Whirling, Nudge saw Fang unfolding a foil packet. Instantly, the smoky, meaty smell of cooked beef and vegetables filled her nose.
“Kabobs!” she said, hurrying to sit by Fang. “Where did you get them? You didn’t have time to go all the way to town. Oh, my gosh, they’re still hot.”
“Let’s just say some campers are going to be a little surprised,” Fang said drily, pushing the meat off into one pile, the onions and peppers into another.
Nudge took a bite of grilled pepper. It was warm, smoky, tender—utter heaven.
“Now, this is food,” she said, closing her eyes.
“So I guess we have to decide whether to keep looking for Max or go try to save Angel,” said Fang, eating the chunks of beef.
“But the Erasers said everyone else was dead. Doesn’t that mean Angel and Max too?” Nudge asked, feeling a sad weight settle on her again.
“No way to tell,” Fang said. “The thing is, if Max isn’t here, is it because she’s dead? How would they have found her? Angel . . .” He paused. “Well, we knew they had Angel. That’s probably all over by now.”
Nudge held her head in her hands. “I can’t think about it.”
“I know. But what are your—” He stopped, squinting, looking off into the distance.
Shading her eyes, Nudge looked out too. Way far off, she could barely make out two dark splotches. Well, so what? Just more hawks.
She sat back and slowly ate her last chunk of onion, then licked the foil they’d been wrapped in. Fang had to come up with a plan—that was all there was to it.
But Fang kept looking out at the sky.
Nudge frowned. The two dark splotches were bigger now, closer. They must be mighty big hawks. Maybe they were eagles!
Suddenly, Fang stood and fished in his pocket for his small metal mirror. Holding out his hand, he caught the last bits of sunset in the mirror, flashing their reflection outward.
He flashed it, then stopped, flashed, then stopped.
The hawks became larger, closer. Now they were definitely spiraling downward in their direction.
Please don’t let them be flying Erasers, Nudge thought in sudden panic. She’d realized they were too big, too awkward to be real raptors.
Then her mouth dropped open. Half a minute later, Iggy and the Gasman landed clumsily on the ledge, knocking rocks and dust everywhere. Nudge just stared at them, so happy she could hardly believe it.
“You aren’t dead,” she said.
“No. You aren’t dead either,” said Iggy irritably. “How about just ‘hello’?”
“Hi, guys,” said the Gasman, brushing dust out of his hair. “We couldn’t stay home—there’s E
rasers all over the mountain. So we decided to come here. Anybody have a problem with that?”
48
The next morning I pulled on my new sweatshirt. I’d tried out my wing. It worked, though it was incredibly stiff and sore.
I was relieved to go, to get back in the air. I knew Fang and Nudge were going to kill me. I knew I had let Angel down. But there was no way I could have not done what I did. I wouldn’t be Max.
To tell you the truth, not being Max sometimes had its appeal.
Dr. Martinez pushed a small backpack at me. “It’s an old one—I don’t use it,” she said quickly, knowing I wanted to refuse any more help. “Please take it.”
“Well, since you said ‘please,’” I muttered, and she laughed.
Ella was watching the ground, her shoulders hunched. I tried not to look at her either.