Mumbai
6:08 PM
Sean said...
Fang, I want to be a bird kid. I don’t care what it takes. I would go through anything to be able to fly and be with the flock. Tell me where to meet you. I want to join you today.
Manchester, England
6:35 PM
Sue P said...
I want to join too! I would love to have wings but think it’s too late for me. It would hurt. But I will fight for you on the ground! Just tell me where and when!
Palm Beach
6:38 PM
Fang turned off the computer after wading through thousands of messages like these. Max didn’t think the blog could help, but he was sure it could. He bet he could raise an army of a hundred thousand...ordinary kids, who might be brave and committed, but who would have zero fighting skills and would quickly be slaughtered.
He sighed and lay back, resting his head on one arm. This leader stuff sucked.
68
My miniflock was doing all right, thanks to Angel. For future reference, here are some things you can do if you’re a six-year-old genetic anomaly with the ability to control other people’s minds:
1) Get business-class tickets for yourself and three other genetic anomalies, plus a dog, on British Airways.
2) Convince airport security that your talking Scottie is a service dog and therefore allowed everywhere, including the ladies’ room, which frankly I was not thrilled about.
3) Make people not really notice the hulking, butt-ugly, damaged Eraser loping at your side.
4) Once on board, help people think it’s normal for a dog to get his own seat and meals.
5) Arrange for us to each have three meals at a time. First-class meals, not that crap they serve to the poor schmucks in Economy.
“Total!” I whispered. “People have to pass you to get to the bathroom. Quit growling.”
“Sorry,” he muttered. “They’re getting too close to my steak. Speaking of which, could you cut it into little pieces?”
I leaned over and quickly cut up the steak on Total’s tray. I saw Angel grinning at me, and I couldn’t help grinning back. Yes, my flock had been split apart: Half of my family was AWOL. We were homeless and on the run, as per usual. We were going to a strange place with no idea of what to do once we got there. And we were trapped in a big sardine can with a bunch of strangers who I was praying weren’t Erasers or whitecoats.
And yet.
“Nice chairs,” Ari said, patting the arms with his clawed, oversize paws.
“This is kind of fun,” said Angel. She gave a little bounce in her seat and started flicking through her movies on demand.
“Max?” Nudge whispered from across the aisle. “Do you think these people are okay?” She nodded back at the other passengers.
“I hope so,” I said, keeping my voice down. “But I’m not positive. I wouldn’t put it past them for this all to be a setup, and we’re surrounded by whitecoats who are going to turn on us. But Angel hasn’t picked up anything, like, no evil intent coming from anyone on the plane. So I’m hoping it’s okay.”
“I’ve never been on a plane,” Nudge said.
“None of us have. It’s kind of weird, huh?”
“Yeah. It’s really comfortable. These chairs turn into beds, you know? And the little TV and the magazines and the food and people getting you stuff.”