The Sky Is Falling

by James Patterson

  “Oh, not this again!” I burst out, waving my arms. “Just once I’d like to be able to turn around without you stabbing me in the back!”

  Angel’s face paled, but she stood firm. “Max, this has been coming for some time. You’re trying to have it all, and you just can’t. Look—it’s time for a vote. Max goes. Everyone who agrees, raise your hand.”

  I blustered some more, but my heart sank as Iggy slowly raised his hand. His nose had stopped bleeding, but dark bruises were forming around his eyes.

  Nudge, my Nudge, was next. Her cheeks were scraped, her shirt collar flecked with blood. She looked near tears, like she was making an impossible choice—but still choosing not me.

  Gazzy raised his hand, not looking at me. His knuckles were swollen and scratched. And of course Angel had her hand up.

  “Fang?” I turned to him. He wasn’t looking at me. He was glowering at Dylan, who was ever-so-subtly shaking his head. Like they were having some private guy talk.

  “Fang! Tell them they’re overreacting.”

  “Everyone is overreacting,” Fang said very slowly. “Even you.”

  For a moment, I was speechless. Was Fang turning his back on me? Did Dylan have mind control powers like Angel? Was he doing a number on Fang?

  Anything seemed possible.

  “You’re my family,” I began, then stopped quickly as my voice threatened to break. I cleared my throat and tried again. “After the last time the flock split up, I swore I would do anything to keep us together, no matter what, for always. But it kind of takes all of us wanting to stay together.” I let out my breath slowly, to keep from crying. I shook my head. “I think you guys are making a mistake.”

  The room was completely still and silent.

  “But I can’t make you want me to stay.” I blinked a couple times, as if I would suddenly wake from an awful dream into a better reality—like, some stranger coming at me with an ice pick, ready to gouge my eyes out.

  “So you’re sure? You want me to go?”

  Nudge’s lip was quivering; none of them seemed happy, but they didn’t seem to be changing their minds either.

  I couldn’t look at Fang. If he’d been holding up his hand, I would have wanted to just drop into the canyon like a stone, wings tucked in tight.

  I nodded and swallowed. “Okay, then. Later.”

  I turned and sprinted out through the smashed deck doors, bounced once off the deck railing, and launched myself into the sky, which seemed a million times bigger and wilder than it ever had.

  BOOK

  THREE

  WHAT HAPPENS

  IN HOLLYWOOD…

  STAYS IN HOLLYWOOD

  47

  I FELT PRACTICALLY BLINDED by pain and shock and had so many tears streaming from my eyes that I could barely see where I was flying.

  I opened my mouth and shrieked, as loud and as wildly as I wanted. “Ohhgodohhnooooiiihitjusthurrrtssssooomuuuch!” The scream was torn from my throat by the wind, and finally I choked, sucking in air, half sobbing, my voice raw from yelling for so long.

  In overdrive, I can hit speeds of close to three hundred miles per hour, and so in less than half an hour I’d gone into the next state over. Now Utah stared back at me blankly as I slowed and came to a drifting stop at the top of a tree. I had to take a minute out of my new life to… break down and sob like a baby. I worked my way steadily through rage, hurt, embarrassment, back through rage, and then to some random emotion that seemed to need ice cream.

  Gulping, I saw a heart-stoppingly familiar black streak in the sky, headed right for me. Was he coming just to say good-bye?

  I desperately prayed that he hadn’t heard any of my meltdown. The whole thing was such a huge slobbery mess that I couldn’t take one more iota of emotion.

  “Hey,” I said hoarsely, as he landed on a neighboring branch, making the tree sway. I wiped my face quickly, knowing I had to look like hell, my eyes bleary from freeze-dried tears.

  “Fancy meeting you here,” he said, with his funny lopsided smile, and I almost burst into tears again.

  My eyes must have been full of questions, because he shrugged and said, “Things seem somewhat under control. Jeb wants to take over the flock again. I figured I’d let him and Angel duke it out.”

  I’m supposed to be brave, right? Prove it, Max. I forced myself to ask: “Are you, um, going back?”

  “Nah,” he said, brushing hair out of my face. “Figured I’d rather hang with you.”

  I felt hope light my face, and I didn’t try to hide it.

  “You know how I feel,” said Fang, and he bent down, holding on to his branch, and kissed me. I felt like we were suspended in air, and having Fang here, knowing that he, at least, had chosen me, everything seemed a smidgen less agonizingly painful.

  “So what should we do now?” I asked breathlessly when we broke away from each other. I’d been the leader so long—I was always the one who decided where we were going, what we were going to do. It felt freeing to be asking him to decide.

  “Actually, I’m thinking… Vegas,” he said. “Let’s go to Las Vegas.”

  “Las Vegas?” I repeated stupidly.

  “Yeah,” he said, trailing one finger down my cheek. I felt a coolness there, as if he’d hit a stray tear. “I figure—not too far away, full of freaks so we’ll blend, plenty of weird stuff to do…”

  I smiled and breathed easier for the first time in hours. “Sounds perfect.”

  48

  “HAVE YOU BACKED UP the data?” The head of information finished scanning the shift tech’s notes for Area 8 and leaned over her shoulder to look at her computer screen. “Subject Twenty-two appears to be… abnormal. Off program. Let’s take a closer look at the images.”

  The tech clicked her mouse quickly through the static scenes. The image on the screen changed from an empty living area with one lamp burning to a darkened kitchen area. The kitchen was a mess, with dirty plates and pots and glasses stacked on every surface. Food containers had been left open, unrefrigerated. The next image was a long, empty hallway with large windows on one side. After that was a bedroom.

  “This is Subject Twenty-two, sleeping in Subject One’s bed, since she isn’t there,” the tech said. “During the day he’s mostly been practicing flying, but at night he’s been restless, not sleeping deeply. It could be that his circadian rhythms haven’t stabilized yet. His physio readings suggest that he’s anxious or unhappy.”

  “Yes. His prime focus went away.”

  “I see. Before he went to sleep, he walked around the room, examining everything, touching everything, even smelling things.”

  “He’s imprinting,” said the head of information. “That’s good. But the notes indicate he’s made no attempt to follow Subject One. Can you confirm?”

  “His flying skills are improving, but at this stage wouldn’t enable long-distance—”

  “Irrelevant,” the head jumped in dismissively. “His programming should compel him to use any means available. Possibly a minor malfunction,” she speculated, dropping the tech’s notes on the desk. “But possibly a major one. Keep an especially close eye on that one’s stats.” She swiveled on her heel and in a flash was gone.

  The tech bit her lip. The heads—as intimately familiar with the details of their constructions as they were—somehow all seemed to forget that the subjects were not, in fact, robots.

  There was no malfunction. It was simply that the soul could not be programmed.

  49

  I WAS WORKING through Italian spumoni on a cone as Fang and I threaded our way amid the streaming crowds on the sidewalk. Those of you who haven’t been to Vegas—well, it’s bizarre in sort of a “let’s gussy up this car wreck” kind of way. It’s Disney World meets the seedy underbelly of America. But with more liquor and people smoking. A grown-up amusement park.

  “I’m dying to go to a casino,” I confessed to Fang.

  “We’ll have to throw ourselves three more birthday parties first,
” he said. “It’s illegal—we’re underage.”

  “So when has that ever stopped us?” I stared at him. “That’s just a way to make sure crazy kids don’t spend all their parents’ money. We’re not crazy, and we don’t have any parents’ money. Just our own hard-earned cash from all those CSM air shows we did.”

  “Which has gotta be running low about now. You really want to risk losing it?”

  “Don’t get all grown-up on me. This is, like, our vacation from being the grown-ups of the flock. And I want to go….” I looked around at the spectacularly campy scenery.

  “There,” Fang declared, pointing to a building in the shape of a… horse? It definitely topped the Bizarre-o-Meter of novelty architecture. “The Trojan Horse.”

  Suddenly I was having second thoughts. “Wasn’t that, like, a giant sculpture that was full of enemy soldiers or something? Back in the old days?”

  Fang looked blank. “Guess I missed that lesson in Max’s Home School.” He took my hand. “Come on!”

  We strolled in easily across the dizzyingly patterned carpet. Barbie doll women with trays of drinks were zipping around helping to get people loopy so they’d spend more money. Even without a drop of alcohol, it took about two seconds for me to become seized with a very unnatural need to gamble.

  Fang leaned close and whispered, “Don’t freak out, but there are cameras in the ceiling every couple feet.” Ordinarily, that fact would guarantee I’d break out in paranoid hives. “And notice the guys in dark suits standing around watching everyone? Don’t worry. They’re just looking for cheaters.”

  “Cheaters? Us?” I smiled. “I guess we’re safe.”

  The flock had always looked a little older than our biological ages—guess that came from being evolutionary wonders. But I was surprised that people didn’t boot us out immediately. Imagine money being more important than law enforcement!

  We got a bunch of quarters and parked ourselves in front of a Treasure Island slot machine. I fed a quarter into the slot and pulled the arm. The wheels spun fast, eventually stopping with cherries, a weight, and the number seven.

  My eyes narrowed and I pushed another quarter in.

  Another miss.

  “That machine took my money!” I said. “I must have revenge! Fang, get on that machine next to me,” I ordered, spilling half of my quarters into a separate plastic bucket for him. “This could take a while.”

  And so our hypnotic rally began. Seriously, those spinning wheels can really send you into the zone. I guess that’s the point.

  Maybe that explains why it only took about fifteen minutes for the machine to start messing with me.

  ’Cause instead of cherries, bars, and numbers, I saw a cartoony wolf face pop up.

  Then another.

  Then another.

  Jackpot?

  “Jackpot, Max!” I heard the voice of Dr. Gunther-Hagen come from behind me.

  50

  I WHIRLED AROUND and saw no one. No psychotic mad scientists, anyway.

  “Jackpot, Max! Jackpot!” It was Fang, and he was giggling hysterically.

  For those of you just joining us, Fang doesn’t giggle. Especially hysterically.

  So for a second, this seemed like one of the weirder dreams of recent days, until Fang clutched my shoulders and started shaking me. “Check it out, Max!”

  The jangling sound of metal coins rushing out of Fang’s machine suddenly entered my consciousness. Fang had morphed into a wide-eyed maniac scrambling to scoop all of the change into his cup, then mine. “Get another cup!” he ordered, and I grabbed two more that had been orphaned nearby.

  While Fang focused on the money, I did a 360 and started to sweat. Downside of a jackpot? People notice you. And in our case, it wasn’t all pat-on-the-back, “Oh, congratulations! How wonderful for you!” More like “Who the hell are you and could you even possibly be eighteen years old?”

  As I saw figures moving toward us, I had a vision of troops inside the Trojan Horse flattening their enemy as they swarmed out. “Outta here now, Fang!” I said in my most don’t-even-think-of-arguing-with-me voice.

  Clutching four heaping cups of coins, we booked it into a glass elevator that delivered us gamblin’ fools down, down, down the leg of the Trojan Horse to ground level.

  “Remind me never to go to a place called the Trojan Horse again,” I said.

  “What’re you talking about? It was good luck,” Fang countered.

  “Not exactly,” I said, as the glass door slid open and Dr. Hoonie-Goonie was standing there to greet us.

  51

  DID I WHIRL INSTANTLY, fists clenched, legs tensing for battle? Or did I stay calm, act casual, and walk right on by the doc as if I hadn’t even seen him?

  You guessed it—neither. Instead, I dropped one of my cups of coins. Easily a couple hundred dollars. Fang seemed more upset by the spillage than by the looming threat of evil.

  “Hello, Max, Fang,” said Dr. Gunther-Hagen, smiling as he watched Fang scramble to recover his winnings. “Strange seeing you here. I didn’t think you were the gambling types.”

  “We’re not,” I said. “Fang, leave that money for some poor soul who really needs it,” I said, all Mother Teresa again. Except I didn’t leave my cups of cash behind.

  I stepped out of the elevator, squinting in the bright light. “Why are you here?” See, this is where my lack of social graces comes in handy. I don’t waste time and energy on thinking of what the nice thing to do is.

  Dr. Hans’s eyebrows rose. “I’m here for a professional convention, being held at one of the resorts. But why are you here? Where’s the rest of the flock?”

  “At Ripley’s,” I said. “So, what, you saw us and decided to just pop in, say hi?”

  “Yes,” said Dr. Hans pleasantly. “Is Dylan with you? How is he progressing?”

  “Dandy!” I lied again. “We left him over at one of the craps tables. That way.” I pointed back to the elevator. “I’m sure he can’t wait to see you!”

  “We have to go,” said Fang, putting his hand on my arm.

  “Wait, please,” said Dr. Hans. “I’m happy to have run into you. I wanted to reiterate what I said in Africa. And I wanted to make sure you received my offer for Iggy. Is it not compelling? You could give him the gift of sight, in return for a little cooperation. You could be invaluable to my project because—well, you’re a miracle, really.”

  Gosh, a miracle! It had been ages since someone called me that. Actually, no one had ever called me that.

  “You planning to turn Max into another one of your mistakes?” Fang asked, his face cold and still.

  Dr. G-H looked around, as if realizing what a public place this was. He gestured us over toward some isolated benches in the entry plaza. “The apocalypse is coming. You’ve been on a mission to save the world. Do you understand how you’re supposed to do that?”

  Okay, the details on that had been sketchy, but I wasn’t about to admit it.

  “By having you chop off one of my wings to see if it grows back? I don’t think so.”

  He went on. “Max, I promise you will remain intact. My research will help current humans adapt, so they can live in the radically different environment we’ll all be facing. We estimate that more than half the world’s population will simply disappear; I’ve found a way to keep some people alive long enough to ensure that the human race isn’t extinguished entirely.” His voice was pleading, his face earnest.

  “You’re a prince,” I said. “But I gave you my answer back in Africa.”

  He paused a second, then continued. “I anticipate people will be scared and worried. Most of them won’t understand what I hope to accomplish. But if you were my spokesperson, demonstrating that being different can be wonderful and even necessary, then I could get many, many more people to understand and accept my program.”

  Who did this guy think he was? The world’s savior? Was that position even open? And what did he want me to be? A walking, talking, flying commerci
al?

  “It seems like a worthy cause,” I said. I felt Fang’s muscles tense. “Tell you what—I’ll go ahead and jump on this crazy bandwagon. Count me in.”

  Dr. Hans’s eyes widened and a smile lit his face. “Max, that’s wonderf—”

  “My price is a million dollars.” I know. I’m bad.

  “My dear”—he glanced with amusement at my and Fang’s hoard of coins—“I do believe you just said you didn’t need any money.”

  “I said we weren’t gambling types. I’m all about serious business, Doc. And I’m telling you that a million dollars is what it will take for me to even consider this gig.”

  I could see the wheels turning in his head. I bet those hamsters were tired.

  “I could do a million dollars,” he said slowly, nodding.

  Oh, I forgot—the guy was a billionaire arts patron and he owned a bunch of huge pharma companies that bankrolled all his plans.

  “I meant a million dollars a day,” I revised. Don’t ever say I’m not a tough negotiator.

  “This isn’t a joke, Max,” he said coldly. “You might think carefully about what you say to me. You’ve already lied to me once today. I know the flock isn’t with you. I also know Dylan isn’t either, even though he should be.” I felt Fang flinch next to me. “You consistently ignore my advice, and you will regret it if you continue to do so. I have great resources at my disposal. I can help you tremendously, and I want to. I can also do the opposite of that.”

  I stood my ground. “You evil scientists are all the same—evil. Count me out.”

  Fang and I brushed past Dr. God and walked quickly but smoothly to the exit. It was barely noon, and I’d already made a huge enemy.

  Dang, I’m good.

  52

  “OKAY, TRY THIS ONE,” Gazzy said, handing a hot rod magazine to Iggy. Gazzy guided his finger to touch the photograph on the page.