“Justice!” Nudge cried, slamming a door shut.
There were five guards down, but several to go. Mr. Chu and Dr. Hans were still on the loose as well. It could have easily been a lost battle without the secret weapon. Dylan.
The youngest but most powerful bird kid held nothing back as he took out one attacker after another. He was coldly furious and determined — almost scary. Everything about his quiet, easygoing demeanor had disappeared. Now his fists slammed into faces, he spun into kicks that had taken us years to master. His blows knocked grown men off their feet; his roundhouse kick shot a guard eight feet back, into a wall.
Total had been right: He was a fighting machine.
Meanwhile, Dr. Hans was watching everything from a safe corner, a scientist unemotionally observing his lab animals. But no one had noticed that Angel was missing from the fray. She now dashed out of the supply room clutching six or seven different-sized containers.
“Gazzy! What’s good here?” It was flock shorthand for: Is there anything you can make blow up here?
Gazzy had just recovered from his cannon-fire episode. He ran over and scanned faster than a computer. “No explosives, but there’s some pretty acidic stuff,” he determined, pulling three canisters aside. “Some of this is gonna hurt super bad.”
“Not so fast, children.” The impeccably dressed Mr. Chu — who’d been cowering under a lab table to avoid the fight, or to avoid ruining his suit — now appeared at their side.
“Chu!” Gazzy gasped.
“You know a lot about toxic chemicals, if I remember, sir,” Angel said, stalling. “Maybe you can help us.”
At that moment, with a perfect swan dive from the suspended pipes, Iggy crashed into Mr. Chu, knocking him onto the floor. The breath left Mr. Chu’s body in a sharp oof! Iggy got his hands around Mr. Chu’s neck and started twisting.
“Oh, my God!” Gazzy shouted a few seconds later. Angel’s mouth was open in horror.
Mr. Chu’s face had come off in Iggy’s hands, and Iggy was now holding it like a huge, disgusting face glove.
“What happened?” Iggy cried.
Nudge hurried to his side. There, on the ground, with Mr. Chu’s body, was the head of a … freak? His boyish, round face was flat, green, and scaly, and he had a kid’s wide eyes.
“Jeezum pete,” Nudge breathed.
“Don’t kill me,” pleaded the freak.
“Let Robert up,” ordered Dr. Death from the corner.
“Robert?” Iggy almost shrieked. “He’s green!”
“Watch it, guys!” Dylan warned. Some of the men who’d been down earlier were back up and staggering toward them. They moved just slowly enough to allow Angel, Nudge, and Gazzy to pry open the containers and start dousing the men with chemical agents that kids should never have access to.
“Incapacitate them,” Dylan ordered, catching his breath. “I’ve got to get the doctor.”
82
THE FIGHT UNFOLDED like background noise. White noise. In the foreground, even with his ghastly pale face looking dead in my hands, my fingers clenching his ragged hair, all I could see was random images of Fang, not dead.
Fang telling me stupid fart jokes from the dog crate next to mine at the School, trying to make me laugh.
Fang asleep at Jeb’s old house, and me jumping wildly on his bed to wake him up. Him pretending to be asleep. Me laughing when I “accidentally” kicked him where it counts. Him dumping me off the bed.
Fang gagging on my first attempt at cooking dinner after Jeb disappeared. Him spitting out the mac and cheese. Me dumping the rest of the bowl on him in response.
Fang on the beach, that first time he was badly injured. Me realizing how I felt about him.
Fang kissing me. So close I couldn’t even see his dark eyes anymore. The first time. The second time. The third.
I could remember each and every one of them. Would always remember them.
Fang.