Angel (Maximum Ride 7)

The people on the roof were little stick figures by now. Another hundred feet up and they’d disappear from my view.

“Freak

ing whitecoats!” I screamed, even though they’d been dressed in black. “So, what? You think if you can create life, you can destroy it too?”

Dylan looked down again, squinting. “Wait. They’re not whitecoats,” he said. “They’re not even grown-ups. They’re… I think they’re kids.”

“Oh, come on,” I protested. “They might have been a little short, but—”

“I could see them,” Dylan insisted, sounding agitated. “Inside their masks. They were kids, Max. I’m positive. And it gets worse. They didn’t, they didn’t have—eyes.”

“What?” I gasped. We’d reached a good cruising altitude, well out of range of fire. From this height, the land below looked like a crazy quilt stitched together.

“They didn’t have eyes,” he repeated, genuinely troubled.

“Great, give the blind kids guns,” I said, trying to lessen his horror. “I don’t even let Iggy have a gun. Usually.” I glanced over at Dylan, but he wasn’t smiling.

“But… they could still aim. They still knew we were there, somehow,” he said.

“They must have some sort of alternate sensing system. I wonder if they have no eyes on purpose, or if it was a mistake? I mean, Iggy is blind because they operated on him, trying to give him better night vision.”

Dylan looked appalled. “You’re kidding.”

“Don’t you get it?” I couldn’t keep the bitterness out of my voice. “People like that—mad-scientist types—we aren’t human to them. We’re experiments. And those kids down there, kids who have been trained to kill, kids who have no eyes—they’re experiments too.”

“That’s all we’ll ever be, isn’t it?” Dylan shook his head sadly. “Lab rats. Just someone’s theory, someone’s pipe dream. And they’ve already replaced us with the next best thing.”

He looked so pitiful, so lost, that before I even knew what I was doing, I took his hand in mine. On purpose. It was warm and soft. Not battle hardened yet.

Then I said something that I’ve said very rarely in my life—even more rarely than “I love you.”

“I’m sorry,” I told him.

25

DYLAN GAVE MY hand a squeeze and smiled weakly. Out of nowhere, I had a vision of kissing those soft, perfect lips. Then Fang’s face flashed before my eyes. I fell into a sudden coughing fit and dropped Dylan’s hand like a dead fish.

“You okay?” Dylan asked, rubbing my back. When I glared at him, he, thankfully, had the decency to change the subject.

“It’s later than I thought,” he said. “I say we camp out in the desert tonight, spy on the school from a distance, and maybe find a way to sneak in tomorrow morning.”

“Huh,” I said. It was a plan that I might have come up with, probably would have come up with. But all I heard, all I focused on were the words, “camp out in the desert tonight.” The two of us. Alone. And my heart sped up.

About a mile from the Gen 77 school, there were canyons, striped with layers of red, peach, and cream-colored rock. We flew toward one of the higher buttes and found a natural cave with an excellent view of the school. Then it was Dylan and me, alone together.

If he tried anything, I’d knock his teeth out.

You’re meant to be together, the Voice said suddenly. I groaned so loud that Dylan looked startled.

“It’s nothing,” I muttered.

“Okayyy,” he said quizzically, and I was back to wanting to punch him. “Hungry?” Dylan reached into his pocket and pulled out a couple of protein bars. I took the chocolate chip one. It tasted like sawdust mixed with chocolate chips. I was glad to have it. I contributed a bottle of warm water. We shared it in silence.

“I hope the others aren’t too worried,” I said, trying to make conversation, my voice sounding weirdly loud in the still night.

“They have to know by now that you can take care of yourself,” said Dylan. I nodded in agreement.

For long moments, we lay on the ledge on our stomachs, watching the school. With Fang, silences were comfortable. With Dylan, they were awkward. After a while, Dylan leaned over my shoulder and pointed up.