Maximum Ride Forever (Maximum Ride 9)

That’s not too far off base, Fang thought.

“Lucky for me, my Benelli doesn’t discriminate,” the blond one said, his hand caressing the gun.

Fang stared back at them from sunken eye sockets

. Were these posturing preteens, who days earlier he could’ve knocked out cold with a flick of the wrist, really going to be his executioners? Fang actually started laughing at his sorry situation.

“Is something funny?” Chuck demanded, trying to sound tough but verging on a whine. “Keep laughing. We’ll shut you up by cutting out your tongue before we kill you.”

“Or we could just string you up in a dead tree,” the nameless pimpled punk offered. “Leave you for the vultures to polish off.”

“Go ahead, please prove your manhood by one-upping each other in acts of cruelty,” Fang said dryly. If they didn’t use the guns, he might stand a chance. Maybe.

Trying not to wince, Fang struggled to his feet. The boys immediately cocked their weapons, their faces twitching nervously, but neither shot.

“Who do you think you are?” the blond kid demanded, and Fang didn’t miss the slight quiver in his voice. He would take full advantage of it.

Fang unfurled his huge wings. With his black feathers framing his scabbed face and haunted eyes, he looked like the Angel of Death, and he knew it. He smiled, and the blond kid stumbled backward, suddenly pale.

“Renny, look at him,” Chuck chided, awestruck. “He’s obviously a Horseman. Idiot.”

Fang kept his poker face. He still had no idea what the H-men looked like, but if he could convince these twerps he was one of them, he’d take it.

“A Horseman?” Renny asked excitedly. “Maaan. Who did you fight?” He glanced at Fang’s scars and bruises.

“A whole bunch of… survivors,” Fang said, mildly amused. If he played along, maybe he could actually get some information out of these morons.

“Did you cut their heads off?” Chuck asked, his cruel eyes sparkling. “I heard they’re like zombies—if you don’t cut off the head, they’re not dead.”

Fang’s jaw twitched with fury as he imagined his flock’s necks stretched over chopping blocks.

“The weak must be rooted out,” Chuck recited. “The earth shall be cleansed so we may evolve.”

Pretty sure that’s not how evolution works.

Fang stared at these little monsters with black, unblinking eyes. “Who did you say you were with again?”

“We serve the One Light,” Renny said. He lowered his gun and sat on the rock across from Fang.

So the Doomsday Group is still alive, still wreaking destruction.

When the flock had run across the cult a year ago, its glassy-eyed members had a mission of global genocide. The flock had done a lot to break the cult up, but obviously not enough.

Since then, apparently someone had taken things to the next level.

“We’re hoping the Remedy will turn us into Horsemen one day,” the yellow-haired boy continued chattily. “They say you just have to kill fifty survivors. I’m only at seven so far, but Chuck’s already up to like twenty.”

“Twenty-two,” the bigger kid corrected.

Fang had no doubt that number was an exaggeration, but from the naked meanness in Chuck’s eyes, Fang was sure he’d killed at least a couple of helpless souls.

Fifty people, Fang thought disgustedly. The Remedy was convincing kids all over the world to kill at least fifty innocent people each.

“That’s just a rumor,” he said. “The Remedy values intelligence above all in his elite squad.” He raised a skeptical eyebrow at Chuck. “Guess that means you boys are out of luck. Sorry.”

“I could do anything the Remedy asked me to do,” Chuck said hotly, his round cheeks flushing with color.

“Maybe you could train us,” Renny suggested eagerly. “Teach us what it takes to be an elite soldier.”