Fang

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 ski

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 fa

“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.

“Di

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.