Orderlies ran out with a gurney, the EMT guys started rattling off Fang’s stats to a nurse. And then Fang was wheeled out of sight, down a hall and through some doors.
I started to follow, but a nurse stopped me.
“Let the doctors see him first,” she said, flipping a page on her clipboard. “You can give me some information. Now, what’s his name? Is he your boyfriend?”
“His name is . . . Nick,” I lied nervously. “Nick, um, Ride. He’s my brother.”
The nurse looked at me, my blond hair and fair skin, and I could tell she was mentally comparing me with Fang—who had black hair, dark eyes, olive skin.
“He’s all of our brother’s,” said Nudge ungrammatically.
The nurse looked at Nudge, who was black, and at the rest of us, none of whom really matched, except Angel and Gazzy, the only true siblings among us.
“We were adopted,” I said. “Our parents are . . . missionaries.” Excellent! I mentally patted myself on the back. Brilliant! Missionaries! “They’re away on a . . . short mission. I’m in charge.”
A doctor in green jammies hurried up to us. “Miss?” he said, looking at me, glancing at all of us. “Could you come with me, right now?”
“Think he noticed the wings yet?” I heard Iggy barely murmur.
I tapped Iggy twice on the back of his hand. It meant, You’re in charge till I get back. He nodded, and I followed the doctor down the hall, feeling like I was on death row.
11
Walking quickly, the doctor looked at me in that zoo-exhibit way I’ve become familiar with. My heart sank.
All of my worst fears were coming true. I could already see the mesh of a big dog crate closing in around me. Those freaking Erasers! I hated them! They always showed up, and when they did, they destroyed everything.
You have to respect your enemy, Max, said the Voice. Never, ever underestimate them. The second you do, they’ll squash you. Be smart about them. Respect their abilities, even if they don’t respect yours.
I swallowed hard. Whatever.
We pushed through heavy double doors and were in a small, tiled, very scary room. Fang was on a gurney.
He had a tube going down his throat and more tubes attached to his arms. I pressed my hand to my mouth. I’m not squeamish, but cracked, painful memories of the experiments done on us at the School were seeping into my brain, and I wished that my Voice would keep talking, say something really annoying to distract me.
Another doctor and a nurse were standing by Fang. They had cut his shirt and jacket off. The horrible jagged claw wounds in his side were still bleeding.
Now that he had me here, the doctor didn’t seem to know what to say.
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“Will—will he be okay?” I asked, feeling as if I were choking. Life without Fang was unimaginable.
“We don’t know,” said one of the doctors, looking very concerned.
The woman doctor gestured to Fang. “How well do you know him?”
“He’s my brother.”
“Are you—like him?” she asked.
“Yes.” I set my jaw and kept my eyes on Fang. I felt my muscles tighten, a new, unwelcome flood of adrenaline icing its way through my veins. Okay, first I would slam this little trolley against the nurse’s legs. . . .
“So you can help us,” the first doctor said, sounding relieved. “’Cause we’re not recognizing this stuff. What about his heartbeat?”
I looked at the EKG. The blips were fast and erratic.
“It should be smoother,” I said. “And faster.” I snapped my fingers a bunch of times to demonstrate.