I whipped around. “What are you doing?”
“Huryu?” he asked, wide-eyed, and combed his fingers through my hair. Of course he hit snarls immediately, and with a look of concentration, he carefully picked at them, easing them loose, stroking them with his feathers. He was grooming me, making little cooing, chirruping sounds.
Instinctively I wanted to push him away, but I’d been on my own for so long… and he was kind of like me, my flock. With tears running down my face, I sat there and let myself be groomed.
47
THE SUN WENT down, but no one made a fire. Mostly in pairs, sometimes in small groups, these bird kids began curling up
in their nests, huddling together for warmth. I made camp a little ways away from them, on flatter ground, feeling desolate and somehow more alone than ever.
I was almost asleep when the velvety sound of sweeping feathers made me look up. It was my number one fan, and lo and behold, he came bearing gifts. He had brought me a seriously large rattlesnake, and as he fluttered down in front of me, he dropped it at my feet.
The snake had only been stunned, and it quickly wound itself into a deadly coil. Its tail rattled in warning—it was wide awake now, and definitely within striking distance.
“Jeezum!” I said, scrambling backward. “What are you doing?”
But he flashed his dimpled grin and picked the snake up by the end of its tail. He swung it overhead and whipped the head against the ground, then proudly presented it to me.
“Huryu!” he said softly, and patted the snake.
“Yeah, I get it…” I said. “Uh, good boy.”
Then he held the scaly body up to my lips, nodding eagerly. Did this count as flirting in the animal world?
“Cool. Let’s cook it first, though, okay?” After the raw fish, raw seagull, and raw termites, I was desperate to have something warm for once.
The bird kid looked shocked when I struck a flint and made a small fire, then appalled as I skinned and gutted the snake. He clearly thought those were the best parts, because he quickly gobbled them up as soon as I dropped them on the ground.
I skewered the long body on a stick, turning it over the fire, and I had to admit, it wasn’t bad and there was plenty of it. If you’re wondering, it tasted kind of like chicken.
My new pal ate with sharp little movements, jerking his head forward to peck off a chunk of meat, but he studied me the entire time with those wide eyes.
“What?” I said. “I’m sorry, but I don’t speak bird.”
Then, from who knows where, he took out a crumpled piece of paper and thrust it at me. And I suddenly understood why he was so drawn to me.
It was a folded, wrinkled page of magazine from about a year ago. I touched the picture with trembling fingertips, tracing over the faces: Nudge and Gazzy hamming it up for the camera, Angel looking sweet and defiant at the same time, Fang standing protectively just behind my shoulder.
“ ‘Maximum Ride and Flock Take On Congress.’ ” I read the headline aloud, choking up at the memory.
“Maaaaaaax,” said the bird kid, my name sounding odd and guttural.
I looked up at him.
“Maximum,” I said, pointing a thumb at my chest. “Maximum Ride. But you can just call me Max.”
“Maaaax Mum. Maaaaax Mum. Maaaaax Mum,” he repeated, and I sighed.
“Okay. Maximum it is.”
He touched his own chest. “Huryu.”
“Uh… that’s not actually a name,” I muttered, thinking quickly. “Harry,” I said firmly, and touched his chest. “Harry.”
He reached out and touched my chest and I tried not to scream. His gentle fingers stroked the cloth of my ratty sweatshirt carefully. “Maaaax,” he said softly.
I nodded again. “Max.” And for some reason I teared up.