Max

by James Patterson

  "Uh-huh," I said. "Anything else?"

  "Yes," John said. "Just a minute ago, we received another fax. It showed Valencia being held hostage. She was alive when the picture was taken, but we don't know how long ago that was. We enlarged the photo, and the weird thing is, the background looks like she's being held on a boat."

  "Boat?" That didn't add up to anything. Oh, wait. Yes it did. When Mr. Chu's M-Geeks had grabbed me, they'd taken me to a boat. I remembered the rocking sensation. Crap.

  "We've called the FBI, of course," said John. "They're going over everything now. Someone's flying to Arizona to meet with Ella, see if she remembers anything helpful. But I wanted to make sure you guys were okay."

  "Yeah, we're okay." If "okay" was broadened to include the feeling of having your heart ripped out and stomped on.

  Life was easier when it was just the six of us. I'd had five other bird kids to worry about, protect, keep in line, care about. Now I had Total—who had somehow glommed on to us, I don't even know how—and my mom, and my half sister. My circle was still expanding, and it was too hard for me to keep track of everyone, keep everyone safe. I'd certainly failed here. Not telling anyone about Mr. Chu and his threats had put my mom in danger. Maybe cost her her life.

  "Max, you there?" Dr. Abate asked.

  "Yes." One-word answers seemed all I was capable of.

  "Listen—I've got to go talk to the FBI. They'll probably want to talk to you too. You were among the last people to see her. I want you guys to sit tight for a couple hours, okay?"

  "Hm," I said, unwilling to promise that.

  "Hole up there, protect yourselves, but stay put," he said again. "Let me get some answers before you go charging off."

  "I do not 'go charging off!' " I said, offended.

  "Yes, you do," John said, exactly when everyone else in the flock said it.

  "Your middle name is 'Charging Off,' " Total muttered, fortunately out of kicking range.

  "Okay, gotta go," said John. "We're going to try to figure out if we can tell where the boat was by what we can see in the picture. I'll call you as soon as I can. Stay by the phone."

  "Okay." I hung up, just as Fang turned toward me from the window.

  "In other news," he said, "the house is surrounded. It looks like those things from Mexico City."

  22

  SITTING TIGHT? Holing up? Waiting for answers?

  Those are all things I'm not good at.

  Planning a massive attack against mechanical geeky-like things when I was already furious and itching to kill something?

  Piece o' cake.

  I took a break from my plotting, clenching and unclenching my hands, to find five pairs of eyes locked on to mine. Iggy's gaze was locked to a point about two inches above my eyebrows. He's good, but he's not perfect.

  "What?" I said.

  "Dr. Abate said to sit tight," Nudge said.

  "Dr. Abate didn't know about the combat robots sent to kill us," I pointed out.

  "They haven't attacked yet," Iggy said.

  "Oh, gosh, I guess they won't, then," I said, rolling my eyes. "I just rolled my eyes, Ig. Anyway, how many of them are there?"

  "Looks like, about… eighty." Fang calculated the odds in his head. He nodded once: we could do it.

  I began to come up with an attack plan.

  "Maximum Ride."

  My eyebrows raised. The voice from outside had been loud, mechanical, and had mispronounced my name. Max-HIH-mum Ride. What a doofus.

  Gazzy had been kneeling at a window, curtain raised just enough for him to see. "These guys have… it looks like Uzis attached to their arms. Uzis. The automatic ones."

  He glanced at me, willing me to understand that it wouldn't be hand-to-wing combat. Eighty-plus submachine guns spewing countless rounds of bird-kid-piercing bullets would be significantly less fun than the rip-roarin', head-breakin', ankle-bustin' jamboree I'd pictured.

  "Hm," I said.

  "Max-HIH-mum Ride," the voice intoned again.

  I let out a deep breath. "Everyone, get upstairs to the hall, where there aren't any windows. Stay down, but be ready to do an up-and-away if you hear a bunch of breaking glass." I looked at Fang. Our hot-and-heavy make-out session in the desert seemed like a lifetime ago. Two lifetimes. "Should I answer him?" I asked, only half joking.

  "I think you should look at him," Fang said, and something in his voice made me frown.

  As the flock scuttled upstairs, I sank to my knees and crawled to a window. Despite Gazzy's repeated pleas that we get a pair of night-vision goggles, we do see excellently in the dark. So it wasn't hard for me to focus on the leader in front, the one calling my name.

  What I saw was like ice water being poured down my back.

  I looked at Fang, who was crouched in the living room's darkness, waiting.

  "But he's… dead," I said, my voice hollow. "I mean, dead again."

  Fang's face was grim. "They just made it look like that to freak you out."

  I nodded slowly. "They succeeded."

  The head robot-soldier had been enhanced, its outer covering made to look more human. Made to look exactly like Ari, my half brother, who I'd killed once, saw killed once, and had buried not that long ago.

  23

  MY FIRST THOUGHT was Jeb. He'd created the first Ari—maybe he'd had enough DNA left to create another one. Then I thought about how distraught Jeb had seemed at Ari's funeral.

  I took another look.

  There were slight differences. The curve of his eyebrows, the wave of his hair. Maybe it wasn't really Ari's genes. Just a similar thing made to freak me out, like Fang said.

  "So where are these guys from?" Fang asked quietly, crouching next to me on the floor. "They were in Mexico City. Now they're here. What do they want?"

  "They want me—us—to quit working for the CSM," I said. "Remember when I came back with my new, ventilated wing? They did it—they took me to a guy called Mr. Chu. Short, I think he's Chinese, major bee up his butt. Mr. Chu told me he'd find a way to make me stop working for the CSM. He said he represented a bunch of super-powerful businessmen."

  "And your response was…"

  "Unsatisfactory, I guess." I peeped through the window again: The things had moved closer. They were about twenty yards from the house. The leader was still out front, and I sensed he was about to mispronounce my name again.

  "And you didn't tell anyone because…" Fang had that too-patient tone in his voice that let me know that he knew that I knew that he knew that I'd screwed up.

  "I wanted to do some research," I said too defensively, which let him know that I knew that he knew that I may have conceivably perhaps not chosen the best possible route in this particular instance. "Later I mentioned it to the Jebster, and he went pale like someone had sucked all the blood out of his head." Okay, I guess that's a gross image. But still. "And then he convincingly said, 'Gee, no, haven't heard of him.' As if I'd had my brain removed and I might believe that."

  Fang said nothing, which meant that he was thinking. He says nothing and thinks more than anyone I know.

  "Max-HIH-mum Ride," said the Ari wannabe.

  "How hard would it be to program him to say my name correctly?" I fumed.

  "You must not leave the area," said the voice.

  I peeked out through the curtain again. The Ari-thing was closer, standing directly in the moonlight. I peered at him, and something about him made my blood run cold—and it wasn't just his Ari-ness.

  "Fang," I whispered. "Look at him. He might not be a robot."

  Fang rose slightly and took a look. "Hm." There was a whole unspoken paragraph there. You had to read between the lines.

  I looked out again. The combat-bots were huddled together, forming an almost perfect circle that I assumed went around the whole house. Their knees were bent, their Uzi-arms raised and braced. Primed and ready for action.

  But it was the main guy who stuck out. Despite his jerky movements and mechanical voice, he seemed oddl
y—human.

  "Ew," I whispered, struck by a thought. "You know how Itex stretched skin stuff over their 'bots to make 'em look like Erasers, or just more humanoid? This guy—it's like they took a person and then built a robot inside of him. Going from the inside out instead of the outside in. You know? Gross." My nose wrinkled as I pondered this.

  Fang looked at me silently for a few seconds. "Is it hard, being you?"

  "Yes, it is, actually," I said snidely. "For the record. But are you saying that that's impossible? That no one could possibly be twisted enough to take a person and then grow a cyborg inside it? Gosh, that couldn't happen, not in today's world!" I made my eyes big. "That's almost as unbelievable as a bunch of scientists grafting avian DNA into human embryos! It's the stuff of science fiction! It couldn't possibly ever happen!"

  "Why are you shouting?" came Gazzy's whispered voice from the stairs.

  "I'm not shouting!" I said, lowering my voice. "Just scoping out the enemy, as usual."

  "Oh," said Gazzy. "Well, keep scoping, 'cause they're about to blow up."

  24

  YOU COULD LOCK the Gasman in a padded cell with some dental floss and a bowl of Jell-O, and he'd find a way to make something explode.

  I immediately crawled away from the window and hunkered down behind the couch. "Blow up?" I repeated. With Gazzy, we take life-saving precautions first and ask questions later.

  "If you leave the area, you will be terminated with extreme prejudice," said the voice outside.

  Gazzy cackled. "What a butthead. Wait till you see what's gonna happen!"

  I glanced at Fang, who had moved under a table. "Did you leave the flamethrowers lying around again?"

  He shrugged. "I always forget."

  Inside, the house suddenly seemed darker. I looked at the windows. There was no moonlight shining under the curtains. Then I heard the far-off rumble of thunder. We were in the middle of the desert—not a big rainstorm area.

  "God in heaven. He can't manipulate the weather now, can he?" I asked Fang anxiously.

  Fang dropped his head into his hands and groaned.

  "Max-HIH-mum Ride."

  "I AM a dumb-bot!" I couldn't help snickering. Fang's shoulders hunched.

  More rumbling thunder. Windowpanes rattling. I peeped over the top of the couch and could barely see the leader-guy through the inch of exposed window. He was looking up at the sky with Ari's confused expression.

  "Okay, here it comes," I heard Gazzy say from upstairs.

  "Did you set the thing?" Iggy asked him.

  "Yup."

  "Point it away from the house?"

  Oh, yes, please, point whatever it is away from the house, I wished fervently.

  "Duh, yeah," said Gazzy. He chuckled. "Should be any second."

  Suddenly the entire area was lit with a massive lightning bolt—despite the curtains and shades on the windows, the living room was as bright as day. At almost the exact same time, there was a horrible buzzing, crackling sound, and every bit of electricity in the house died—tiny status lights winking out, the AC halting abruptly. Then there was a huge boom of thunder that I felt deep in my stomach.

  With an ear-throbbing pop! it was over.

  Silence.

  "Oh, way, way awesome, dude!" Gazzy shouted, laughing maniacally. I heard many slappings of high fives.

  "Did it do it?" Iggy asked. "Never mind—I can smell it."

  "It so did it, man!" Gazzy said excitedly. "This was the pinnacle of our pyromania!" I stood up cautiously as he raced downstairs. Fang crawled out from under the table.

  "Max!" Gazzy said, running to me. "We saw big thunderheads forming in the distance—the first time in years, I bet! Then—check it out! This house had a lightning rod on the roof! That's a metal pole that sends any lightning bolts into the ground. We disconnected it, aimed it at the dumb-bots, and enhanced its powers a tad! Next thing you know, they're extracrispy! And the best part? They were standing so close together that they helped fry each other!" He hugged himself, jumping up and down. "I'm brilliant! I'm a genius! I can blow up the world!"

  I raised my eyebrows.

  "Not that I would want to, of course," Gazzy said, and gave a little cough.

  "Should we look outside?" Total asked.

  Fang was already standing at a window, using one finger to move a curtain aside. "They're fried, all right. There's barely enough parts left to make a can opener."

  Gazzy and Iggy crowed some more and slapped high fives again. Somehow, even though he can't see, Iggy never misses a high five. It's a little creepy.

  I opened the front door slowly. There was a wide, charred circle around the house, littered with 'bot bits and smoking electronics. "See if there are any salvageable weapons," I directed. The Ari dobblyganga doppergung dobblemunger look-alike was lying on the ground, mostly in one piece. Mostly human, with a 'bot substructure. Again, ew.

  I walked over to him, and it was pretty awful. I can destroy a hundred 'bots and still whistle cheerfully, but this poor mess on the ground seemed as much a victim as we were. Some crucial parts of him were missing, but his eyes blinked as I approached. This close, he still looked a ton like Ari, but I could tell it wasn't a perfect copy.

  Then I remembered that this creature had been prepared to exterminate my family, and that my own mother had been kidnapped, and that the flock had been hiding in the dark wondering if they were about to die.

  "So," I said, leaning down a bit, "how's Mr. Chu, that scamp?"

  His head twitched, and the light behind his eyes went out.

  "Tell him hi for me!" I said, then looked at the flock. "Pack light. We're moving out."

  25

  THE PHONE RANG just as we reentered the dark house. I stared at it.

  "Regular corded phone. Not connected to the electrical system," Iggy clarified, somehow knowing what we were all wondering.

  I grabbed it. "What?"

  "Max—good, you're there," said John Abate. "We've got some details about Valencia's disappearance, but I don't want to discuss them on the phone. We've been tipped that your house might be under surveillance."

  "Um, not so much," I said, thinking of the mess outside.

  "To be on the safe side, we're sending a car for you. It should be there in about an hour."

  "It'll be dawn then," I said, suddenly feeling exhausted and headachy and newly upset about my mom. "Better make it an armored one."

  26

  THE SIGHT OF dawn breaking over the horizon, slowly dispelling the darkness with tendrils of pink and cream, literally the start of a brand-new day—you know how that fills people with joy and hope and a will to somehow go on?

  Those people are nuts.

  Our dawn showcased a football field of destruction: charred earth, shattered cacti, a blackened spew of twisted metal and melted wires, plus the mangled wreck of some poor sap who had been created to be a weapon in someone else's war.

  We were all waiting in the living room when the armored Hummer arrived in a cloud of dust. Angel and Gazzy were asleep. Nudge was sitting, unusually quiet, her chin resting in her hands. Iggy and Total were snoring on the other couch.

  I was purposely not looking at Fang. After making some progress, so to speak, with whatever was happening between us, I felt all my protective shields firmly locked in place again. I couldn't believe how vulnerable I'd allowed myself to be. It had been a mistake.

  Fang was going to kill me when I told him. Yeah, I was looking forward to that.

  When the car arrived, I checked it out from behind a curtain. Dr. John Abate stepped out of it, looking anxiously at the evidence of the fight. I opened the front door of the house.

  "Hi," I said. I'd met him several times, and he seemed okay. I knew he was one of my mom's best friends, and his face showed the worry he was feeling.

  His face relaxed, and he came over. "They got the worst of it, huh?" he asked, gesturing to the piles of remains.

  "Always do," I said tiredly.

  "Max!"
>
  I froze at the new voice. Yes. To make my evening of horror complete, Dr. Brigid Dwyer stepped out of the Hummer and hurried over to me with a big smile, her red hair flashing.

  I allowed myself to be hugged.

  "I'm so, so sorry about your mom," she said sincerely. "We'll get her back—I promise."

  I nodded, then stood there like a dummy as the rest of the flock came out of the house to be hugged by Brigid. Watching her hug Fang, seeing his arms go around her, was almost enough to make me hurl.

  I might need to rethink my protective armor a bit.

  "Let's hurry," said Dr. Abate. "We've got a plane waiting. On the way, you can fill me in on what happened. And vice versa."

  "Max," said Nudge, and instinctively I braced. I'd known something was up.

  "Get in the car, sweetie," I said, pretending not to notice anything was wrong.

  She swallowed. "I'm staying."

  "You can't. It's not safe."

  "I'll be safe at the school, in the dorms," she said. She gestured limply to the house, its surrounding wreckage. "I can't do this anymore. I want to go to school. I just want to be a kid. At least for a while."

  I had a million excellent arguments why she was wrong and making the biggest mistake of her life, and I opened my mouth to get started, and then it hit me: it would be pointless. Nudge wasn't four or five. She was around eleven and would be as tall as me in another year or so. She really meant she couldn't do this anymore.

  If she didn't want to be with us, didn't want to fight, she would get hurt—bad. She might cause one of us to get hurt or killed. I needed my flock to be fierce, bloodthirsty warriors. Nudge's heart just wasn't in it, and I couldn't fix that. Oh, God.

  I swallowed hard, making my chin stiff, my mouth firm. I'm the flock leader because I can do the gnarly jobs. "You may not get your wings taken off," I said sternly.

  Wonder dawned in her big brown eyes as she realized what I was saying. A huge smile lit her face, and she hugged me fiercely, forcing the air from my lungs. "You may get your ears pierced," I croaked, trying to breathe. "Or your nose. Or—actually, nothing else. And you absolutely, positively, may never, ever get your wings removed, or I swear to God, I will come kick your skinny, fashion-conscious butt into next week. Do you hear me?"