Disclaimer: If I was Patterson, Dylan wouldn't exist.
But he does. Unfortunately.
Author's note: This picks up in Chapter 79 of Angel. I messed around with the ending because I didn't like it. I think it'll be like a two-shot or something. And I should warn you that I didn't read the whole book. I nearly killed the sixth book after the second epilogue of Fang (what kind of book has two epilogues?) and after skimming parts of Angel, I just couldn't read that. I know. I'm emotional. PM me if I messed up majorly. I'll try to fix it.
Finally, Fang came and found me, where I had collapsed in exhaustion, near the blast site. I looked up through dry and mournful eyes. "If we haven't found her body yet, then she's still alive," I said.
He sat down, took my hand in his. Slowly he shook his head. He looked like he'd aged about ten years in the past twenty-four hours. His face was drawn and gaunt. His hair and clothes were still caked with grit and blood. He shook his head again, slowly.
"No, Max," he said. "Probably not."
I wanted to scream, "It's your fault! You're the one who left her!" But it wasn't his fault. Because I had left all three of them.
"We're... taking off," Fang told me hesitantly.
I knew my face was splotch and tear stained; my clothes were filthy and covered with soot and blood and dust; my hair was matted with ash and grit.
"What?" I asked dully. "When?"
Fang rubbed circles on the back of my hand absentmindedly as he looked far off into the distance. "From what Gazzy said, it seems like Mark was only a servant. There's someone else behind this and we're going after them. To kill the plant at the roots." He turned to look at me. "So it won't grow back."
I pressed my lips tightly together and I swallowed. I felt an overwhelming pressure suffocating me – enclosing me in its grasp, and I hated it. My throat was constricted from the huge lump sitting there, my eyes were brimming with tears I was struggling to hold back, and my head felt like a balloon with too much air blowing into it. It was going to explode soon.
Angel was gone, and now... and now Fang was leaving. Again.
I looked down at my lap.
"Oh." There was nothing better I could say. Because regardless of how awkward and broken we were, I'd take it over never seeing him again. I'd take the yelling and screaming at him over the slow and painful heartbreak.
It was sad and pathetic that I'd been reduced to this state of vulnerability.
He must have heard the hopelessness and dejection in that one sound, but he didn't comment on it and looked away again. "We're taking off tomorrow."
There was a sharp pang of I don't even know what in my chest – panic? disappointment? hysteria? – and I had to bite my tongue to keep the tears from surging.
Tomorrow. "Right," I said, even thought it wasn't. Not by a long shot. But I didn't say anything else. I managed to control myself and blinked away the water clouding my eyes. I nodded, trying to convince myself that it was right, that he had to leave, that he had a job to do, that I didn't need him with me. "Yeah, that's...yeah..."
And for a moment I sat there in an agonizing silence, with Nudge's head resting on my shoulder and Fang's hand in mine.
Get a hold of yourself, Max, I told myself. No emotions.
Another moment passed. I watched the sky sourly, thinking about how nice it looked. Thinking about how if only – if only – that's all I ever had to think about. Petty nothings.
And then I skeptically wondered if there were angels or God or something high and divine watching us – "guiding us" – like all the priests and church people said on TV and in the books, because it seemed like a bunch of crap. Like a boatload of it.
No one was watching over us.
No one. No one...except maybe Angel. A wave of nausea welled up inside of me. And maybe even she wasn't up there either. Maybe heaven didn't exist. Maybe we all just end when we die.
No emotions.
Gritting my teeth, I let go of Fang's hand and rubbed my eyes with the heel of mine.
"We should get back," I told him hoarsely. Horrified at the break in my voice, I cleared my throat and coughed slightly. Nudge blinked her eyes groggily, disoriented, and raised her head weakly. Fang walked to my other side and helped her up.
He slid his left arm around Nudge's shoulders while I stood at his right. I shoved my hands in my pockets to keep them from brushing against Fang's and I studied the gravel on the ground as we walked towards a grassy clearing where the rest of the flock – the rest of the flocks, I thought bitterly – were scattered. I could make out Gazzy sitting on the grass with his head in his hands. Dylan was beside him, patting his shoulders with a sad expression of his own.
Dylan.
And of course that's when the emotions start to choke me.
We joined them on the ground once we reached them. Feeling sick, I sat next to Iggy; unwilling to let Fang or Dylan near me for a while. I picked at the blades of grass and let them drift away in the wind.
I hated how the two of them made my stomach clench and unclench like I was on some sort of messed up roller coaster that would never stop. That I never chose to get on in the first place. I hated how I had to worry about the deaths of clueless people who were ignorant of our plight – of our existence, our pains, our experiences, our sacrifices, my sacrifices – how I had to worry about my own kind, how I had to worry about my baby Angel – my Angel that was dead and gone forever – and then how I had to worry about saving this stupid world.
I felt like throwing a tantrum. I felt like bawling like a baby. I felt like throwing something, kicking something, punching something, punishing something for what was happening.
I hated Maya. Maya, who Fang was sitting next to. Maya, who Fang was replacing me with, even though he claimed he wasn't. Maya, who didn't realize how lucky she was to be the clone instead of the actual unfortunate freak.
I hated how I felt these things.
I wrenched a few blades of grass out of the ground viciously and threw them before me, watching the wind catch them and whisk them away. It earned me various looks from the others, ranging from I-hope-you're-okay-it'll-get-better looks (Dylan) to yeah-me-too-let's-go-crazy looks (Gazzy) to pull-yourself-together-aren't-you-a-leader? looks (Maya).
Then I got a very special eyebrow raise that went along with his I-know-how-funky-and-messed-up-you-feel-and-you-know-I-feel-just-as-funky-and-messed-up-too look from Fang. And you know, it just gave me the warm fuzzies to see that.
Which is why I went right back to torturing the grass.
I wasn't insulting religion or anything. I just figured Max would be a bit atheist.
But yeah... review?