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dge should try to grab Jeb. Dylan and Gazzy should grab Dr. Hans. You and I will grab my mom. We can do this! I was thankful that Ella was at school.
I heard someone pounding on the door from the inside, and suddenly it popped open and was ripped off by the force. Instantly, blankets, cups, seat cushions, books, anything that wasn’t tied down, whooshed out, a streaming mass of objects moving at deadly speed. A seat cushion whapped me in the forehead, snapping my head back, but I hunkered down and stayed close by.
We were maybe three thousand very short feet up, and my heart was in my throat as I saw Nudge, then Angel, then Gazzy and Iggy jump out of the plane. Dylan, making good use of his genetically enhanced strength, braced his body in the doorway to help keep the others from being sucked out violently by the riptide of air.
“Go south!” I shouted. “Three o’clock!”
Okay. Thank God. My flock was out safely and could land under their own power. But my mom… I saw her approach the doorway, looking terrified. Dylan yelled something, and she nodded, her face white.
“Help!” Nudge shouted. I spun around to see her caught in the whirling slipstream of the plane—Iggy too! The powerful blast of air had shot them toward the diamond-dust razor wire. There were deep gashes in their wings. Blood spiraled away from them in fine arcs.
“Get out of there!” I yelled, as if that hadn’t already occurred to them. Nudge and Iggy were now totally out of control, cartwheeling through the air. The pain in their sliced wings made them want to close them, and the air billowing through their feathers was making their injuries worse. But pulling in their wings meant certain death—they would only drop that much faster.
“Nudge! Iggy!” I screamed as they fell away from me. “Hang on! We’ll help you!” Then—
“Max!” my mom shouted and jumped out of the plane. Angel and I shot over to her and grabbed her, synchronizing our wings so they didn’t hit each other.
The wind and slipstream tried to pull the three of us away from each other. I concentrated on Angel, seeing the strain on her face. Her wings were powerful; she was using all her strength. My brave little soldier.
Below me, Nudge and Iggy were still struggling, their tattered wings barely keeping them aloft. I made an executive decision.
“Angel, go help Iggy and Nudge,” I directed.
Angel looked at me, and I knew that we were both thinking the same thing: Could I hold my mom up by myself? Would Angel even be able to help Iggy and Nudge?
And where were Gazzy, Dylan, Jeb, and Dr. Hans? I couldn’t let go of my mom, but everything in me was telling me to save the rest of the flock.
This didn’t even qualify as a choice.
14
“SO… YOU IN?” Fang said, meeting the guy’s gaze.
Ratchet’s face, now hidden behind aviator sunglasses, gave nothing away. In the shadows, his skin seemed to absorb what little light there was. He slouched in the booth, his hoodie pulled up over massive, noise-canceling headphones. Fang had chosen the darkest corner in the diner on purpose, but this guy seemed to think they were still at risk.
Finally, Ratchet nodded. “I’m in, like I told you. But we need to get out of here—fast. My gang won’t be happy that I’ve disappeared. I was, like, their most valuable player, you know? ‘The Man’ when something was up.”
Fang’s expression remained neutral. “You were kidnapped,” he pointed out. “If anyone saw anything, they’ll think it was against your will.”
Ratchet shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “It’s really loud in here. Think we can go talk somewhere a little quieter?”
Fang glanced at the two other people in the diner—the waitress, who looked to be about sixty, was humming to herself, and a man wearing a trucker hat was sipping coffee alone. Fang raised his eyebrows.
“Wish we could—coffee’s terrible—but I’m waiting on another contact. How’d you get messed up in that street business anyway?”
Ratchet let out a breath and shrugged. “My mom. She kicked me out. Thought I was spying on her ’cause I could hear what she was saying anywhere in the house, even when she was whispering. Got to thinking I was a demon or something, reading her thoughts and stuff.”
Fang nodded, thinking of Angel.
“Spent a couple of weeks on the street, and let me tell you, it’s not as fun as you’d think. I was like a starved rat by the time these brothers picked me up, offering protection. They didn’t care if I was a freak, ’cause they needed a lookout.”
“How long ago was that?”
Ratchet shrugged. “Four, five months, but when you’re in—” Suddenly, he looked up. “Who’s she?” Ratchet asked, peering over Fang’s shoulder. Fang turned around and looked through the grubby diner window. He saw no one.
“Who?”
Rachet sighed, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “The blond chick. She’s got your name scribbled on a Post-it.”
