-fueled adrenaline dumped into his veins like ice water.

“No, no, Fang. This isn’t the School. You’re okay.” Angel’s small hand patted his arm. He felt other hands gently but firmly lower his arm to his side, and then a thick, heavy cuff was snapped around his wrist. With great effort he swiveled his head and saw a white-uniformed nurse-type person checking the restraint to make sure it would hold.

His eye searched for Angel. She was standing close to him. Her face looked concerned, but she tried to smile.

“I’m glad you’re awake,” she said.

“Whass goin’ on?” Fang slurred. “Wha happen?”

“You’re at Dr. Hans’s house, in Malibu,” Angel said.

“They gave you a … sedative so you wouldn’t be upset. It knocked you out, but then you woke up and, like, went crazy. You were smashing everything in sight, threw a chair through a window, you were punching people. They tried to … settle you. But you got hurt.” Her voice ended in a whisper and she looked away, her cheeks flaming.

Fang didn’t remember any of it. He wondered if it had really happened that way. Slowly and painfully, he looked at his other arm, which was also restrained. It had an IV drip going into it.

“Whass dat?” he asked.

Angel licked her lips. “It’s something to … help you; something —”

“Oh, our guest is awake, is he?”

Fang turned his head, feeling as if concrete bowling balls were shifting inside his skull. Dr. Gunther-Hagen was walking toward him, suit crisp as always.

“Wha the heck is goin’ on?” Fang managed.

“Fang, I’m glad you’ve joined us,” said the doctor. “Angel here has made the right decision, to help me in my work. And now you’re here too. Fang, by now you’re well aware that the world will soon change irrevocably. Not many people will survive. The ones who do will have some sort of adaptive edge that gives them an advantage.”

“Leh me up,” said Fang, wondering if he could sit up. “Gettin’ outta here.”

“No, not just yet, Fang,” said the doctor. He gestured to the drip in Fang’s arm. “I’ve developed a … vaccine, if you will. Given to normal humans, it will enable them to adapt to the new world environment, enhancing their ability to survive. You are already superior, already evolved. I’m incredibly excited to see what effect this will have on you.”

Fang glared at the doctor as well as he could with just one eye. It was hard to make a croak sound menacing, but he tried. “Geh me outta here.”

“You have about another ten minutes to go on the IV,” said the doctor. “This reactant will combine with your DNA and help spur greater mutations. Your personal evolution will be sped up, made more dramatic.”

Oh, great, Fang thought in dismay, subtly testing the strength of his wrist restraints. What would be next? Turning into the Hulk whenever he got upset? That was the problem with mad, megalomaniac scientist types. They loved the idea of the experiment so much that any consequences it had for anyone else seemed unimportant.

“You’ve observed what a spectacular specimen Dylan is?” the doctor went on. “He’s progressing incredibly well. In a very short time, probably days, he’ll be decidedly stronger, faster, and more psychologically sophisticated than the flock.”

The doctor looked incredibly pleased with himself, practically trembling with excitement and expectation. “This biological material I’m injecting will help you catch up to him. By that time, of course, Max will already be firmly paired — hmm, perhaps even mated — with Dylan. They will evolve quite brilliantly — together.”

Fang became aware of a huge weight on his chest. Nothing was there, but it felt as if an elephant were sitting on him.

The doctor was still talking. “You’ll be ready to lead your own flock by then. Find your own mate. A fit more suited to survival.”

Fang started to feel light-headed. “Chest hurts,” he whispered. “Can’t breathe.”

“You’re fine,” said Dr. G-H confidently. “By the way, do you realize that when Max was here earlier, Fang, she refused my offer to save your life?”

No. He tried to suck in a breath, but the pain in his chest was terrible, and he couldn’t move his muscles. His head fell back, and dimly he heard a beeping sound turn into a steady drone. From very far away, Fang heard Angel cry, “Oh, my God! Fang! Doctor Hans!”