Fang

8

“PASS THE… GRUB,” said Iggy a few minutes later, holding out his hand.

“The brown grub or the yellow grub?” I asked. My face still felt flushed from my time with Fang. I hoped the others couldn’t tell.

“Either.” Iggy ran a hand through his reddish-blond hair, making it stand up stiffly with dirt and sweat. Later I was going to march everyone to the one water pump in this tent village, pump up a couple gallons of water, and try to decrust the flock as much as possible. We’ve got certain standards. They’re way low, but we have them.

“You guys did great today,” said Patrick. “You must be exhausted.”

“Um-hm,” I mumbled, picking up a white ball of millet paste. Dipped in the peanut-goat stew sauce, it was about a three on the Max Culinary Scale – above roasted desert rat or lizard-on-a-stick, but well below, say, a steak.

Roger, the nurse, handed Iggy a small dented bowl. “Dried fish, mixed with… stuff. Try it.”

We ate everything we could get our hands on. Living on the streets had beaten any pickiness out of us. Plus, we burn calories like a race car burns fuel, and we just couldn’t afford to not eat – whatever it was.

The fire leaped in front of us, looking pretty and feeling cozy and warm but smelling to high heaven, since its fuel was camel poop. Yes. I mean, a regular camel is no bed of roses, but its poop? On fire? The only one not wrinkling his nose was Gazzy. But as soon as the blazing sun had set, the desert temperature had dropped about thirty degrees, and the fire was welcome.

I ate, trying not to miss chocolate, and felt the warmth of Fang’s leg pressed against mine, here in the shadows. I was on my third pass of reliving our stolen minutes in the tent and already wondering when we could be alone again. These days I spent a ridiculous amount of time dreaming about someday just being able to spend all day with Fang. Alone.

Now my face was really burning. In my dream, the flock was safe somewhere, Total and Akila weren’t there, and no one was chasing us. I would have no worries, no need to be on alert. I could just relax. Which, okay, I suck at, but I was hoping that with practice…

“You guys met Jea

“She’s really special,” Angel said solemnly.

“Yes.” Patrick shook his head. “She used to have a father and four brothers. They’ve all died in the past two years, from either HIV or hunger or the outbreaks of civil war that keep happening. Now it’s just Jea

“Oh, no,” Nudge said, tears welling in her eyes. “So she’ll be an orphan?”

Patrick nodded sadly. “Most likely. In many other countries people can sometimes live long lives with HIV medications. But it’s different here. And there are so many other children like her.”

I choked down another millet ball (Note to self: Do not bother getting recipe) and looked around at my beloved flock, safe in a circle around the fire. Iggy was staring straight into the flames, able to because he was blind. Gazzy was examining each and every last bowl for any morsel that might have been missed. Nudge had her chin in her hands, looking at the ground, and I knew she was bumming about all the misery here. My life would have been incomplete without each and every one of them.

I glanced into Fang’s eyes to find him watching me with dark intensity, and my cheeks flushed again. Could we sneak off, like, into the dark shadows of the desert? Just for a minute?

“Nothing can last forever, Max.” It was Angel, eerily interrupting my thoughts. She was scratching at the dirt with a small animal bone. “And actually – I hate to tell you this, but Fang will be the first to die. And it will be soon.”

9

FIVE BIRD KID HEADS swiveled toward Angel. Nudge’s mouth had dropped open, and Gazzy’s eyes were big. Iggy’s boyish face creased into wrinkles. My dark, mysterious Fang hardly registered his surprise, as if Angel had just said it was about to rain.

As for me, I felt like Angel had kicked me in the gut. “What exactly do you mean by that?” I finally choked out.

“I’m just saying, Max,” said Angel, still playing with her bone. “You always want everything to stay the same. But it can’t. We’re all getting older. You have a mom. You and Fang are all googly eyed at each other. Nothing stays the same. We can’t last forever. And I happen to know that Fang is going to be the first to die. You’re go

My eyes narrowed and I stood up. “How do you know that?” I asked tightly. “What makes you say that?” The rest of the flock was watching, wide-eyed. Only Fang didn’t look upset.

“It’s okay, Max,” he said, patting my leg. “Don’t worry about it.”

Angel looked at him sadly and shook her head, and something in me broke loose. I grabbed her shirt and pulled her to her feet. Her mouth opened in surprise.

“What. Do. You. Mean,” I snarled.

Fang jumped up and tried to pry my hands loose. Nudge tried to get between us. I ignored them, focusing on Angel’s face.

“You tell me what you meant,” I said, “or I’m go

“Max!” hissed Fang, pulling at me. “Stop it!” But I was still shaking Angel.

“Max, stop,” pleaded Nudge, sounding close to tears.

“Is everything okay?” Patrick’s concerned voice started to filter into my brain as I realized what I was doing. I’d never almost hurt a member of the flock before. Abruptly, I let go of Angel’s shirt. Her face was white.

“Max, gosh,” said Nudge, putting her hand on Angel’s shoulder.

I was breathing hard, and Fang pushed me back gently, moving me away from Angel. How could she say something like that and not explain it?

“Max, come on,” said Fang.

I opened my mouth, but then noticed that two people were approaching our fire. This would have to wait.

10

“HELLO,” PATRICK SAID as the people got nearer. As they got close, we could see that there was a tall man and a tall kid. They were only silhouettes until they were almost on top of the fire.

“Hello, good evening.” The man had a foreign accent and was ridiculously dapper in a crisp, clean seersucker suit.

“Can I help you?” asked Patrick.

“Ah, yes,” he said. “I am Dr. Hans Gunther-Hagen. One of my companies is conducting research here – I donated the supply of vaccines your group is using.”

Patrick stood and quickly wiped his hands on his shorts before holding one out to Dr. Gunther-Hagen. “Oh, thank you so much!” he said, beaming. “I can’t tell you what a difference it makes! We really appreciate your generosity.”

The doctor smiled at him. “It was my pleasure. It’s a blessing to be able to share my prosperity with others.”

Roger leaned over to whisper in my ear. “Huge billionaire. Owns a hundred companies, most in pharmaceuticals.”

Another huge billionaire, eh? I wondered if he knew Nino Pierpont, the richest guy in the world, who sometimes funded our little adventures. Like, did billionaires hang out with each other? Talk about the countries they want to buy, that kind of thing?

“I heard that you have the bird children here,” he said.

My eyebrows went up. Patrick looked nonplussed and deliberately didn’t glance at us. “Oh?” he managed.

“Yes,” the doctor said, sounding friendly and curious. “I’m most interested to meet them. They’ve gotten such tremendous publicity. I was hoping to ask the leader of the bird children to come have breakfast with me tomorrow morning in my tent.”

Seconds ticked by. Patrick and Roger said nothing.