After all they had been through the last few months—tsunamis, volcanoes, and living on the edge of starvation—they were still being hunted.
So Fang reacted like a hunted animal, one that had been cornered and threatened and beaten down too many times, an animal that just needed a way out.
He went completely ballistic.
He seized the head of the biggest beast, wrenching it toward him. Other Cryenas scrambled away, but many jaws still lunged at him, refusing to abandon their meal.
Fang’s fingernails tore at spotted flesh, his arms found strength to break bones, a couple of well-placed kicks cracked their thick necks sideways, and his teeth gnashed at anything that would bleed. Fang had finally snapped, and he would not back down.
It was only when he paused for a few ragged breaths that he saw that most of the Cryenas were dead or had run away, and he had torn the pack leader almost completely apart.
Fang toed the body cautiously. It was clearly dead, but a high frenzied howl was coming from the fallen
Cryena.
Fang grimaced as he peeled back synthetic skin that clearly hadn’t been made for these harsh elements. Real animal or not, dissecting this creature that had been clawing hungrily at him moments before felt grotesque.
But Fang needed every puzzle piece he could find that would lead him toward justice. He didn’t have time for squeamishness. He had to know.
The Cryena’s insides were a complex labyrinth of lab-grown bones and tendons, with added wires, sensors, and metal upgrades. It wasn’t like anything he had seen before—even the Flyboys had been more mechanical and better designed.
The creature’s howl went on and on. It seemed to echo his own anguish, and Fang wanted more than anything to make it stop.
He’d learned all he could here, so he used a rock to crush the robotic skull. The green light stopped blinking as the scene finally settled into silence.
There would be more Cryenas, he was pretty certain of that. Worse things, too, probably. But not yet. Not today.
He had given the flock a parting gift, given them the thing he himself wanted most in the world: a little more time.
Fang gazed up toward the cottage. He saw the shadowy outline of Total’s solid little body, his tail wagging.
The Scottie dog barked, and Fang raised a hand in farewell.
22
I FELT THE cold at my back when I woke, and sensed the emptiness there even before I turned.
Fang was gone.
Footprints in the film of ash led away from our secluded spot. Away from me.
I flung myself up, stumbling between the eucalyptus trees. I got tangled in the grasses and whacked my shin on a low stump, but I finally made it back to the house.
“Fang?” I couldn’t help calling, but I knew it was pointless.
The front door banged on its hinges as I burst inside, tracking ash behind me. Iggy and Gazzy turned from where they knelt next to the coffee table.
“Is Fang here?” I asked.
“Haven’t seen him,” the Gasman said.
He couldn’t have left. He would’ve told me, right? He couldn’t be gone gone. Especially when Iggy and Gazzy didn’t even seem to care.
My gaze traveled to the coffee table, where they had their backpacks and their various bits and pieces of explosives and weapons spread out.
“What are you…” I started to ask, but then I understood: They don’t care if Fang’s gone because they’re getting ready to leave, too. For real.
I’d thought we’d talk over the fight in the morning, make up and tease one another—like the old days. But their tense shoulders and distant expressions said otherwise.