~Stone~

I sat bolt upright, jarred from sleep. Had I been dreaming? No, there it went again:

Crack!

"Tempest!" I hissed, nudging her side with my foot, trying not to move too much.

Her eyes flew open, but she did not move. We'd both learned to keep still in emergency situations. "What is it?" she hissed.

I closed my eyes and concentrated. A voice rumbled out of my mouth, deep and gravely:

"Are you sure these coordinates are correct, Mr. Cow?" (Mr. Cow? That couldn't be right.)

Another voice, smoother and with a heavy Korean accent: "Ya, I sure dey is, Meester Director."

"Good," Mr. Director rumbled. "I knew we could trust Jeb Batchelder. He's already got the other mutants captured; soon we will have the full set."

Mr. Cow cackled, his --- I mean, my --- voice ringing through the woods.

I stopped listening and jumped to my feet. Tempest rose and packed our backpacks. We set off on foot through the woods, ears alert, for every sound could mean danger.

Suddenly, we heard them. Hounds. The bloodthirsty kind from the Institute. They burst from the underbrush on all sides, howling madly. Cursing, I jumped, straight into the air. At the height of my jump, massive, sixteen-foot wide wings unfurled from my back. Pump up, pump down, up, down . . . and I was airborne again. God, it felt so good.

I glanced sideways at Tempest, her dark wings barely moving as we glided on an updraft, her blood red eyes glowing out of the darkness like the lights of Las Vegas. (Yes, I've been there. Surprise!)

Tempest asked, "Any idea where to go?"

I shrugged as well as possible while flying. "Fly until I can't hear those goons anymore I guess." Not that I'm bragging or anything, but I like to call myself the leader when I'm alone. I'm always making suggestions, answering, not asking questions, and, to be really self-centered, I'm the calm, rational one of the two of us. Not that I actually am calm and rational, oh no. But Tempest? Her name just screams crazy, uncontrollable, and hotheaded. Her in a nutshell.

I just hope she never finds out about my secret indulgence, or the fact that her backpack is heavier than it used to be because I stored every David Archuleta poster I could get my hands on in there, 'cause there's no more room in mine. She doesn't know that I'm suddenly boy crazy.

Ehem.

I swooped beneath her, feeling the wind in my face, clearing the cobwebs of the mundane world. Ah, the psychotic poetry of a mutant teenager.

"Who is Jeb Batchelder?" we both asked at the same time. It's amazing how in tune we are sometimes.

I frowned. I knew that name. Was he part of the Institute, or the School? Then it hit me:

"Tempest! Jeb Batchelder was with those other bird kids at the Institute, remember? The leader one, Max, didn't like him --- he's got the other bird kids!" Yes, in case you're wondering, it is, in fact, entirely possible to jump a foot in the air while, well, already in the air. "Jeb's the reason we have wings! Remember? He forged our parents' signatures when we were born so that the Institute and School could have us!"

Tempest gaped at me. "I want to get inside your head for a day."

"Nah, you wouldn't. You'd come out babbling and drooling," I said casually, tilting downward at a lazy 35-degree angle. "I can't hear Mr. Director and Mr. Cow anymore. Let's land." Mr. Cow? I still didn't think that was right.

We landed in an abandoned playground in Perfectly Nowhere, USA. Tempest and I inhaled the last Snickers bars we had been able to, well, acquire, and I took first watch, like a good leader.

Yikes, forget I said that.

Being on watch is boring unless someone attacks you. Then things get interesting. But when everything's quiet and hunky dory, man, it's all I can do not to fall asleep.

I woke Tempest when it was her turn, and I was asleep before I had even lay down.

But that didn't last long. Because this is my life we're talking about, right?