The Sky Is Falling

by James Patterson

  “This was someone conducting an experiment,” Fang said slowly. Frowning, he turned to Jeb. “Someone who’d want to be there to see the results.”

  Jeb held up a hand. “Don’t even go there, Fang. The accelerant would have had to be in a shared source—say, in the air or water at the house. I would have been affected too.”

  “But it wouldn’t affect you because you’re normal,” Fang objected. “You said so yourself.”

  “That’s just a theory,” Jeb said. “This was not my doing.”

  My mom interjected. “Let’s focus on the important thing here. Is there a way to undo this?”

  Jeb shook his head. “If I’m right, it would have been designed to start binding to their DNA immediately, inserting its enzymes and amino acids directly into their chromosomes.”

  I sank down onto a hard plastic chair. “Oh, my God.”

  “This could give us cancer!” Nudge said, blinking back tears.

  “Or turn us into, like, pterodactyls or something,” said Gazzy. “It wouldn’t take much.” He looked stoic.

  Jeb sighed. “We should contact Gunther-Hagen to see if he admits to any of this—or even if he won’t admit it, maybe he’ll give us clues as to what it is.”

  The idea of contacting the doc for help was totally crazy to me. Excuse me, but hadn’t Jeb just been shot by one of the man’s employees?

  “I would vote to get out of here, get to a safe house, and see what happens over the next twenty-four hours,” I suggested.

  “I’ll call a contact at the CSM,” said my mom, reaching for her phone. “He’ll be able to help us find a place.”

  But I had only one real desire right then: to go back to Colorado and drink the water. If my flock was going through this, I needed to go through it too.

  BOOK

  FOUR

  THE TOTALLY, COMPLETELY

  UNTHINKABLE

  67

  TOTAL WAS GLAD TO SEE us all again. His own horrible skin lesions were somewhat disguised by his black fur, but he was definitely suffering the same effects.

  “I feel like crap!” he said, once we were settled at the new safe house. “At first I thought I’d gotten some bad shrimp dip, but this is way beyond that.”

  “How’s Akila?” I asked. “She seem okay?”

  “Yes, thank God.” His small black eyes glittered. “Which reminds me. I’ve got some big news—”

  “Max? Come look at this sunset,” said Dylan. I’d been avoiding him ever since we got here, even though I’d felt his eyes on me whenever we were in the same room. Nudge had told me he was a great singer and could totally be a star, on top of being a great fighter who got along swimmingly with the rest of the flock.

  Without meaning to, I glanced across the room at Fang, who’d been talking to Gazzy and Iggy. His gaze was lasered in on me.

  “Oh, I’m sure it’s great,” I said to Dylan lamely. The picture window showed the low mountains off in the distance, and we could see a bit of the ocean if we leaned way to the left on the balcony.

  “You don’t know what you’re missing,” said Dylan, a wistful smile on his slightly less troll-like face. “But I’d understand if you want to keep your distance from”—he pointed at himself—“this mess.”

  “Can’t you, like, put some magic spit on it and make it all better?” I asked, only half joking.

  “Tried it already.” He chuckled. “I guess even the doc’s magic doesn’t work on bad teenage complexions. I’m doomed.”

  The irony of Dylan complaining about his usually perfect skin was not lost on me. I laughed, then smothered it, not willing to be sucked into his charm.

  The rest of the flock was starting to seem better too, as Jeb had predicted. They had more energy, and their skin looked less awful. If Jeb was right, their systems were absorbing the reactant, binding it to their genes, and soon it would be normal, a part of them. Greeaaaat. I kept waiting for antlers to pop out of their heads or for them to start understanding Akila when she barked. I mean, what the heck was going to happen to them?

  The next day the skin lesions were virtually gone. But we hardly even noticed because, lo and behold, something else was gone too.

  Angel.

  Do you want to join me in the next word? Okay, everyone all together now:

  Again.

  It wasn’t like the other times, when we had to mobilize our forces and piece together clues and leap out into the air on a rescue mission.

  This time, we only had to read the note.

  Dear Flock and Max and Dr. Martinez and Jeb and Dylan,

  You guys are wrong about Dr. Hans. He wants to help us, and for us to be the best we can be. You don’t trust him because you don’t trust anybody. But I want to be more powerful. I want to know what he’s working on. I’ve gone to work with him. Please don’t follow me. Things will only get messy if you do.

  Love,

  Angel

  P.S. I just want to remind you that Fang’s time is about up. Him being there puts the rest of the flock in danger. I’m sorry, Fang.

  68

  “CAN’T WE PUT a boot on her, like a little car?” Gazzy asked, rubbing his hair in frustration so that it stood straight up.

  “Yeah, maybe we should start locking her in at night,” I said wryly.

  “Could she have been… kidnapped?” my mom asked.

  We all quickly looked around. There was no sign of disturbance; everything was still locked. And the note was in Angel’s handwriting.

  “No, I think she decided to go,” I said. “As much as I wish that weren’t true.”

  “What does she mean about Fang’s time being up?” Jeb asked.

  “She said that in Africa,” said Nudge. “She said Fang was gonna die.”

  “Die?” My mom’s eyes widened.

  “She was just trying to get attention,” said Fang. “It doesn’t mean anything.”

  I suddenly had a thought, one of those awful thoughts that you hate right away and yet you can’t ever unthink it. I felt my heart start to pound as I stood up.

  “Fang? Let me see the back of your neck.”

  Those of us who graduated from (or, I should say, escaped from) the School have expiration dates, like milk. We first noticed them on some Erasers, after they had… expired. Dates, like little tattoos, showed up on the backs of their necks. They seem to become visible about a week, maybe less, before the built-in expiration gene kicks in. Do we have long, full lives ahead of us, or are we living on borrowed time? No clue. It makes retirement planning, like, impossible.

  Fang stood up. In the past year he’d gotten taller than I was, so I had to stand on tiptoe a bit to see his neck. I didn’t want to look—didn’t want to know. I couldn’t even let myself think of what it would mean if I saw a date there.

  But I’m not a coward. So I brushed his black silky hair off the smooth skin of his neck—the same neck I had kissed not long ago. I could smell his clean Fang smell, the one he inexplicably had even when he was noticeably filthy and covered in gore.

  And I looked.

  And saw… just smooth, plain, tan Fang skin. I let out a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding.

  “No date,” I quickly told the others, and they visibly relaxed.

  “Do I have a date?” Dylan’s quiet voice almost made me jump—I’d forgotten that he was there.

  “I don’t know,” I said. “You were made by different people, I think.”

  Uncertainty played across his once-again-gorgeous face.

  I took pity on him. “I could… look. I guess.”

  He came to stand close to me, and turned his back. His streaky blond hair wasn’t as long as Fang’s, but I still had to push it out of the way. And tug down a tiny bit on the neck of his maroon T-shirt. I hadn’t been this close to Dylan before, and I realized that he smelled good in a completely different way. Clean. Spicy.

  Then I realized what I was thinking, and my cheeks burned. I took a fast look at his neck and snatched my hands aw
ay. “No date. Not that that means anything.”

  “At least you don’t have one,” said my mom. “We know what having one means; we don’t know what not having one means.”

  Still, Angel’s note had reignited the fears I’d tried to bury. What if all of the attacks in recent days had been meant for Fang? The Eraser attack, the Cirque shooter, the Furioso incident—what if all of these had been designed to get Fang? I remembered how Dylan had chopped the woman’s gun out of her hand at the restaurant.

  He just might have saved Fang’s life.

  69

  “WHERE DOES DR. GOD hang out?” I asked. “Where exactly has Angel gone? How did she know where to find him?”

  Nudge headed to our computer. “On it.”

  “I’ll go with you,” Fang told me, already starting to load his pockets with knives, throwing stars, Snickers bars.

  “No,” I said, trying to sound calm. “I’ll go by myself.”

  He straightened up, and let me tell you, it was all I could do not to crumble and beg him to come with me. Any fight was possible with Fang as my backup. Any trip was more fun. But what if this was all designed to get him? I just didn’t know. I couldn’t take that chance. The thought of anything happening to Fang… it was much worse than thinking of anything happening to me.

  Fang, typically, didn’t start pelting me with questions. Instead he looked at me, cocked his head slightly, and thought things through.

  “You think you’ll have more chance of success without me?” he asked mildly.

  “No,” I answered honestly. “Of course not. But I’m willing to risk me. I’m not willing to risk you.”

  He opened his mouth to start arguing, but I held up my hand. “Fang, we don’t know what this whole ‘Fang’s time is up’ thing is about. But if it turns out that Angel’s doing this as part of that, then I don’t want to make it easy for them. You know?”

  I turned to Jeb. After the shooting incident, I felt I had to trust him more. “Are you going to be staying here for a while?” I asked him.

  He nodded.

  “You can’t go by yourself, Max,” said Dylan.

  I blinked. I mean, I don’t take direction from people I love, so direction from people I’ve practically just met? Not likely.

  “Um, I found an address in Malibu, weirdly enough,” said Nudge.

  “Malibu?” I frowned. “That’s practically next door.”

  “Max, what if something happens to you?” Dylan asked.

  I ignored him and turned back to Jeb. “If Fang is in any way harmed while I’m gone—if he gets a hangnail—you won’t see another morning. Are we clear on that?”

  Fang crossed his arms over his chest. “This is ridiculous. I’ve never needed a babysitter.”

  “Not a babysitter—just backup,” I told him. “Iggy, Nudge, and Gazzy are also on duty here. But I don’t think I’ll be gone long.”

  I moved to leave, and Dylan actually grabbed my shoulders. I was so surprised that I forgot to karate-chop his elbows and break his arms.

  “I don’t want anything to happen to you,” he said urgently.

  “What you want does not matter here,” I said slowly and carefully. I hoped Dylan was sensitive enough to read between the lines, to the subtext of: Let go of me or I’ll kill you.

  He let go of me. Fang was looking at him with narrowed eyes. I didn’t have time for this.

  “Okay, later,” I said, and strode off to save the day, once again. I hoped.

  70

  DR. HANS GUNTHER-HAGEN left his computer console and headed out to the terrace overlooking the ocean.

  “Max is on the way,” he said. “I thought it would take longer for her to find this house.”

  “Nah,” said Angel, dunking a strawberry into her nonalcoholic strawberry daiquiri. “They’re totally on top of the research, especially with that government computer.”

  “Government computer?”

  “Yeah. From the CIA or the NSA or something,” Angel said. She lay back on her patio lounger and adjusted her sunglasses. Her pure white wings were spread out to the sides, about nine feet across. The sunlight warmed the feathers, soaking in to heat the porous, light bones. It felt fantastic.

  “She should be here quite soon,” said Dr. Hans. He shaded his eyes and searched the sky, as if even now he’d be able to see her tiny silhouette against the blue.

  “Yeah,” said Angel, setting down her drink and closing her eyes. “I told you.”

  She listened to the doctor walk away, hearing every nuance of his steps. She smiled to herself but made sure to keep it off her face. This was why Max liked being the leader, she thought. It was amazing to figure out a plan and then have it work, just watch it all start to fall into place. It was like playing chess, but with real people. And the endgame was about to start.

  71

  MALIBU WAS BUILT on cliffs next to the Pacific Ocean. There was a narrow strip of dark tan sand, then a thin row of houses, then the Pacific Coast Highway, then cliffs dotted with more houses. I have one word, people: earthquake. I mean, hello, San Andreas Fault? Those houses would be toast crumbs if the big one hit.

  Dr. Gunther-Hagen’s house was overlooking the beach—I recognized it from the satellite photos Nudge had found. I held my breath and dropped down onto his terrace, hoping everyone around had their eyes glued to the hypnotic waves and the even more hypnotic all-girl beach volleyball competition taking place down on the sand.

  The first thing I saw—well, after a quick sweep to check out security teams, cameras, razor wire, etc.—was Angel, lounging on a… lounger.

  “Hi, Max,” she said, pushing her shades up onto her curls.

  “I hope you’re wearing sunscreen,” I said. “You’re gonna have hella wrinkles by the time you’re ten.”

  “Want some daiquiri?” she offered, pointing at a blender.

  “Is it traitor flavored?” I asked.

  Angel sighed and sat up as the sliding glass doors opened. Dr. Hans Gunther-Hagen came out, dressed in a crisp white linen suit. He smiled and held out his hands to me.

  “Maximum!” he said. “I’m so glad you’ve come to join us.”

  “Whoa, let’s get one thing straight, Hansie,” I said, keeping a healthy distance from him. “I came here for answers. I’m not joining nobody.”

  “That’s a double negative, Max,” Angel noted. If I was the one who had taught her grammar, I now regretted it.

  “Max, please, sit down,” said Dr. G-H. He gestured to a patio chair. I crossed my arms over my chest and looked at him.

  “What are you using Angel for?” I asked. “And what’s Fang got to do with it?”

  “Max,” said Angel, “there isn’t much time left for the world as we know it. If we want to survive, we have to join Dr. Hans and work with him.”

  “I’m going to take my chances surviving without him,” I told her. “Didn’t you read your Evil-Scientist Manual? I’m pretty sure this whole setup was mentioned on page seventy-eight.”

  “You can’t joke about this, Max,” Angel said earnestly, and I refrained from pointing out that I just had. “You have your Voice, and I have mine. We have to listen to them.”

  “I don’t know about your so-called Voice, Angel, but if it’s anything like mine, I can tell you this,” I said. “We can learn from them, if they don’t seem nuts, but we’re still supposed to be making our own decisions. Trust me on this.”

  “Max, things are going to get bad very soon,” said Dr. Hans. “We’ll have to function in a world that we can barely imagine—a frightening and primitive one. But there’s still time to save yourself. You and the rest of the flock. It’s not too late.”

  “Yeah, and all I have to do is divorce myself from any ethical standards whatsoever and jump onto the Untrustworthy Control Freak bandwagon,” I said. “No, thanks.”

  “All you have to do is let go of Fang,” said Dr. G-H. “Do that, and everyone else survives.”

  I stared at him. “No can do, Hans. No
nnegotiable.”

  “Are you saying you’d let Fang and the others die just because you’re being stubborn? Just because you won’t accept Dylan instead? Is he not a worthy suitor for our Maximum Ride? Tell me, Max: what’s wrong with him?”

  Well. He had me there. “He’s too… clean?” I offered weakly.

  Dr. Gunnie-Hunnie looked like a disappointed parent. “We worked very hard to make him just right for you, Max. You haven’t even let him get close enough to find out just how very… wonderful he could be for you.”

  What was that supposed to mean?

  I was quiet. Quiet some more. And all confused-like. “Well, it’s been swell. Gotta go.”

  “Max, please,” said Angel. “Save yourself. Save the others. Please.”

  “You have two seconds to get up and come with me,” I said to her. “But I’m leaving. If the world is about to come to an end, I want to spend my last days with my family.”

  “I’m staying here,” Angel said sadly.

  This was it? I was really losing her? Forever?

  It was a strangely mucked-up feeling. It seemed like yesterday that I was cuddling her when she was upset during thunderstorms. It was also just days ago when she was holding a gun on me. I didn’t know who she was anymore. But I hoped that my old Angel was still inside there somewhere, and that she would break free of whatever forces had taken her over.

  I swallowed and nodded.

  “Max, I could keep you here by force,” said Dr. God, steel in his voice. He nodded, and suddenly four armed guards stepped out of nowhere and pointed guns at me. Angel bit her lip. Quelle surprise.

  I made a face at him. “Yeah, but what’s the fun of that? Later. Enjoy the apocalypse.” Then I ran across the terrace, jumped over the edge, and threw myself off the cliff. No bullets zinged past me. My flock was waiting.