Saving the World and Other Extreme Sports (Maximum Ride 3)

“Max? What’s that?” Angel asked, pointing.

I looked. Up on the stage the Director seemed to have a remote control in her hand. Then I saw a small swarm of glittery copper-colored things circling around her. Were they bugs? Had they started engineering bugs? Oh, great. Just what the world needed.

The Director motioned to someone. He opened a large plastic box, and hundreds of beautiful butterflies flew out. It was a weird jolt of color in this gray landscape. Well, besides the camo people, that is.

The glittery things weren’t bugs.

They were nano-bullets, with their own internal guidance systems.

Within seconds they had locked on to the butterflies, and moments after that, all that was left were bits of shimmery wings, floating to the ground.

Nudge, Angel, Ari, Total, and I stared at one another in horror.

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“What do they have against butterflies?” Nudge demanded, outraged.

“I think the butterflies were just an example,” I said. “I think the point is that those things are tiny and deadly and can find the proverbial needle in the biogenetically modified haystack.”

Total shook his head, then lay down and covered his eyes with his paws. “It’s all too much,” he moaned. “I’m too sensitive for this.”

“And now, we have saved the best for last,” the Director boomed over the loudspeakers. “I give you...Generation Omega!”

A boy came out. He looked about my age but was maybe a couple inches shorter than I was, and heavier by about forty pounds. He had pale brown hair and silvery blue eyes, and was wearing one of the magic suits, which could change color and form at a verbal command.

“Oh, they gave him the cute gene,” said Nudge, and Angel giggled.

The Director beamed at the boy. He looked out at the crowd without expression.

“Omega here is our pinnacle achievement,” said the Director, “the result of more than six decades of research. He is an unqualified success and far surpasses any hybrid made before.”

“Ouch,” said Total.

“In Omega lie our hopes and dreams for the utopia of the future,” the Director gushed. “He is the key to the hyperevolved human of tomorrow. He’s immune to virtually every disease known and has superacute reflexes and greatly increased strength. He tests off the charts of every intelligence scale devised. In addition, he has superior memory retention and reaction time. He’s truly a superman.”

“Plus, he cooks like a dream and makes darling floral arrangements in his spare time,” I muttered.

“And he’s here to demonstrate just how tough he is, how supremely suited he is to forge a new human existence in our brand-new world.”

“Brand-new but full of dead people and empty buildings,” I said.

“To begin, Omega will vanquish an obsolete but somewhat successful human-avian hybrid,” said the Director. “And that will be a symbol for how everything will go from here on.”

I stiffened and stared at her.

The Director looked back at me.

“Right, Max?” she said.

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Have I mentioned how much I can’t stand despotic psychopaths? Why, yes, Max, you have. Like, a couple hundred times.

Well, it’s for reasons like this.

“Maximum Ride and Omega will fight to the

death,” said the Director merrily, as if announcing the next croquet competition.