This struck the Erasers as funny, and they chuckled, shoulders shaking, while Nudge’s brain reeled. Last two alive? The others were dead? Their house had burned down?
She began to cry and commanded herself to stop but couldn’t. Then she was weeping like a baby.
She glanced anxiously at Fang, but he was watching Ari, his jaw tight, his hands coiled into fists.
“Pinwheel,” he muttered out of the side of his mouth.
Ari frowned, obviously wondering what pinwheel meant, his large, beautiful eyes narrowing.
“Cholla first,” Nudge muttered. She couldn’t believe she was being so brave, almost like Fang. The rest of the flock was dead? It couldn’t be! It just couldn’t!
“Count of three,” Fang said evenly. Which meant count of one.
Ari leaned over, lightning fast, and cuffed Fang’s shoulder. “Shut up!”
“One,” Fang said, regaining his balance, and Nudge instantly lunged forward, shoving the second Eraser in the chest as hard as she could. Taken off guard, he staggered backward, right into the sharp spines of a cholla cactus. Cursing, the Eraser waved his arms but landed smack on top of its three-inch needles, shrieking like a train wreck in the making. A lovely, musical train wreck.
In the next second, Nudge launched herself into the air sideways, praying that Fang would catch her.
He did, grabbing her arms and swinging her, following her momentum. Her feet kicked outward, smashing Ari in the side of the neck, almost knocking him over, and leaving him choking and gagging.
Then Fang swung Nudge as hard as he could, spinning her through the air as she snapped out her wings and beat them so fast that she stayed airborne.
“You’re gonna die, mutant,” Ari snarled, leaping for Fang as he pushed off the ground. He grabbed Fang’s leg, and they both fell heavily. Then Ari was sitting on Fang’s chest, punching him. Nudge gasped and put her hand over her mouth as she saw blood erupt from Fang’s nose. The second Eraser kicked at Fang’s chest, hard, over and over, thunk, thunk.
Nudge was freaking—this was a disaster. The people in the trailer park were bound to notice her, hovering in front of the trees. Fang took another hit, his head jerking sideways, and then he spit a stream of bloody saliva right into Ari’s face. Ari roared and brought both hands down onto Fang’s chest with enough force to snap his ribs. Nudge heard Fang’s breath leave him with a whoosh.
What to do? If she went down to the ground she would be dead meat, and so would Fang. If only she could—
Then she remembered the cans of spray paint on the ground. Maybe they were empty. Maybe not.
In an instant, she had dropped down, grabbed up the nearest can, and leaped back into the air, out of reach. She shook the can hard, then dropped a few feet and aimed it right at Ari’s face. After a heart-stopping wheeze, green paint arced through the air. Ari screamed and jumped to his feet, his clawed hands swiping at his eyes.
Fang leaped up and took off faster than she’d ever seen him move. Nudge managed to get another Eraser in the face, and then the paint ran out. Nudge threw it hard at Ari’s head, where it bounced off his healthy, thick, green hair.
Then she and Fang were in the air, well above the Erasers. Ari was still standing, but his pal was on the ground, swearing and trying to wipe paint out of his eyes. The one who’d finally gotten off the cactus was way scratched up. Between the red blood and green paint, they looked kind of Christmassy.
“You’re dead, freaks,” Ari snarled, his eyes streaming with tears, his long yellow teeth seeming too large for his mouth.
“Oh, like you’re not a freak yourself,” Nudge said meanly. “Try looking in a mirror, dog boy!”
Ari fumbled in his jacket, then pulled out a gun. Nudge and Fang rocketed out of there as fast as they could. A bullet whistled right past Nudge’s ear. She’d been that close to being deaf and dead.
When they were safely away, Nudge said breathlessly, “I’m sorry, Fang. It was my fault you got hurt.”
Fang spit more blood out and watched it fall a long, long way to the ground. “It wasn’t your fault,” he said. “You’re just a kid.”
“Let’s go home,” she said.
“They said it burned down,” Fang answered, wiping blood from his lip.
“No, I mean the home with the hawks,” said Nudge.
45
Angel stared and stared and stared at Jeb Batchelder.
She knew who he was. She had been only four years old the last time she’d seen him, but still, she knew his face, his smile. She remembered Jeb tying her shoes, playing Old Maid with her, making popcorn. She remembered hurting herself and Jeb picking her up to hold her tight. Max had filled in for her how good Jeb had been, how he’d saved them from the bad people at the School. How he’d disappeared and they thought he was dead.
But he was alive! And he was here! He had come back to save her again! Hope filled her like warm light. Angel almost jumped up to run to his arms.
Wait. Think. There was something wrong with this picture.
She couldn’t get a single thought from his head—it was a gray blank. That had never happened before. Also, he was wearing a white coat. He smelled all antisepticky. The fact that he was here at all. Her brain felt simultaneously hyper and sluggish, and she blinked several times, trying to figure this out, as if it were a two-minute mystery.
Jeb knelt on the wooden floor in front of her. The whitecoats who’d been running the maze melted into the background. Jeb reached back, then held something out to her.
Angel looked at it blankly.
It was a tray of food, lots of delish-looking food, hot and steaming. It smelled so good Angel felt a whimper of longing rise in her throat.
She stared at the tray, her brain crackling with input, and she had a bunch of thoughts all at once.
One, Jeb looked like he was on their side now. An enemy of the flock, like all the other whitecoats at the School.
Two, wait till Max found out about this. Max would be, well, she’d be so mad and so hurt and so upset that Angel couldn’t even imagine it. She didn’t want to imagine it. She didn’t want Max to ever feel that way.
“Angel, aren’t you hungry? You haven’t been getting very much to eat, have you?” Jeb looked concerned. “When they told me what they’d been feeding you—well, they misunderstood, sweetheart. They didn’t know about your appetite.”
He laughed a little, shaking his head. “I remember once we were having hot dogs for lunch. Everyone else had two hot dogs each. But you—you ate four hot dogs by yourself.” He laughed again, looking at her as if he thought she was amazing. “You were three years old. Four hot dogs!”
He leaned forward, gently pushing the food tray nearer so it was right beneath Angel’s nose.
“The thing is, Angel, with your metabolism, and how old you are now, you should be getting about three thousand calories a day. I bet you haven’t been hitting a thousand.” He shook his head again. “That’s going to change now that I’m here. I’ll make sure they treat you right, okay?”
Angel narrowed her eyes. This was a trap. This was exactly the kind of thing Max had warned them all about. Only Max had never guessed it would come from Jeb.
Without saying a word, Angel sat up, crossing her arms over her chest and staring at him the way Max stared at Fang when they were having an argument and she was going to win. Angel made herself not look at the food, not even smell the food. She was so freaked at seeing Jeb here that her stomach was all in knots anyway. The fact that she couldn’t pick up any of his thoughts made him seem weird and dead to her.
Jeb smiled ruefully and patted Angel’s knee. “It’s okay, Angel. Go ahead and eat. You need to. I want you to feel better.”
She tried not to even blink, not to show how upset she was.
Sighing, Jeb unrolled the white paper napkin, took out a fork, and placed the fork right into the food on the plate. All she would have to do is reach down . . . and she was doomed?
“I know this
is all confusing, Angel,” Jeb said gently. “I can’t explain everything now. It will all become clear soon, though, and then you’ll understand.”
“Suurrre.” Angel put every bit of pain at her betrayal into that one word.
“The thing is, Angel,” Jeb went on earnestly, “life itself is a test. It’s all a test. Sometimes you just have to get through it, and then later on everything makes more sense. You’ll see. Now, go ahead and eat. I promise it’s okay. I promise.”
Like she would believe any of his promises.
“I hate you,” she said.
Jeb didn’t look surprised. Maybe a bit sad. “That’s okay too, sweetheart. That’s perfectly okay.”
46
“I. Am. In. Heaven,” I said, inhaling deeply.
Dr. Martinez laughed. “Watched cookies never brown,” she teased me.
To make my Mayberry holiday complete, the three of us had actually made chocolate chip cookies—from scratch—after dinner.
I ate enough raw cookie dough to make myself sick, and then I got high off the fumes of gently baking cookies. I could see the chocolate chips melting through the oven window.
Note to self: Show Nudge and Angel how to make choc-chip cookies.
If I ever saw Angel again.
Ella’s mom took the first cookie sheet out of the oven and slid in the second. I could hardly wait for the cookies to cool and, seizing one, took a bite, almost burning my tongue.
Incoherent murmurings of pleasure escaped my lips as I chewed slowly, savoring every bite. Ella and her mom watched me, identical smiles lighting their faces.
“You’d think you’d never tasted homemade cookies before,” Ella said.
“Haven’t,” I mumbled, swallowing. It was the best thing I had ever tasted in my entire life. It tasted like home.
“Well, have another,” said Dr. Martinez.
“I have to take off tomorrow,” I told Ella that night when we were getting ready for bed.
“No!” she said, distressed. “I love having you here. You’re like a cousin. Or my sister.”
Funny how something like that can make you feel worse. “People are depending on me—it’s really important.”
“Will you come back to visit?” she asked. “Ever?”
I looked at her helplessly. It was the first time I had ever connected with a nonflock human being—besides Jeb.
It had been really cool. The best.
Plus her mom was so awesome. She was strict about some things—don’t leave your socks lying around—but so not strict about other things, like calling the cops about my bullet wound. Unlike any other parent I’d ever heard of, she didn’t press for details, didn’t lecture, and believed what I said. She actually accepted me. Like she accepted Ella, for who she was.
It was enough to give me a psychotic break—if I let myself dwell on it.
“Probably not,” I said, hating the hurt look on Ella’s face. “I just—don’t think I’ll be able to. If I ever could, I would, but—”
I turned away and started brushing my teeth. Jeb had always said to think with your brain, not your emotions. He’d been right, as usual. So I put all my feelings in a box and locked it.
47
Nudge still couldn’t accept that Max and the others were dead. It was impossible—she couldn’t deal with it—so she forced herself to think other thoughts.
Nudge guessed it was kind of sad that, right now, this scraped-out shallow ledge in the middle of a desert cliff actually felt cozy and comfortable to her. She lay on her back, feet up against the wall, bruised legs out straight, examining the strata of colors—cream, tan, pink, peach—in the solid rock overhead. The sun out there was hot, but it was cool in here, and breezy.
It just goes to show you, she thought. You think you need all your stuff, your favorite cup, your best blanket, soap, your parents—and then you realize that all you really need is to be where the Erasers can’t get you.
She couldn’t get over Ari. He’d been a little kid the last time she’d seen him. She remembered how he’d seemed to get on Max’s nerves, always following her around. Now he was a full-grown Eraser, the worst of them all. How could that have happened in only four years?
Half an hour ago, she and Fang had heard the very distant chop-chop of a helicopter. They’d pulled as far back into the cave as they could, flattening themselves against the cool back wall. After twenty minutes of silence, Fang had decided it was safe and gone to look for food. She hoped he came back soon.
Their house was burned to cinders. Every one of her friends except Fang was dead. She and Fang were really on their own—maybe forever.
Fang flapped up the side of the cliff, landing almost silently on their ledge. Nudge felt a warm flow of relief.
“Can I interest you in a bit of raw desert rat?” he asked, patting his windbreaker pocket.
“Oh, no!” Nudge said, horrified.
He shrugged off his windbreaker and brushed some dust off his black T-shirt. Popping something in his mouth, he chewed and swallowed loudly. “Can’t get fresher,” he said cajolingly.
“Ugh!” Nudge shuddered and turned away from him. Rat! Flying like the hawks was one thing; eating like them was not going to happen.
“Okay, then,” said Fang. “How about some kabobs? You get the vegetables.”
Whirling, Nudge saw Fang unfolding a foil packet. Instantly, the smoky, meaty smell of cooked beef and vegetables filled her nose.
“Kabobs!” she said, hurrying to sit by Fang. “Where did you get them? You didn’t have time to go all the way to town. Oh, my gosh, they’re still hot.”
“Let’s just say some campers are going to be a little surprised,” Fang said drily, pushing the meat off into one pile, the onions and peppers into another.
Nudge took a bite of grilled pepper. It was warm, smoky, tender—utter heaven.
“Now, this is food,” she said, closing her eyes.
“So I guess we have to decide whether to keep looking for Max or go try to save Angel,” said Fang, eating the chunks of beef.
“But the Erasers said everyone else was dead. Doesn’t that mean Angel and Max too?” Nudge asked, feeling a sad weight settle on her again.
“No way to tell,” Fang said. “The thing is, if Max isn’t here, is it because she’s dead? How would they have found her? Angel . . .” He paused. “Well, we knew they had Angel. That’s probably all over by now.”
Nudge held her head in her hands. “I can’t think about it.”
“I know. But what are your—” He stopped, squinting, looking off into the distance.
Shading her eyes, Nudge looked out too. Way far off, she could barely make out two dark splotches. Well, so what? Just more hawks.
She sat back and slowly ate her last chunk of onion, then licked the foil they’d been wrapped in. Fang had to come up with a plan—that was all there was to it.
But Fang kept looking out at the sky.
Nudge frowned. The two dark splotches were bigger now, closer. They must be mighty big hawks. Maybe they were eagles!
Suddenly, Fang stood and fished in his pocket for his small metal mirror. Holding out his hand, he caught the last bits of sunset in the mirror, flashing their reflection outward.
He flashed it, then stopped, flashed, then stopped.
The hawks became larger, closer. Now they were definitely spiraling downward in their direction.
Please don’t let them be flying Erasers, Nudge thought in sudden panic. She’d realized they were too big, too awkward to be real raptors.
Then her mouth dropped open. Half a minute later, Iggy and the Gasman landed clumsily on the ledge, knocking rocks and dust everywhere. Nudge just stared at them, so happy she could hardly believe it.
“You aren’t dead,” she said.
“No. You aren’t dead either,” said Iggy irritably. “How about just ‘hello’?”
“Hi, guys,” said the Gasman, brushing dust out of his hair. “We couldn’t stay home—there’s E
rasers all over the mountain. So we decided to come here. Anybody have a problem with that?”
48
The next morning I pulled on my new sweatshirt. I’d tried out my wing. It worked, though it was incredibly stiff and sore.
I was relieved to go, to get back in the air. I knew Fang and Nudge were going to kill me. I knew I had let Angel down. But there was no way I could have not done what I did. I wouldn’t be Max.
To tell you the truth, not being Max sometimes had its appeal.
Dr. Martinez pushed a small backpack at me. “It’s an old one—I don’t use it,” she said quickly, knowing I wanted to refuse any more help. “Please take it.”
“Well, since you said ‘please,’” I muttered, and she laughed.
Ella was watching the ground, her shoulders hunched. I tried not to look at her either.
“If you ever need anything, anything at all, please call us,” said Ella’s mom. “I put my phone numbers inside the pack.”
I nodded, even though I knew I would never use the numbers. I had no idea what to say. But I had to try.
“You guys helped me,” I said stiffly, “and you didn’t even know me. It would have been bad if you hadn’t.” How’s that for eloquent, eh? I sounded like freaking Tarzan.
“You helped me,” Ella pointed out. “And you didn’t even know me. You got hurt because of me.”
I shrugged in that endearing way I have. “Anyway—thanks. Thanks for everything. I really appreciate it.”
“You’re welcome,” said Ella’s mom, smiling kindly. “We were glad to do it. And good luck—with whatever happens.”
I nodded, and then—get this—they both hugged me at once, like a Max sandwich. Once again, I felt the horror of tears starting in my eyes, and I blinked them back quickly. But I let them hug me, and sort of patted Ella’s elbow, which was all I could reach. I won’t lie to you—it felt really good. And really awful at the same time. Because what’s worse than knowing you want something, besides knowing you can never have it?
The Angel Experiment Page 9
