Disclaimer – Maximum Ride characters and ideas don't belong to me. Just playing with them. Original characters and this plot line do, however.

Setting – This story is set roughly a few months after the Flock have left Anne's house, in the second book. Almost everything that happened in the first book and the beginning of the second book I've kept in canon for this story, but a few changes have been made to make this work in my mind.

1. No Total. I do like the mangy little mutt, but this story just works better without him.
2. No new powers, like Angel talking to fish or breathing underwater. I've decided just to stick to the original abilities the Flock had when that first book started way back when. Because honestly, some of the later ones left me going, "really?"
3. I've changed the time of year the Flock was at Anne's. Instead of it being fall and Thanksgiving, I've moved it to spring.
4. The Flock did NOT go to Florida and ITEX after they left Anne's. Instead, they've spent about two months just wandering around, trying to stay safe and together.

All books after the middle of book 2 will be ignored in this fic, making it very much AU.

Prologue: "Sarah"

Sarah Hughes was only five feet and one inch tall. On her picky days she called herself vertically challenged, but mostly she just had to admit she was short. Top shelves were an ordeal, and she was always having to ask one of her students to pull down the rolling screen when they used it in class.

She was slim, with red hair that fell just past her shoulders (long enough to pull back or fix up, but not so long it got in the way,) glasses, and freckles that dusted her arms and face. At thirty-four she hadn't quite given up hope on her Prince Charming, but she had to admit he was sure taking the scenic route. Still, it wasn't as if she were that lonely. Teaching music full time at the local schools and trying to keep up with twenty acres of farm left her too busy to sit around moping about being lonely.

And she had Jasper.

And Jethro.

And Jerry.

Three cats in the house was a dangerous edge to walk for a single woman, but Sarah was pretty sure one didn't cross over into Crazy Cat Lady territory until number four, and she was being careful. Of course, if she had to count all the barn cats and kittens she was way over the line, but who said she had to?

And she was happy. Flowers and cows with big, soft eyes made her smile, which almost made up for the emptiness of the rooms that yawned above her in the old farmhouse, dreams of them being filled with the stampede of energetic feet fading a little more as each year passed. Of course, after a stressful day spent navigating the halls of the jungle some brilliant person decided to name so innocently "Middle School," Sarah was rather grateful for the quiet of those empty rooms.

Sarah was a good woman – what used to be called "salt of the earth" kind of people. Good folk – raised up right. She worked hard, dreamed big, believed kindness mattered but knew you sometimes had to stand your ground. Still, there was more to Sarah than met the eye; her life hadn't always been so…normal. Her eyes held that ages-old quality that said they'd witnessed more than most, seen things she wished she hadn't. The scars of the past were faded, but not gone, and sometimes late at night the past would pull a fast one and slip out from its cage in her mind to taunt her in those hours when sleep leaves a person most vulnerable.

That's exactly what happened when she forced herself out of the grip of a nightmare and back into wakefulness at two in the morning on only the second day of summer break.

Breathing deeply to calm her nerves, she lay still, focusing on the comforting sounds of her house around her, sounds that had always assured her she was safe. There was the light breeze blowing through her open window, carrying the gentle sound of her wind chimes, the hum of the old refrigerator down below, the drip of the leaky faucet she just couldn't seem to fix, and the almost unnoticeable sound of someone moving around her kitchen…

Her eyes shot open as a jolt of fear raced down her spin, but she shoved it forcefully away. Fear wouldn't help her. Sitting up silently, she moved without a sound to the locked hall closet and the old rifle of her father's she kept safely there. At twenty miles from town and at least three from the nearest neighbor, he'd taught her that she couldn't be too cautious. Twenty miles is a long time to wait when it's life or death.

Still as silent as a ghost, she crept down the back stairs. The unwanted sounds were extremely quiet, hardly there at all. Whomever was making them was being very careful, but Sarah knew her house well, and her gut told her something was wrong. She could tell the kitchen had been abandoned now as the invader worked his or her way to the bathroom, so, gathering all her courage, she sucked in a breath and then rounded the bottom step right into the bathroom doorway, flipping on the switch to flood the room with bright light in the same motion as she brought the gun up to the ready.

"Don't move," she told the very tall, very skinny, and very dirty teenage boy with a ragged mop of strawberry blonde hair who was now staring at her with his jaw dropped, a bottle of something from her medicine cabinet halfway to the backpack in his other hand. "I'm an excellent shot."