Fang: A Maximum Ride Novel (18 page)

75

FANG WONDERED if Max had seen his note yet. She was going to want to kill him. When — if — he saw her again. He couldn’t think about it. That butt Dylan had been right. Fang had to get as far away from the flock as possible. Where, he wasn’t sure. Montana? Canada? Papua New Guinea?

But first he had to get some answers at the doctor’s house.

And there it was. He’d seen the satellite pictures when Nudge found them. The terrace was wide and empty except for a few lounge chairs. No one was in the pool. Fang dropped lightly onto the terrace.

In the next second, he felt a stinging pinch in his upper arm. Looking down, he saw a small dart sticking out of his sleeve.

He started to swear, glancing around wildly for the shooter. Then his knees buckled, he swiped the dart away, and the world swirled around him. He saw Dr. Hans walking toward him with a smile, and four uniformed guards rushing over.

“Fang,” said Dr. G-H. “I knew it was just a matter of time before either you or Max got here. As you can see, we’ve been waiting for you.”

Fang fell over, whacking his head against the stone terrace but unable to cry out. He weighed a thousand pounds. His hand was too heavy to raise, his eyelids too heavy to keep open. He was drifting into unconsciousness. The last thing he saw was Angel’s face looking shocked, her mouth an O of surprise.

Then there was nothing.

76

PAIN.

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!”

77

ANGEL STARED at the heart monitor in horror. A minute ago, its fast, even spikes had showed Fang’s normal heart rate of a 140 beats per minute. Now it was a flat line.

Fang lay still on the bed, his good eye slightly open. Angel grabbed his hand.

“Fang! Fang! Wake up!”

“This wasn’t supposed to happen!” said Dr. Hans, looking upset. “This drug has been tested on many subjects!”

“But were they normal, to begin with?”

“Yes, mostly… .” Dr. Hans trailed off.

The drone of Fang’s monitor filled Angel’s head. She smacked her hand down on Fang’s bed, hard. “Do something!” she yelled at Dr. Hans. “You promised me he wouldn’t get hurt! You promised! Do something!”

“It’s too late!” said Dr. Hans. “What can I do?”

Whirling, Angel scanned the lab for a phone but spotted nothing. She sped out of the room and leaped up the steps. Still nothing. She raced outside onto the terrace, and once there, closed her eyes. She took a deep breath and pressed her fingers to her temples.
Max, come,
she thought as hard as she could.
Come here now. Fang needs your help. Come now!

Her eyes popped open and she started scanning the sky, though she knew there was no way Max could be there yet. She didn’t even know if Max had heard her — she’d never tried to send a message that far before. There wasn’t time for her to fly to the safe house to get Max. All she could do was send thought messages.

Even though it was already too late.

78

MAX, COME. COME HERE NOW. Fang needs your help. Come now!

I froze, balanced on the balcony. I turned to Nudge.

“Did you hear that?”

Nudge shook her head.

“Got a message from Angel,” I said. “She said Fang needed my help and to come there now.”

“Fang is there?” Nudge asked, unfolding her wings, getting ready to jump off after me. “What happened?”

I paused for just a minute, thinking. I didn’t trust Angel, and I sure as heck didn’t trust Dr. Nightmare. But if Fang was there … if he really did need my help …

I jumped off the balcony, swearing, and rose into the air. “I can’t take the chance,” I told Nudge. “Angel alone — I might not go. But I can’t take the chance with Fang. I’m going.”

I decided to go into warp drive, leaving Nudge and the others, now clustered on the balcony, behind. Pressing my hands flat against the legs of my jeans, I aimed myself in the direction of Malibu. Then I just … shifted into overdrive. Within fifteen seconds, I was streaking through the sky at upward of 250 miles an hour. I’d be there in minutes.

One thing was certain: If something had happened to Fang, and it was Angel’s fault, we’d never be in the same flock again. I promised myself that much.

79

DOWN IN THE LAB, Dr. Hans was a blur of activity. He grabbed a hypodermic needle of something and shot it into Fang’s IV line. Angel held Fang’s hand, watching the machine tensely. Nothing happened.

“Blast!” Dr. Hans shouted. He dashed into the adjacent supply room.

Angel was in a deep state of shock. When her Voice had given her the premonition about Fang, she had just reported it. She hadn’t known why, when, or how it would happen. Somehow, she’d thought that telling Max and the others would help it not come true.

Then Dylan had shown up, seeming like the perfect answer: The Voice had said that the best way for everyone to survive was to split the flock up, have two flocks. Max could have Dylan, and Fang could join forces with Angel. Angel would be the leader of her flock, and Fang would be second in command. Having Max and Fang in the same flock was overkill.

Dr. Hans had promised that if Fang came here, everything would be perfect. Then his goons had beaten Fang up, and Dr. Hans had started the IV drip into Fang’s arm, telling Angel that Fang was on his way to becoming the most ultimate Fang possible. Lies.

Angel’s back straightened — she felt Max coming. Quietly she left Fang’s side and went to unlock the lab door. She glanced around but didn’t see Dr. Hans’s security team. Then she sat again at Fang’s side and picked up his hand.

Was she imagining it, or was Fang’s hand already becoming cold?

80

I DROPPED DOWN onto the terrace like a bird of prey. As soon as my sneakers thunked onto solid ground, I raced along the terrace until I saw an open door. I rushed through it and immediately down some steps. Somehow, I had seen these steps in the message Angel had sent me — I knew just where to go.

“Fang! Angel?” I yelled, not even trying for stealth. I was storming the castle, not stealing the jewels.

Then through a vast maze of lab tables, metal and glass shelving, gurneys, and all kinds of medical equipment, I saw Fang in a hospital bed, looking beat up, bruised. Way too still and way too pale. Then Angel, rising slowly from beside him like a zombie from the grave and drifting slowly toward me.

“Max, I …”

“Angel! What the —” I sprinted across the lab to Fang’s side.

I grabbed his hand. It was cold. unbelievably cold. One eye was open slightly, unseeing.

Fang will be the first to —

I couldn’t let myself think it. I couldn’t. But he really looked … He felt …

Just then Dr. Gunther-Hagen appeared from a side room holding some medical supplies. “I see you now regret your decision, Max.”

I snarled at the doctor, “What in the name of God happened, you butcher? He looks like he went through a wood chipper!”

“He had a bad reaction to a sedative,” said the doctor stiffly. “He was injured.”

The solid drone of an alarm sank into my brain, and my gaze snapped to the machinery next to the bed. There was no heartbeat registering.

“He’s flatlining!” I shrieked, and grabbed Dr. Hans by the front of his jacket. “Fix him!”

“Why are you so surprised, Max? Your insistence upon being with Fang above all else — well, I warned you quite clearly that no good would come of it. You had the chance to protect all of the ones you love.”

Had he killed Fang? Could he have possibly …?

“There’s nothing anyone can do. It’s too late. I’m sorry.”

He had killed Fang. That sentence made absolutely zero sense to me. It simply did not compute. I shoved the doctor away and turned to Fang.

I wanted to shake Fang’s shoulders, splash cold water on his face, tug on his hair. I stared at him. The parts of his face that weren’t purple and bruised were not … life colored.

It just didn’t make sense.

A remote part of my consciousness registered that the rest of the flock had arrived, were slamming through the lab door. I couldn’t even look up. Fang’s hand was limp and cold in mine. My brain hadn’t kicked into gear yet, had frozen at the entry of the unthinkable thought.

Fang — after everything we’d been through — was …

Gone?

81

THAT SMALL PART of my mind that was still functioning finally made me look up and catch sight of the flock rushing in just as the lab security team flooded the room from another doorway.

The unfriendly familiar face of our old nemesis, Mr. Chu, shocked me out of my daze for a moment.

“Take ’em
out!
” I screeched. “Show no mercy!”

“On it!” Iggy shouted. Even though they knew I couldn’t leave Fang’s side, I’d never seen the flock look so confident and determined. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that we were in a lab, and we knew our way around labs.

But then again, so did these guys.

Iggy immediately flew across the room, swiping glass jars and tubes off shelves and tables and then knocking over as many freestanding shelves as he could.

The instant hurricane of thunderous chaos gave the flock an advantage. By the time the men had chosen their targets, the kids had spread to all corners of the room. Grown-ups just think too much.

“Skateboard!” Iggy called to Gazzy. The Gasman used his wings to propel himself toward the high ceiling and grabbed the pipes running across the length of the room. Swinging off like a trapeze artist, he landed on a gurney and went zooming across the lab, knocking over two guards as he went.

Then, an encore performance: Gazzy gurney-boarded back the other way, over the two dazed guards. But this time, the gurney flipped as it caught one of the guards’ heads.

Gazzy went flying as though he’d been launched from a cannon, but it was a good shot. He knocked another guard down before he hit the floor.

Nudge had grabbed a metal IV stand and was spinning around with it like a wild whirling dervish. It smashed into a guard’s face and he went down, but not a second later, Nudge took a hard punch to the side of her face from another man, her skin splitting under the impact.

The flock’s never been shy about using crotch blows, and with a roar, Nudge nailed her assailant, who dropped like a sack of dog food.

“Sorry,” Nudge said, kicking him in the head to knock him out. Then she and Iggy wasted no time rolling him and the other man into nearby empty extralarge lab animal crates.

“Justice!” Nudge cried, slamming a door shut.

There were five guards down, but several to go. Mr. Chu and Dr. Hans were still on the loose as well. It could have easily been a lost battle without the secret weapon. Dylan.

The youngest but most powerful bird kid held nothing back as he took out one attacker after another. He was coldly furious and determined — almost scary. Everything about his quiet, easygoing demeanor had disappeared. Now his fists slammed into faces, he spun into kicks that had taken us years to master. His blows knocked grown men off their feet; his roundhouse kick shot a guard eight feet back, into a wall.

Total had been right: He was a fighting machine.

Meanwhile, Dr. Hans was watching everything from a safe corner, a scientist unemotionally observing his lab animals. But no one had noticed that Angel was missing from the fray. She now dashed out of the supply room clutching six or seven different-sized containers.

“Gazzy! What’s good here?” It was flock shorthand for:
Is there anything you can make blow up here?

Gazzy had just recovered from his cannon-fire episode. He ran over and scanned faster than a computer. “No explosives, but there’s some pretty acidic stuff,” he determined, pulling three canisters aside. “Some of this is gonna hurt super bad.”

“Not so fast, children.” The impeccably dressed Mr. Chu — who’d been cowering under a lab table to avoid the fight, or to avoid ruining his suit — now appeared at their side.

“Chu!” Gazzy gasped.

“You know
a lot
about toxic chemicals, if I remember, sir,” Angel said, stalling. “Maybe you can help us.”

At that moment, with a perfect swan dive from the suspended pipes, Iggy crashed into Mr. Chu, knocking him onto the floor. The breath left Mr. Chu’s body in a sharp
oof!
Iggy got his hands around Mr. Chu’s neck and started twisting.

“Oh, my God!” Gazzy shouted a few seconds later. Angel’s mouth was open in horror.

Mr. Chu’s face
had come off in Iggy’s hands,
and Iggy was now holding it like a huge, disgusting face glove.

“What happened?” Iggy cried.

Nudge hurried to his side. There, on the ground, with Mr. Chu’s body, was the head of a … freak? His boyish, round face was flat, green, and scaly, and he had a kid’s wide eyes.

“Jeezum pete,” Nudge breathed.

“Don’t kill me,” pleaded the freak.

“Let Robert up,” ordered Dr. Death from the corner.

“Robert?”
Iggy almost shrieked. “He’s
green!
”

“Watch it, guys!” Dylan warned. Some of the men who’d been down earlier were back up and staggering toward them. They moved just slowly enough to allow Angel, Nudge, and Gazzy to pry open the containers and start dousing the men with chemical agents that kids should never have access to.

“Incapacitate them,” Dylan ordered, catching his breath. “I’ve got to get the doctor.”