AN: Just finished reading the second Maximum Ride book (thanks so much, Cassidy, if by any chance you're reading this!) and this idea popped into my head and DEMANDED to be written. Hope somebody reads/likes this, LOL.

Here's the thing: you're not supposed to know how to ride a horse the first time you hop on the back of one. Especially if the horse in question isn't even trained, totally wild.

But I do.

Or, at least, I just did just now, anyway.

Strangely enough, I'm not thinking about that. It's funny how little you think about how weird things are when you're running for your life.

Like right this second, for instance. Here I am, riding on the back of some random white horse, being chased. Fact that this horse is wild and I've never ridden before in my life? Yeah, not too important.

I can outrun most people, most humans. We all can. Even Miles and Jen; and Miles is hopelessly unathletic and Jen's just a fifteen year old girl who's really great at doing back-flips and cartwheels, but distance track in general, the kind that requires endurance? Um, not really. But none of us can go faster than a big dog. Not even flying.

Yeah, that's right, we can fly.

Well, usually, when we don't accidentally hurt ourselves or our wings (yes, yes, wings; you read that right, more on that a little later, okay?) aren't tucked up in clothes that aren't made specifically to fit them, anyway.

But my jacket, and the bullet-proof vest I stole, doesn't exactly give me room to spread out my wings and fly. So, instead, I'm on the back of this animal, not even worrying about the fact that I have no idea what in God's name I'm doing.

I hear growling. They're gaining on me. How are those stupid brutes keeping up with this freaking stallion?

At least, I think it's a stallion. I didn't exactly have time to stick my head under it and check. And, frankly, thanks to my complete lack of knowledge of all things horsey, I probably wouldn't have known for sure even if I had.

The things that were chasing after me were Erasers. I'm not even sure why they call them that. All you need to know now is that, like me and my flock (again, more on that in a bit), they're human/animal hybrids. They're part wolf, part human. And if you think that's adorable or hot, because you're a Twilight junkie who's hopelessly out of touch with reality and in love with Jacob Black, or you've just read Blood and Chocolate one too many times, please get a grip.

Erasers are not boyfriends. They're creepy. And they don't exactly live long enough to care about marriage or romance or whatever. So if the fact that they can tear your whole face off (and will if you get in their way while they're after us, or others like us) doesn't turn you off, their impeding expiration date should.

Plus also, they have dirt all over them, and B.O., and some of the older ones are missing half their teeth.

The Erasers, when they're in their wolfish form, are big, ugly, and ruthless. They can run like the dogs they command. They're good at what they do. And, right now, what they do is hunt us. Unfortunately. And telling them to get a life doesn't work; it just seems to enrage them further. Miles tried that once. Trust me, it wasn't pretty.

Suddenly, the horse rears, frightened. (Gee, think those mutant wolf things have anything to do with that?)

I find myself falling.

One shriek escapes my lips. Then I'm on the ground, my back and tucked up wings killing me. It's a hard landing. Not like rock hard, more like packed-in sand hard.

My eyes are closed. I think I'm unconscious. Except, don't unconscious people stop, well, being conscious? Don't their thoughts go away while they're lying there, knocked out cold?

Not me. I can't move, but I can feel. And I can think.

All I can do is think.

Think about how I failed, how they Erasers will get me, how my luck has finally run out and I'm done for.

Done for. Done living, before I've even really lived to begin with.

That's when my eyes shoot open.