The Sky Is Falling

by James Patterson

  “He’s a natural,” I said, looking at Jeb and wiggling free of Dylan’s arm. “A quick study. Won’t need much more help from me.” I crossed the room and cut a piece of cake, feeling myself flush.

  “The flock has been filling me in,” Jeb said. “And I see you all turned a year older today.”

  “Yep.” I took a big bite of cake and perched on the sofa arm to eat it. Clearly Jeb had taken in the remains of the birthday party—the cake, the balloons, the decorations. Years ago, he’d organized the parties and bought the presents and got the ice cream. Well, he’d given up his right to do that. We didn’t need him anymore—not for anything. I hoped it broke his heart. “So, Jeb, why are you here?”

  “I miss you guys,” Jeb lied. I knew him too well. “I wanted to get you caught up on CSM stuff. And I wanted Dylan to see you again, and vice versa. Being with the flock is exactly what Dylan needs. Already, in half an hour, you’ve taught him more about who he is, what he is, than he’s learned in eight months.”

  “So how did you get a hold of him?” I asked. “I thought he belonged to Dr. Hunca-Munca. You just asked the doc to borrow him for a road trip?”

  “I’m standing right here,” Dylan said, sounding irritated. “But that’s okay. Talk about me like I’m not.” He crossed his arms over his chest as Jeb looked at him in surprise.

  “That’s the tricky part, Jeb,” I said snidely. “You guys are always stunned when your little creations, your science projects, turn out to have minds of their own. To want to do stuff for themselves instead of falling into line with whatever you have planned for them.” I pointed to Dylan. “He’s an actual person. He’s alive. He’s not just a bunch of genes that happen to function! When are you gonna learn? When are you going to quit playing God?”

  “I didn’t create Dylan!” Jeb protested.

  “But you brought him here so our skills could rub off on him, right? What about our skills of disobedience? Independence? Our inability to live in cages?” My voice had been rising, and now I realized that everyone else had gone silent. “What if all that rubs off on him?”

  Jeb rose to his feet. “I got you out of those cages!” he snapped.

  “You’re also the one who put us in those cages in the first place!” I was fuming. “You always seem to forget that part!”

  “And you always forget that I saved your lives!” Jeb yelled. I’d never seen him so angry—none of us had. “Not just once, but over and over! If it weren’t for me, you’d be dead by now! If it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t be alive in the first place!”

  The others were staring in shock. Looked like I’d blown our little party to all get-out.

  “Which one of us regrets that more, I wonder?” I said, and then I ran to the front door and jumped.

  37

  I SNAPPED OUT my wings before I hit the ground, and soared up into the rapidly cooling night air. My head was spinning, and it wasn’t only because of the four pieces of cake I’d had. Though right now I was regretting them.

  I needed answers. I needed someone to say, “This is how it is, without a doubt.” Only problem was, who would I trust to tell me that?

  You can trust me, Max.

  I groaned and rolled my eyes. Perfect. The Voice chiming in now was the perfect thing to push me right over the edge.

  Max, if you get pushed over the edge… you’ll just fly, right?

  I hated it when the Voice said things like that, turned my own words around on me.

  Yeah, sure. If one can snarl a thought, and I believe one can, I snarled that one. But listen, Voice, now that I have your attention—got a question for you: Why is Jeb really here? Why did he bring Dylan?

  The Voice was silent. My mind filled the silence with:

  Could Jeb possibly be here to carry out Angel’s prediction? To kill Fang?

  He’d brought us into this world. I knew he was capable of taking us out of it.

  And—had he brought Dylan to replace Fang?

  If Dylan was here so Fang could be eliminated, then World War III was about to break out.

  I clutched the snake necklace Angel had made for me. Fang wore the matching one around his neck. He was my perfect other half.

  I know you love Fang, the Voice said now, not answering my questions. Fang’s an amazing guy. But you two have too much history together. Dylan has… potential. Great potential.

  No way! I almost shouted out loud. I swear I’m gonna kick their butts out of here!

  Jeb has his own reasons for being here, said the Voice. But I want you to think about Dylan, the possibilities there. He could help you.

  Yeah? Like how? I yelled inside my head.

  He has incredible Sight. He doesn’t realize it yet. But he can see things happening far away, can see people across oceans—maybe even across time.

  I was so shocked I stopped flapping; only the wind yanking my wing muscles up tight made me snap out of it. That was exactly what my dream had been about—Dylan saying that to me.

  Max—if you and Fang are together, there’s only one flock. But if you and Dylan are together, and Fang is leading a different flock… you’re all twice as likely to survive in the event of an apocalypse.

  My fevered brain tried to process this. And who would Fang be with? What other flock? Are there more like Dylan?

  Again the Voice didn’t answer me directly. Big surprise. You and Fang are both too independent. You both tend to solve problems with force, violence. Dylan has different instincts. Which broadens your possibility for survival.

  The Voice was hitting me below the belt, in that it was using reason and patience on me. Totally unfair tactics. I lashed back. This is too weird and stupid, even for you, I thought scathingly.

  Max—confront your fears, said the Voice. Then it went silent.

  38

  I WAS STILL about a half mile from home when I smelled smoke. I sped up, and my heart seized as I saw the too-familiar bright flickering of flames coming from inside the house. I swooped inside and skidded to a halt in the foyer.

  Our couch was in flames.

  Jeb hurried in from the kitchen, Angel right behind him. He had a big mixing bowl of water, and Angel had a juice pitcher. They threw the water onto the couch, where it barely made a dent in the blaze.

  “What’s going on here?” I shouted as loud as I could to be heard over the din of bird kids yelping at one another. I lunged into the kitchen and grabbed a red cylinder out of the corner. “Any of you ever hear of a fire extinguisher?” I screeched as I put out the blaze.

  Everyone turned and started yelling at me, God only knows why. I covered my ears. “Where’s Fang?”

  Nudge put her hands on her hips, tears in her eyes. “Isn’t he with you?” she asked. “He’s always with you.”

  Just then, to complete my perfect evening, the automatic sprinkler system finally detected the blaze and went off, spraying us all, soaking everything with cold water. I stood there, my hair getting plastered down. The couch sputtered and fizzled and filled the air with the scent of Eau de Wet ’n’ Charred Upholstery.

  I gave Gazzy my best “You’re in so much trouble” glare and went out onto the back deck to look for Fang.

  On the deck, I jumped to the railing and balanced there, planning my search pattern. It wasn’t long before I could make out Dylan’s voice nearby—he was under the house, close to the edge of the cliff.

  I jumped over the railing and landed on the ground almost silently. I saw Dylan first, and then, with a flood of relief, Fang. They were standing tensely by a concrete piling. I could tell this wasn’t, like, guys’ night out.

  “This is bigger than you and what you want.” Dylan sounded ice cold. It was actually the first time I’d heard his voice like that, and it was unnerving somehow. “I’m telling you, the danger I saw today was real.”

  Fang’s voice was just as cold as Dylan’s. “Why should I believe you? We don’t know anything about you.”

  “I get that, Fang. What matters is that I kn
ow a lot about her,” Dylan said. “Probably even more than you do.”

  Fang’s face showed dark fury. I might have witnessed the first bird kid boy fight in history if I hadn’t bolted forward, my feet crunching on the gravel. “Fang!”

  They swiveled and saw me. Dylan looked taken aback, and Fang’s expression was angry and shut.

  “The house was on fire,” I greeted them tersely. “In case you’re interested.”

  They both glanced up overhead as if to make sure the house was still standing. Fang sniffed, smelling the smoke, and I saw comprehension cross his face.

  “It’s out, right?” he said.

  I just looked at him.

  “Is everyone okay?” Dylan asked stiffly.

  “I’m sure you had some super important and crucial reason for being out here,” I said, my words like icy spikes, “when the living room was going up in flames over your heads.”

  “Everything seems under control, Max.” Fang shoved his hands into his pockets as he redirected his eyes toward me.

  “We were talking about you,” Dylan—who hadn’t yet learned that honesty isn’t always the best policy—blurted out.

  Fang’s gaze sent daggers at him.

  I was now ready to crack these two numbskulls’ heads together. “Dylan, Flock Rule Number One: The safety of the kids is always most important. Period.”

  “I understand,” Dylan insisted. “But Max, I have to tell you that—”

  “And Flock Rule Number Two is, Don’t argue with Max or you’ll live to regret it.” I spun and stomped out to the clearing, turning back for one last jab at Dylan. “And by the way, you clearly don’t know me better than Fang does. Do you see Fang arguing with me? No, you do not.”

  Fang rolled his eyes. I jumped up and landed back on the deck.

  Advanced life-forms, my sweet patootie. Jerks. Both of them.

  39

  IT TOOK THE FLOCK about two seconds to correctly read the insane glint of rage in my eye, and they all scuttled out for cleaning supplies while I sloshed around the living room, cataloging damage.

  “Max.”

  I swung my head to see Jeb standing against a wall. Soot was smeared on his face, and his eyes were bloodshot. “Good job taking off like that,” Jeb said tersely. “You can’t just leave them on their own. And you can’t just run away from problems every time you get upset.”

  “Go jump!” I yelled at him. “How dare you judge me! You’re the one who left us all on our own, when we were much younger than this! You butthead!”

  “Let bygones be bygones, Max. I know we’ve had our differences, but we should put them behind us—for the good of the flock.” He gestured to the disaster before us. “This clearly isn’t working. You need help. I think I should come back and live here. I should take up where I left off.”

  “Forget it!” I told him in my best voice of authority. “There is no freaking way you will ever live in this house like one of us. I wouldn’t trust you if you were the last life raft leaving the Titanic!”

  “You haven’t done much better,” Jeb said. “Look at this place! Not to mention how the other kids are feeling so alienated by you and Fang now that you seem to have become your own cozy flock of two.”

  My face went red. No snappy comeback for that one.

  “We never intended for that to happen,” Jeb said—like “they” had made a whole flowchart of our lives before we were even born. That was the last straw.

  “Guess what? You don’t get to intend squat to happen in my life, ever again!” I shouted. “You don’t get to pick out what freaking socks I wear, much less anything else!”

  Jeb glared at me. “You’re not making good decisions, Max,” he said with quiet intensity. “You’re being run by your heart, not your head. That isn’t how I brought you up.”

  I thought my chest was going to explode. “You brought me up in a dog crate,” I said, trying not to shriek. “Those days are over. Forever.”

  40

  I HAD NIGHTMARES THAT NIGHT. I dreamed that I slapped Angel, hard, and her head split open—then her face peeled aside to reveal Mr. Chu, my old nemesis. I dreamed that Fang and I were dressed up and walking down an aisle in a church, but when I turned to look at him, he had the head of an Eraser. I dreamed that Ivory boy Dylan had disgusting boils on his face. Eew. I guess my subconscious was trying to make an oh, so subtle point: People aren’t always what they seem.

  It was late morning when I finally woke, feeling almost as if I’d been drugged. The amount of sun coming in the window told me it was almost lunchtime. I padded down the hall, the smell of smoke and charred couch becoming stronger. When I reached the living room, I stopped in surprise.

  It was almost empty. All the ruined furniture was gone. The water had been mopped up. Nudge was on a step stool, spraying the sooty ceiling with cleaner. Without a word, I went into the kitchen for some chow.

  Gazzy and Iggy followed me in, carrying dirty dishes and a pile of dirty clothes. Iggy dropped the clothes by the washing machine. When did these guys get so industrious?

  “What’s all that?” I asked.

  “I told them to clean up their pigsty,” Angel said. “Gaz, put those dishes in the sink. Iggy, start a load of laundry. Some of your clothes have mold on them.”

  Was I still having a nightmare? Since when did Angel give orders?

  I opened the fridge, but it was empty. I looked around and saw a couple empty cereal boxes, an empty bread wrapper.

  “Are we all out of food?” I asked.

  “Yeah,” said Angel, tapping a piece of paper with a pencil. “I’ve been making a list. Jeb said he’d stop at a store on the way back from the dump.”

  “Bless his heart,” I said sourly. “But I’ve always provided the food for this flock. You’re all acting like I’m not even here or something.” I felt the first prickles of tears starting in the backs of my eyes.

  Go figure: I didn’t cry when I had my ribs broken, but the flock taking care of themselves made me weepy. Angel stared at me.

  “Give me the list,” I said, trying not to rip it out of her hands. “I’ll deal with it. It’ll be faster, anyway.” Angel pushed the paper over to me. I poured a cup of coffee and sauntered out to the deck.

  My chest constricted when I saw Jeb down below. He had a pickup truck with an open-bed trailer hitched to it. Fang was on the trailer, tying down all the ruined, sodden furniture.

  Dylan was on the ground, shaking water off books and tossing them into the truck bed. He and Fang were careful not to look at each other.

  “Get that lamp, Dylan,” Jeb commanded, checking the hitch of the trailer. Dylan nodded and placed a lamp on top of an armchair. “The dump said they’d take anything.”

  “Oh, really?” I called down to him. “Do they take reject mutants and scientists too?” It was mean, but Jeb and Dylan didn’t seem to be getting it.

  They were not our family.

  I grabbed my jacket inside and jumped out the front door, over the canyon.

  41

  GAZZY WAS HOLDING HIS BREATH, cheeks puffed out, belly pushed out, arms at his sides.

  “Puffer fish!” Angel guessed. Gazzy shook his head.

  “Blister!” said Iggy, poking Gazzy’s cheeks. Gazzy shook his head.

  “Knish?” suggested Total. Gazzy shook his head.

  “We give up!” Nudge said. “What are you?”

  Gazzy let his breath out in a rush. “A grain of rice, cooking!” he said. “Obviously! I started off all skinny, then got bigger and bigger!”

  Dylan laughed. “Good one,” he said. “Never would have guessed—”

  A high-pitched whistling noise interrupted him and filled the room. Just as everyone was registering the smoking ball on the floor, it exploded.

  The explosion was small—a flash of blinding light, followed by a sickening stream of pink smoke. Everyone began coughing, practically retching from the noxious smell.

  Then, in the next second, there was a huge crunching
noise—from above.

  “Scatter!” said Gazzy.

  They all fanned out around the edges of the room. Angel motioned to Dylan to keep his back against the wall.

  “Oh, God, what is that stuff?” Nudge moaned, coughing into her sleeve.

  The shock of the gas cloud rendered them useless as the roof above them was ripped apart with loud splintering noises. Then an inhumanly large, hairy hand grabbed some Sheetrock from the ceiling and tore it away with long, ragged yellow claws.

  “Oh, my God,” Nudge breathed. “Is that an Eraser?”

  “Everyone, outside!” Angel ordered. It was always better to fight in the air than inside a building, and the smoke felt crippling. But as the flock raced for doors and windows, those doors and windows crashed inward, followed by the hulking, horribly familiar forms of Erasers.

  It was like waking up into a nightmare of the past.

  “Dinnertime!” one of the Erasers growled, and the others laughed—the same way the flock had heard so many times before. Their wolfish faces were split into ugly yellow-toothed grins, and their small mean eyes glittered with the excitement of the hunt. There were at least ten of them, and they easily weighed more than two hundred pounds each.

  The dogs bravely leaped at the wolfmen first. Akila managed to clamp her jaws around one’s ankle and draw blood before he kicked her away. Total took to the air, flitting around like a big black mutant moth, snarling and snapping, occasionally getting a bite of Eraser flesh.

  It was a good distraction. The kids had a second to catch their breath as the smoke began to dissipate. Then instinct kicked in, and in moments they had launched themselves at their attackers.

  “They still smell like garbage!” Gazzy yelled, as the first blows were exchanged. He felt like he might barf.

  “Okay, now I’m mad!” Iggy shouted.

  Angel glanced over to see a thin trickle of blood coming from his nose.

  An Eraser lunged at Angel, and she dodged, screaming bloody murder. She grabbed a floor lamp and connected with the Eraser’s heavily boned head, snapping it to one side.