The Final Warning

by James Patterson

  Don’t mind if I do, Kevin Okun. “Uh, a Diet Coke? One that hasn’t been opened yet.” Can’t be too careful.

  He handed me a sealed can and a plastic cup of ice. Across from me, Nudge sat up eagerly. “Do you have Barq’s? It’s root beer. I had it in New Orleans, and it’s fabulous.”

  “I’m sorry — no Barq’s,” said Kevin Okun, our steward.

  “Okay,” said Nudge, disappointed. “Do you have any Jolt?”

  “Well, that has a lot of caffeine,” he said.

  I looked at Nudge. “Yeah, because after everything we’ve been through, we’re worried about your caffeine intake.”

  She grinned, her smooth tan face lighting up.

  The steward put the drink on the little table between me and Nudge.

  “Thank you,” Nudge said. The steward headed back to the galley, and Nudge reached for the can.

  When her hand was still a couple of inches away, the can slid toward her fingers, and she grabbed it.

  Instantly we looked at each other.

  “The plane tilted,” she said.

  “Yeah, of course,” I agreed. “But . . . just to see, just for our own amusement, let’s . . .” I took the can away from her and put it back on the table. I reached for it. It stayed put.

  Nudge reached for it.

  It slid toward her.

  Our eyes wide, we stared at each other.

  “The plane tilted again,” Nudge said.

  “Hm,” I said. I took the can away and had her come at it from a different angle. The can slid toward her.

  “I’m magnetic,” she whispered, half awed and half horrified.

  “I hope you don’t start sticking to fridges and stuff,” I said in disbelief.

  Fang dropped down next to me, and the Gasman joined us, squishing in next to Nudge.

  “What’s going on?” Fang asked.

  “I’m Magnet Girl!” Nudge said, already coming to terms with her new skill.

  Eyebrows raised, Fang picked up a metal pen and held it against Nudge’s arm. He let go, and it dropped to the floor.

  Nudge frowned. Then she reached down for the pen, and it flew into her hand from a few inches away.

  Gazzy gave a low whistle. “You’re kind of magnetic. Cool!”

  “No, that’s not it,” said Fang quietly. “It’s that you can attract metal — maybe only when you want to.”

  Well. The rest of the flight zipped by as we played with Nudge’s bizarre newfound ability. When we got close to DC, Jeb came over to give us a ten-minute heads-up. One glance at our faces and his eyes narrowed.

  “What’s going on?” It was the same dad-like, no-nonsense tone that he had used years ago, when it was just us and him in our secret house in the Colorado mountains. He’d made that exact face the day he found the frogs in the toilet. I remembered it so clearly, but it seemed like three lifetimes ago.

  Before I could say, “Nothing,” Nudge blurted, “I can make metal come to me!”

  Jeb sat down, and Nudge demonstrated.

  “I don’t know why you can do that,” he said slowly. “As far as I know, it was never programmed in.” He looked around at all of us. “It’s possible . . . It’s possible that maybe you guys are starting to mutate on your own.”

  6

  You are reading Fang’s Blog. Welcome!

  You are visitor number: 4,792

  Whatever the tally counter at the top tells you, your number is actually way higher than that. Our counter thing broke, and we finally got it working again. But it started again at zero. Anyway, thanks for checking in.

  We’re all okay, but we just buried a friend. I know some of you out there have lost someone close to you, and now I get a little bit of what it’s like. The guy who died — I knew him for a long time, but not that well, and for the past six months, I’ve hated his guts. Then I suddenly didn’t. Then he died.

  For me what was harder than losing him was watching what it did to people around me. The one thing I really can’t stand is when Max and the others are in pain or upset. Not upset like in angry or teed off, ’cause God knows if that got to me I’d be totally out of luck. But upset like in crying, sadness, regret — all that stuff. I hate it. It kills me. I know what it takes to make these kids cry, to make Max cry, and I hate that they had to go through that.

  But enough of all that emo stuff. The end result is: We’re all good. We’re all alive. I’m glad about that, about the six of us. They’re who matter to me. Even when Max is being a pigheaded, stubborn idiot dictator, she’s still the one I want by my side. Though I can feel myself getting ulcers and gray hairs from dealing with her.

  Anyway! We’re on our way to a hush-hush meeting with some top-secret bigwigs, ooh. Yep, fighting to the death one day, drinking frosty little drinks on a private jet the next. It’s enough to make anyone schizo.

  I don’t have too much else to say right now, so I’ll answer some questions that you guys have sent in.

  Dylan from Omaha writes:

  Its so cool that you guys can fly. Do you have any other super-powers?

  Well, Dylan, yes we do. Iggy is a crack accountant, as long as someone reads him the numbers. And Gazzy can whip up a lemon meringue pie like nobody’s business.

  No, seriously, we may have a couple tricks up our wings, but we’re not gonna tell you or anyone else. The more that people know about us, the more ways they can think up to mess with us. Capiche? Nothing personal.

  — Fang

  Sweetmarie420 from Gainesville writes:

  When you guyz grow up, will you lay eggz or have babeez ♥?

  With any luck at all, I won’t do either. Not sure about Max, Nudge, and Angel. Don’t wanna find out anytime soon.

  — Fang

  Zeroland from Tupelo writes:

  I wish ida been there at your big battle, man. It woulda been so awesome!!!!

  Kid, you need another definition for awesome. You don’t want to be anywhere near one of our battles. I don’t even want to be near our battles. Unfortunately, the evil idiots usually don’t give me a choice.

  — Fang

  MelysaB from Boulder writes:

  I know you have to hide out sometimes. I’m a guide in the Colorado mountains around Boulder, and I could help you find some good hiding places.

  Thanks, MelysaB. We love the Colorado mountains. And we’re never gonna take you up on your offer. If you’re one of Them, then this is a trap. If you’re not one of Them, then doing anything for us puts you in danger. But thanks anyway.

  — Fang

  Okay, gotta go. Peace out.

  — Fang

  7

  IT HAD BEEN only a few days since I’d seen Dr. Martinez — aka Mom — but it was great seeing her again.

  Ella, my half sister, was back home in Arizona, but Mom had come to DC to be with us at our big meeting. We hugged for a long time, then she hugged the rest of the flock, who ate it up. Total coughed meaningfully at her feet, and she leaned down and hugged him too.

  Mom and Jeb took us to a safe house where we could rest up before the meeting. To us, the words safe house have about as much meaning as jumbo shrimp. No house would ever feel safe enough. Maybe if it were on Mars, and we could see rockets coming from thousands of miles away . . .

  After a fabulous hot shower, I got into clean clothes and untangled my hair. It was getting longer, after being cut pretty short in New York, months ago. I looked at myself in the mirror and, bonus, didn’t see an Eraser looking out at me with my eyes. This had happened to me a couple times in the past, completely freaking me out.

  I didn’t look like a little kid anymore. I looked older, like a teenager.

  “What are you doing in there, waxing your mustache?” Iggy yelled, pounding on the bathroom door.

  I yanked the door open and pushed him backward hard, making him stagger. “I don’t have a mustache, you idiot!” Iggy giggled and put his arms up to protect himself in case I punched him. “And you know what?” I added. “You don’t hav
e one either. Well, maybe in a couple years. You can always hope.”

  I left him in the hallway, anxiously fingering his upper lip.

  In the living room, the rest of the flock sat around looking uncomfortable and unnaturally clean. As soon as I appeared, Total trotted over to me, his fur glossy.

  “I got bathed!” he grumbled.

  “You look lovely,” I said with a straight face. I patted his back. “You’re all fluffy and soft.” I left him while he was deciding whether to be appalled or flattered.

  Fang was standing by a front window, gazing out from behind a privacy curtain.

  “Anything going on out there?” I asked.

  He flicked a glance at me, shook his head, then took a longer look. “What happened to your tan?”

  “It was dirt.”

  He grinned, one of his rare grins that make the world spin a little faster. As if he didn’t know what he was doing, he reached out and touched my hair where it lay on my shoulders. “You look . . . like a girl.” His voice held bemusement.

  “There’s a reason for that,” I said seriously.

  “No, I mean like a real —” He seemed to catch himself, shook his head, and looked back out the window.

  I crossed my arms. “Like a real what?” Watch your step here, Fang, I thought, or I’ll flatten you.

  While he hesitated, Nudge came up. “Ooh, Max, you look great!” she said, admiring my clothes. “That top is totally hot! You look like you’re at least sixteen!”

  “Thanks,” I muttered, now feeling embarrassed. Since my usual attire is ancient and usually bloodstained T-shirts and jeans, I guess I did look a little different.

  Okay, Max.

  My eyes flickered when I heard the Voice inside my head. (You mean you don’t have one? You can get ’em at Target.)

  This meeting is very important, so no funny business. Just remember your mission, keep your mind open, and listen to what they have to say.

  Yeah, whatever, Jeb, I thought. Save the world, yada, yada, yada. You can go now.

  I’m not Jeb, said the Voice. You were wrong about that.

  Huh? I thought blankly.

  You have part of the picture, Max, said the Voice. Not all of the picture. Sometimes when you’re at your most certain, that’s when everything you know is wrong.

  Oh, God, not again. I wanted to scream. My whole life was taking two steps forward and one step back. Would I ever just get ahead?

  You’re making progress, the Voice assured me. You’re a couple steps ahead.

  Just then Jeb came into the room. He rubbed his hands together as if he were cold. “Time to go, kids.”

  8

  YOU’VE ALL SEEN the Capitol Building in Washington DC, like on postcards, right? It’s the big white one with the dome on top that isn’t the White House. Anyway, it’s gigundo. We drove up in our black limousine, feeling like celebrities. Inside we were led through a series of hallways and stairs until we were in a large conference room with a great view of some gardens.

  In the conference room, about twenty people sat around a big wooden table. Some of the people were in military uniforms. Everyone sat up and turned to stare at us when we came in, surrounded by Secret Service agents. I didn’t even know I wanted to hold someone’s hand until Mom laced her fingers in mine and gave a squeeze. Suddenly it all seemed better.

  “Welcome. Thank you for coming.” A tall man in an olive green uniform came forward and solemnly shook hands with Jeb, then Mom, then all of us kids. “Please sit down. Would you care for something to drink? We have coffee, tea, soda, ice water . . . Oh, and I see you brought your dog. A cute little Scottie.” He smiled uncertainly, as if wondering why someone had let an animal into the building. I bit my lip, wondering if Total was going to mouth off. But he didn’t. He just seethed quietly and hopped up onto his own chair by Angel’s.

  The next hour was like, “This is your life, mutant bird kids!” They didn’t have any pictures or film of us when we were little and still living in dog crates at the School. But the past six months were decently documented. They had films of us flying, way overhead, and footage of various fights with people, Erasers, and the latest heinous incarnation of enemies, the Flyboys. There was some footage of us just chilling at Anne Walker’s house in northern Virginia. It made me tense up and get mad all over again.

  Last, there were about three minutes of choppy, grainy film that had been shot inside Itex’s picturesque German headquarters. It showed me squaring off against Omega, poster boy for pathetic losers. It showed the riot that some of the clones had started, and the crowd of angry kids breaking through the castle wall.

  It showed Ari dying.

  The film stopped, and the dimmed lights brightened. Shades lifted automatically, revealing the large windows again.

  Now I was in a totally rotten mood. It was bad enough that I was all dressed up like some fashion geek, but I’d managed to not think about Ari for about five minutes, and then I had to watch him die all over again. I snuck a glance at Jeb, who was white faced, one hand clenched tightly around a pencil as he stared at the table.

  “You six are most impressive.” A woman in a tailored gray skirt-suit stood up and poured herself a glass of water. She smiled at us, but it was the kind of smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

  “We’ve asked you to come here today because we’re very interested in your future,” said an older man. “We — the American government, that is — didn’t know of your existence until quite recently. Now that we know, we want to protect you and also explore whether we can be useful to each other.”

  They were certainly putting their cards on the table. Usually there was a lot of mumbo jumbo about how special and unique we were, et cetera, but what they were always really getting at was: Can we make you do what we want you to?

  So far the answer had always been “Nope!”

  The man paused, looking at us one by one, as if waiting for a response. He got none.

  “One way we could be useful to you would be for us to create a school, a place where you could live safely.” A younger blond woman was talking to us, but clearly her words were aimed at Jeb and my mom. Like they made decisions for us or something. “You’re very gifted at survival, but there are significant gaps in your education. We could fill in those gaps, help you realize your full potential.”

  Again there was a pause while the government people waited for us to jump up and down with excitement over the idea of going to school. School was, of course, an unfortunate word choice on their part.

  “To what end?” My voice was clear, no wavering.

  “Excuse me?” The younger woman looked at me.

  “What would you guys get out of it?” I asked. “Besides the sheer joy of helping us fulfill our potential.”

  “We would get to study you, frankly,” said a tall, lean man who, I kid you not, looked just like Bill Nye the Science Guy. “You’re like nothing we’ve ever seen before. The idea that human children can actually fly is mind-blowing. While you’re at the school, we could study you, understand the physical changes that enable you to fly.”

  “To what end?” I asked again. “So that you can make more of us?”

  The man looked genuinely surprised. “No,” he said. “Just to . . . understand.”

  I decided I liked him. Too bad he was one of Them.

  “Okay, say you get to study us,” I said agreeably. “Somehow you get us to believe that it wouldn’t be a complete nightmare for us to be hooked up to sensors while we run on treadmills, or to hold our own in wind tunnels while you film us flying. Then what?”

  Silence.

  9

  AN OLDER MAN with the collar stars of a general spoke next. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, what else?” I said. “You study us; you get the warm fuzzies from helping us with all that potential we have lying around. What else do you want from us?”

  The general’s blue eyes were cold and intelligent in a ruddy, grandfatherly face.


  “What makes you think there would be something else?” he asked.

  “Um, because I’m not a complete moron?” I offered. “Because no grown-up has ever been completely straight with us? Because I don’t believe for one second that you’re giving us the whole story. I don’t believe for one second that all you want is to study us. You know and I know that you’ve got ulterior motives up that crisply starched sleeve. The only question is, when are you gonna show us what they are?”

  The government people all seemed taken aback. It was kind of sad, how universally grown-ups seemed surprised when kids didn’t unquestioningly fall into line. I mean, what kind of kids were they used to dealing with?

  I waited a minute while they regrouped. My mom squeezed my hand under the table. One by one I quickly met the flock’s eyes: Fang’s were alert, Iggy’s were leveled directly at me, Nudge’s were wide and trusting. The Gasman’s were full of mischief, and I had a moment’s worry before I realized he probably couldn’t have snuck any explosives into this building. Angel was watching me calmly, and now she gave me a little smile. Total put his paws on the table and drank noisily from a glass of water. People looked at him, horrified, and I almost cracked up.

  “Any other questions?” I asked, deciding it was time to wrap up this sideshow.

  “Why wouldn’t you want our protection?” a woman asked, seeming truly baffled. I guessed she hadn’t been working there too long.

  “Because it comes with a price, with strings,” I explained. “The price is too high, and the strings are too tight.”

  “You’re children,” said a middle-aged man in a blue suit. “Don’t you want a home, a family?”

  “With, like, vitamin-fortified cereal and educational television?” I asked, my eyes wide. My voice hardened. “You didn’t offer us a home and a family. You offered us a school, where we could be studied. Next question.”

  “It would be patriotic of you to help your country,” the blond woman said stiffly.

  “And it would be nice if the Easter Bunny were real,” I answered. “But it’s interesting that you’ve gone from wanting to study us to wanting us to help our country. Next question.”