The Final Warning (Maximum Ride 4)

“Yes, sir.” The assistant opened a small black suitcase. It contained a highly efficient electric generator.

The Uber-Director sent his soldiers the message, and instantly they swarmed down the rock wall like spiders, moving surely and easily over a surface with few ridges, no handholds.

The assistant was afraid of them but knew not to show it. The soldiers circled him, their faces expressionless.

“Here,” the assistant muttered nervously. One soldier stepped forward, his left shoulder turned to the assistant. Hands trembling slightly, the assistant hooked the generator to the soldier’s shoulder and turned it on. A quick burst of electricity made the soldier jolt and stiffen, then relax. His face smoothed. The next soldier stepped up.

A burst of electricity acted like a drug on this series, both exciting and calming them. The soldiers craved it, and it was a useful reward. When they didn’t get it, their behavior became unpredictable and violent. It was a drawback, a design flaw.

But one they were working on.

23

“WHERE ARE WE HEADED NEXT, MAX?” Nudge carefully turned her hot dog over the small open fire.

I had been thinking about just that all day. “Chili?” I stirred the open can, nestled among the burning embers, with a clean, peeled stick.

Gazzy held out his hot dog and I glopped some chili onto it. Not a tidy process.

“Let’s go back to France,” said Nudge. “I loved France.”

“Yeah, France was nice,” I agreed. “Except for the four Itex branches.”

Recently we’d done the Bird Kids’ Whirlwind Tour of Europe, focusing on various spots for imprisonment and abuse, run by madmen and madwomen under the guise of the Itexicon Corporation, mingled with pastry and trendy European fashion. Our lives were nothing if not eclectic.

“How about Canada?” Iggy suggested. “Seems cool.”

“Hm,” I said. To tell the truth, I hadn’t actually decided yet. Nowhere seemed far enough away from Itex minions or the School or the Institute or any of the other faceless entities that seemed bent on using or destroying us. I wanted to get far, far away from everyone.

Iggy felt for trash on the ground, stuffing it into a plastic grocery bag. I heard him mutter, “White. Tan. Ooh, clear, weird. Tan. Blue,” as he touched various things.

“Oh, guess what,” said Angel, taking a bite of hot dog. Hearing those words from Angel always made me tense up. “I have a new skill!”

Oh, great. Fang and I made appalled faces at each other over Angel’s head.

“You mean — besides the talking-to-fish stuff?” I asked cautiously.

She nodded.

Oh, holy mud, I thought, hoping she hadn’t suddenly developed the ability to shoot lightning out of her eyes. Or something.

“Um, what is it?” Please let me not freak out at the answer.

“Look.” She raised her head and looked up into my face. The whole flock leaned closer, watching her. I searched Angel’s face, praying that horns wouldn’t pop out of her forehead. I was about to ask what her skill was, when I saw it.

“See?” she said.

“Uh, yeah,” I answered, staring. Staring at her smooth, tan skin, dark brown eyes, her much straighter brown hair.

“I can change how I look!” she said unnecessarily.

“Uh-huh, yep, I see that,” I said.

“Show them bird girl,” said Total. “I love that one.”

Angel smiled. While we all waited, holding our breath, she began to change again. Two minutes later, we had a blue bird of paradise with Angel’s eyes. I mean, she still had a human shape. But her face and head were covered with fine turquoise feathers and she had two spectacular plumes. It was the weirdest freaking thing I’d ever seen, and believe me when I tell you, that’s saying something.

She held out slender feathery hands and wiggled her fingers.