CONTENTS
Cover
Title
Copyright
Dedication
Also by James Patterson
To the reader
Part 1
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Part 2
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Part 3
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Part 4
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Chapter 72
Chapter 73
Chapter 74
Chapter 75
Chapter 76
Chapter 77
Chapter 78
Chapter 79
Chapter 80
Chapter 81
Chapter 82
Chapter 83
Chapter 84
Chapter 85
Epilogue
The Other Epilogue
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Version 1.0
Epub ISBN 9781409069812
www.randomhouse.co.uk
Published by Century, 2010
2 4 6 8 10 9 7 5 3 1
Copyright © James Patterson, 2010
James Patterson has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work
This novel is a work of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental
This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition, including this condition, being imposed on the subsequent purchaser
First published in Great Britain in 2010 by Century
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Hardback ISBN 9781846054648
Trade paperback ISBN 9781846054655
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Many thanks to Gabrielle Charbonnet, my conspirator, who flies high and cracks wise. And to Mary Jordan, for brave assistance and research at every twist and turn.
Also by James Pat terson
ALEX CROSS NOVELS
Kiss the Girls
Along Came a Spider
Cat and Mouse
Pop Goes the Weasel
Roses are Red
Violets are Blue
Four Blind Mice
The Big Bad Wolf
London Bridges
Mary, Mary
Cross
Double Cross
Cross Country
Alex Cross’s Trial (with Richard DiLallo)
I, Alex Cross
DETECTIVE MICHAEL BENNETT SERI ES
Step on a Crack (with Michael Ledwidge)
Run for Your Life (with Michael Ledwidge)
Worst Case (with Michael Ledwidge)
PRIVATE SERIES
Private (with Maxine Paetro, to be published May 2010)
STAND-ALONE THRILLERS
Sail (with Howard Roughan)
Swimsuit (with Maxine Paetro)
Don’t Blink (with Howard Roughan, to be published August 2010)
NON - FICTION
Torn Apart (with Hal and Cory Friedman)
The Murder of King Tut (with Martin Dugard)
ROMANCE
Sundays at Tiffany’s (with Gabrielle Charbonnet)
THE WOMEN’S MURDER CLUB SERIES
1st to Die
2nd Chance (with Andrew Gross)
3rd Degree (with Andrew Gross)
4th of July (with Maxine Paetro)
The 5th Horseman (with Maxine Paetro)
The 6th Target (with Maxine Paetro)
7th Heaven (with Maxine Paetro)
8th Confession (with Maxine Paetro)
9th Judgment (with Maxine Paetro, to be published April 2010)
FAMILY OF PAGE - TURNERS
MAXIMUM RIDE SERIES
The Angel Experiment School’s Out Forever Saving the World and Other Extreme Sports The Final Warning Max
MAXIMUM RIDE MANGA
Manga Volume 1 (with NaRae Lee)
Manga Volume 2 (with NaRae Lee)
Manga Volume 3 (with NaRae Lee, to be published July 2010)
DANIEL X SERIES
The Dangerous Days of Daniel X (with Michael Ledwidge)
Daniel X: Alien Hunter Graphic Novel (with Leopoldo Gout)
Daniel X: Watch the Skies (with Ned Rust)
Daniel X: Demons and Druids (with Adam Sadler, to be published July 2010)
WITCH & WIZARD SERIES
Witch & Wizard (with Gabrielle Charbonnet)
For more information about James Patterson’s novels, visit www.jamespatterson.co.uk
To the reader
THE IDEA FOR the Maximum Ride series comes from earlier books of mine called When the Wind Blows and The Lake House, which also feature a character named Ma
x who escapes from a quite despicable School. Most of the similarities end there. Max and the other kids in the Maximum Ride books are not the same Max and kids featured in those two books. Nor do Frannie and Kit play any part in the series. I hope you enjoy the ride anyway.
“Thank God men cannot fly, and lay waste the sky as well as the earth.”
— Henry David Thoreau
PART
ONE
MEETING DOCTOR GOD
1
I’M A GIRL OF EXTREMES. When I love something, I’m like a puppy dog (without all the licking). When I’m cranky, I’m a wasp (like, a whole hive of ‘em). And when I’m angry, I’m a mother bear with a predator after her cubs: dangerous.
I say this because lately my life seemed to be all about extremes. Like right now, for instance. I was soaring twenty thousand feet in the air with the five people I loved most in the world — and no, we weren’t on a plane, hang-gliding, or hot air ballooning. We preferred to use good old-fashioned wings. The technology’s been around for eons.
If you’ve ever dreamed you could fly, I can confirm that it’s all that and better. Even if you’re desperately flying through a subway tunnel to save your life, it’s still off the charts. But today, flying over Africa … it was as good as it ever gets. Maybe the best part was that for the first time in a dog’s age, we weren’t on the run from madmen. We were on a mission — to do good.
“Max!” Iggy called over to me. “Why did they name themselves Chad? I mean, Chad. It’s like naming a whole country Biff or Trey. I don’t get it.”
“Ig, don’t be ignorant,” I scoffed. “It’s not like all the people there named themselves.”
“Why not? We named ourselves,” Nudge noted, as if I needed to be reminded that we were raised in a lab under the supervision of science geeks.
“Only ’cause we’re special.” I gestured to her twelve-foot wingspan. “Hey, check that out!” I pointed to a Martianlike rock formation in the distance.
Fang turned his head and gave me one of his classic half smiles — you know, like the kind of smile Mona Lisa would have had if she were a guy. A teenage guy with longish scruffy hair, dark eyes, and a leather jacket. Mmmmm.
The whole trip had been as exhilarating as one of Fang’s killer smiles. Even the hundreds of miles of shifting, mysterious desert dunes had been amazing. We’re world travelers and all — we’ve lived in wilds as extreme as Death Valley and Antarctica — but there was something downright otherworldly about what I’d seen below as we crossed over — oh, crap, I’d forgotten the names of all of the different countries.
“Mauritania, Algeria, Mali, Niger, and Chad together are about sixty-eight percent desert,” Angel recited, reading my mind. Literally. She’s powerful like that.
“Whatever. It’s too much freaking desert,” Angel’s brother, Gazzy, complained. “I wouldn’t mind seeing a few cows chomping away on some grass right about now.”
“A-plus-plus on the geography quiz, Angel. Gazzy, Iggy, extra credit when you check your attitudes at the door.” Even without parents, somehow I’d picked up the language. Seems to work when you’re the leader. “Listen, I know some of you are a little cranky from the long flight, but this is our chance to finally help people. Real people,” I emphasized, as if we’d grown up in a plastic bubble or something. Well, we kind of had. Do dog crates in labs count?
“Real people,” Fang clarified. “As in, not just a bunch of wack-job scientists.”
“Yup. Did it ever occur to you guys,” I continued grandly, “that when we were told we had to save the world, it might have actually meant saving people — like, one at a time? Sending a message around the world about people in need is great and all, but actually feeding people, giving people medical help and stuff? We’ve never done that before. I mean, this could be it, guys. Our destiny.”
“Max is right,” Angel agreed, in a very un-Angel-like manner. We didn’t see eye-to-eye on much these days.
“Word on the street is that you have to save the world, Max,” Iggy reminded me. “The rest of us? Not so much.”
Twit. Always trying to take the easy way out.
Not Fang, though. “Hey, Max, wherever you go to save the world — I will follow …” He did the killer half-smile thing. “Mother Teresa.”
My stomach flip-flopped as if I’d folded my wings and plunged into free fall. Hello, Max the Puppy.
I had exactly five seconds to enjoy sainthood before I caught sight of three black dots in the distance — and they appeared to be moving straight toward us.
Looked like Mama Bear’s cubs were in danger. And you know what that meant:
Bye-bye, Saint Max. Time to be a hellion again.
2
“INCOMING!” I SHOUTED to my flock. “Down, down,down!”
Fast-moving objects directed at the flock usually belong to one of three categories: bullets, mutant beings with a taste for bird kid, or vehicles hired by an evil megalomaniac wanting to kidnap us and use our powers. Which might explain why I was working on the assumption that the three black dots meant one thing and one thing only: imminent death.
“Max! Relax!” Fang managed to stop me before I could execute my dive. “I think those are the CSM cargo planes.”
It was the Coalition to Stop the Madness (CSM), the activist group my nonwinged mom was involved with, that had asked us to go on this humanitarian relief mission to Chad and to help publicize the work they were doing there. And what with our previous adventures helping them combat global warming and ocean pollution, we were slowly being turned from feral, scavenging outlaws on the lam into Robin Hoody do-gooders. Meanwhile, I was still supposed to save the world at some point. My calendar was full, full, full.
So full that I’d forgotten this was the part of the journey where we were supposed to meet up with the CSM planes so we could be guided into the refugee camp.
I gave Fang a thank-you-for-saving-me-from-myself look. When his eyes met mine, I shivered down to my sneakered toes.
Gazzy called over to me, “I can’t see anything!”
“I can’t see anything either!” Iggy complained.
“I’m rolling my eyes, Ig.” I had to tell him that because he couldn’t see me do it, what with his blindness and all.
“No, there’s, like, dust clouds below,” Gazzy clarified.
I glanced down, and sure enough — the blurry endlessness of sand was even more blurry.
“Not dust devils,” Fang said. His dark feathers were covered with a layer of dust, and grit was caked around his eyes and mouth.
“No.” I peered downward again.
Just then Angel said, “uh-oh,” which is always enough to make my blood run cold. In the next second, I focused sharply on a few dark specks at the front of the dust clouds. One of the dark specks raised a tiny dark toothpick.
This time I knew for sure that I wasn’t overreacting.
“Guns!” I shouted. “They’ve got guns!”
3
“QUICK! UP!” FANG SHOUTED, just as the first bullets strafed the air around me with ominous hisses.
I angled myself upward, only to see the shiny silver underbelly of one of the CSM planes, now flying right above us. It was pressing downward — the rough landing strip was maybe a quarter mile away.
“Drop back!” I yelled. We all went vertical as the planes continued to come down practically on our heads. To escape from the bullets, we’d had to fly up right under them. The engines were way too close — the noise was deafening.
“Watch it!” I yelled, as one plane’s landing gear almost hit Iggy. “Drop down! Drop down!” Bullets are bad, but getting smushed by landing gear, toasted by jet engine exhaust, or sucked into the front of an engine were all much less fixable.
I could now make out the sun-browned faces of the men on … oh, geez, were those camels? The men continued to aim their rifles at us, and I felt a bullet actually whiz by my hair. In about half a second, my brain processed the following thoughts lightning fast:
1) A bullet hitting the fuel tank on a plane: not a good situation.
2) Slowing down not good: slow + bird kids = drop like rocks.
3) Speeding up not good: fast bird kids + faster planes = getting flattened.
4) The only choice was to go on the offensive.
Fortunately, I’m very comfortable with being offensive — at least on the not-infrequent occasions when someone’s trying to gun down my flock.
“Dive!” I shouted. “Knock ’em down!”
I tucked my wings flat against my back and began to race groundward like a rocket. At this speed, these shooters would need radar and a heat tracer to land a bullet on me. I could actually see the whites of their eyes now, which were widening in surprise.
“Hai-yah!” I screamed — just for fun, really — as I swung my feet down and came to a screeching halt by smashing my heels right into a rider’s back. He flew off the camel, rifle pinwheeling through the air, and felt the joy of being airborne himself for about three seconds before he landed right in front of his pal’s camel.
“Get the rest!” I ordered the flock. “Free the beasts!”
There were about ten of these armed riders — no match for six hot, angry bird kids. We were used to dodging bullets; these guys were not used to aiming at fast-moving flying mutants. And the bonuses of being aloft are infinite: Snatching a rifle from the grip of a maniacal shooter isn’t as hard as you might think when you’re coming from above and behind.
Iggy flew in sideways and smacked one guy right off his camel, and Gazzy folded his wings around another’s face, causing him to panic and fall. I grabbed a gun and used it like a baseball bat, neatly clipping one guy in the gut, knocking him right off his ride. unfortunately, I didn’t rise in time.
Which meant that for the first time in bird kid history, I got plowed into by a panicky galloping camel — with no sense of humor. Its head hit me in the stomach, and I flipped over its neck, landing hard on the saddle.
“Awesome move, Max!” I heard Nudge call from somewhere behind me. Wasn’t she busy helping to take these guys out?
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