disclaimer: don't own maximum ride.


9. damn side effects

We finally made it out of the clothing place and were in the air after a quick stop at a grocery store. Packs were emptied of old stuff and filled with new stuff, mostly of the non-perishable-food variety. I'd even gotten my own backpack now, full of things that were apparently useful while on the run. We flew north-west until it started to get dark--then we circled around until we found a decent place to camp out.

It was a cozy little clearing in a national forest of some sort, with trees blocking almost every entrance in, which was ideal for paranoid bird-kids like Max.

"Um, who had the matches again?" Max called from where she was kneeling by a small pile of kindling. I dug my hand in my pocket and pulled out a lighter.

"Heads!" I said, chucking it.

Max barely turned in time to catch it. She looked at it warily, like she didn't know what it was. "Where'd you get this?"

"Oh, it's this magical and mysterious place I like to call my pocket," I said sarcastically. A couple people giggled as Max rolled her eyes. "What? I like to light things on fire and blow stuff up. Lighters are essential for that kinda thing."

It was true--ever since I was a kid I loved things of the flammable nature. I dissected old fireworks, made my own miniature bombs, started fires out in the backyard's chiminea every chance I could. My mom and dad learned long ago to stop telling me my lighters and matches were dangerous, 'cuz I never really hurt myself and frankly didn't care.

Max let out a little groan and rolled her eyes. She mumbled something I didn't catch.

"Sorry, what was that?"

"She said, 'Great, another fire freak,' " Iggy said, smirking. "Me and the Gasman like to light things on fire and blow stuff up too."

"Wicked."

I won't bore you with the details--I'll just say for the next couple of hours I talked Pyronese with Iggy and Gazzy. They were mainly into bombs, and I normally worked fireworks, so we exchanged our differing areas of expertise.

Dinner was basically whatever we could stick over an open fire, and then it was bed. Max said she'd take first watch before waking up Iggy for second watch. (That's when I realized how truly freakish about safety these kids were. Either some really bad things had happened to mess them up or somebody had hammered these things into their brains. I couldn't decide which.)

But either way, I fell asleep leaning against the trunk of a tree, my dad's leather jacket acting as a blanket.

Iggy POV

Even though I'm blind, I close my eyes when I'm on watch. It just helps me concentrate my hearing. I don't really know how to explain it.

But it was about halfway through the watch when the person four feet to my right woke up, practically hyperventilating. It was Spark, and her breath was quick, uneven, and heaving. She didn't seem to know I was awake, or maybe just didn't care.

A few seconds later she scrambled to her feet and ran for the cover of the trees. I turned my head, straining to hear as her light steps carried her further and further away, and thought about waking up Max, but then there was a sickening splat sound and I shuddered.

Coughing. More gross splat. I guessed she was throwing up.

I got to my feet, torn between staying on watch and wanting to check to see if Spark was okay.

I ended up going to find Spark. 'Cuz if I could hear her from here, I'd be able to hear the flock from wherever she was. At least, that's what I was hoping.

I followed the sound of her coughing until I could sense her right front of me. She must've been facing away, 'cuz she didn't acknowledge me. She was breathing hard, like she'd run a marathon.

"Um, are you okay?" I finally asked.

Her breath caught and there was a soft rush of cloth as she whirled around. She sighed.

"Jesus! You scared the hell outta me, dude," she whispered, almost as if she couldn't speak louder if she tried. She took a couple of deep breaths. "What are you doing here?"

"I, uh, heard you run off," I said, trying to explain. "I came to check if you were okay."

"Yeah, I'm fine," she said automatically. "You can go back to sleep, I'll be back in a minute."

"Fine," I echoed. I shook my head. "Your definition must be different than mine, 'cuz mine doesn't include puking your guts up."

That got a half-laugh out of her, and I heard her step forward. "Thanks, but really, I'll be fine. It's another side effect of that visionary ability I used yesterday." She started walking back for the camp, so I followed.

"You sure?" I couldn't really explain to myself why I was feeling protective like this. I barely knew her, and she'd already said she was fine. . . But before I knew it, I was asking, "Is there anything I can do?"

Spark coughed again and I stopped. "Spark?"

"You could move, I think I'm gonna puke again!"

I took a couple hasty steps back and shuddered when I heard more disgusting throwing-up noises. After they'd stopped, I wandered forward a few steps, until my fingers brushed Spark's back.

I don't really know how to explain my ability to feel colors. Each color is just. . .different, somehow, and I can feel the differences. But Spark's thin hoodie was black, with some gray and white figures and letters on the front. I moved my hand until I was touching Spark's shoulder, then concentrated. I started to sense the shirt beneath the hoodie--an ocean blue color with some black writing on it--and then the skin beneath the shirt. A tan colored-pencil kinda color, but with a whitish undertone.

"You feel pale. Are you sure you'll be okay?"

Spark POV

Okay, now I was hearing things. Damn side effects!

I spat a couple times and took a deep, calming breath. "I feel pale?" I finally asked, my voice all scratchy from the burning vomit.

"I can feel color," Iggy said. "And you feel pale."

I stood up straight, stretching my back, which was aching from being hunched over. My wings shifted on my back and I knew what they wanted. What I wanted.

Whenever I get sick (which is more often than I'd like), it feels like I'm ready to die. My parents force me to stay home and I start to realize how. . .how. . .frustrating human life is. I mean, I'm not human! Why should I act like one? As soon as I was able, the feeling made me wanna fly and fly and just never stop.

And every single time, I ended up sneaking out my window at two a.m. and jumping to the driveway, where I'd start running. Across the cul-de-sac, through the yellow light cast by the streetlamps, up the quiet street, running until I just couldn't take it and I jumped, unfurling my wings and letting the night swallow me up until the sun came peeking over the horizon. . .

I hunched over, fighting the urge to hurl yet again.

"Are you sure. . ." Iggy began, but then he stopped mid-sentence. I glanced back at him and saw he'd straightened up, his brow furrowed.

"What's wrong?" I asked weakly. "I didn't even get a chance to interrupt."

Iggy shook his head. "I think the others are awake. Max was calling our names."

"Geez, and you heard her? That's awesome."

I saw Iggy's normally pale face turn the slightest shade of pink. Aw, I'd made him blush! It made me kinda goofily happy for some odd reason.

"We should go back," he said, turning toward the campsite. "We're in enough trouble as it is."

"Wait, Max is gonna be mad that we ran off in the middle of the night?" I asked, making my voice sound shocked. "How uncharacteristic of her."

Iggy snickered and I myself smirked, probably for the last time that night. After all, I'd pissed off Max earlier, so I was bound to get in even more trouble about this.

And, sure enough, Max was glaring at me when we got back to the campsite. She, Fang, and Angel had woken up; Nudge and the Gasman were still asleep. My guess: Angel had heard one of us thinking, woken up, and gotten worried that we weren't right there. She woke up Max, who, in turn, woke Fang. (But that's just a theory.)

"Where were you?" she demanded coldly. "You can't run off like that and leave us to be kidnapped or somethi--"

"I was sick," I interrupted angrily, clenching my fists. I was not a little kid and did not deserve to be yelled at like one. "I had to puke so I ran for the trees. Iggy ended up following to check on me. So cool your freakings jets, okay?"

Instantly Max deflated. She actually looked concerned when she asked, "Are you okay? Was it something you ate?"

"It's a side effect from my ability," I said tightly. "Bloody nose, headaches, puking, fatigue." Not to mention frustration with anything and everything that annoys me. . .

"Three down, one to go," Fang said. I rolled my eyes and went back to where I'd been before my stomach had woken me up.

"Yeah. And if you don't mind, I think I'm feelin' number four's effects now. Can I try to go back to sleep?"

Max watched me warily as first Angel, then Fang fell back into the sweet slumber of innocent mutants. Iggy, I guess, was still on watch, but he didn't try to talk to me again.

And Max kept her eyes on me. What, was she still not sure about me? After all this? Well, given the Flyboy attack, I could understand some of her concern. . .

"Are you sure you're okay?" she repeated, her voice low.

I sighed. "No I'm not, and yes I'm sure. But it'll pass. It always does."

"Just how many times have you used that ability?"

I had to think about that one. I mean, the first time had been an accident, so I'd had to try it out a few times to be sure I could actually do it. . . "Um, about a dozen times since I figured out I could do it," I said slowly. Each instance flashed through my brain like a three-second-movie clip, showing close-ups of the things I'd been looking at at the time. A road sign, the bedroom through the window of the house four streets away, a squirrel darting across the field as I soared thousands and thousands of feet above it. "Then there was today, so roughly thirteen."

"Oh." Max fell quiet then, retreating to her own thoughts. After a couple of minutes, I remembered I had to ask her something before I fell asleep.

"Max?" I whispered. She looked up at me questioningly. "Do you have any real idea where we're headed?"

She hesitated, then admitted, "No, I don't. For now, it's just north. Why?"

"Well, you know how earlier I said I wanted to go to Salt Lake?" I asked.

She smirked. "Need to check 'fulfill lifelong dream of becoming pop singer' off your list of things to do?"

I smiled back. "Sadly, that will have to wait. For me and Fang." Max giggled. "But I was actually serious. I have a feeling about the place."

"Salt Lake City?" Max said, her face becoming serious. I nodded.

"Look, I know you just met me an' all," I said, "and I know I've never been on the run like this before, but. . .I just have the weirdest feeling about it."

Max stared at me long and hard, thinking. Debating.

"I'm just saying," I added quickly. "We don't have to go. I just thought I should tell you. Y'know, with you bein' leader an' all."

"Well, even so, we'll have to check it out," she said slowly. "What kind of feeling is it?"

"It feels like I need to go there for some reason." I toyed with the words, trying to explain the tugging in my chest. "I mean, it's like I can't not go, if that makes sense."

Max watched me for a while, as if she was trying to figure out if it did.

Third Person POV

Finally, after all those years, she'd turned up. His one mistake, found. His one mistake, ready to be taken back.

But then she'd escaped. Again!

And in Chicago, of all places! His home turf. Where it had begun, where it had all gone to hell, and where she'd escaped yet again!

The whitecoat's fist clenched. Those stupid hybrids! Even the Felis concolor crosses, Itex's newest pride-and-joy warrior/assassin/hunter pack, had let her slip through the cracks. They'd let her escape from the alley, from the car, and from the store. They'd let her fly away. Away to her perfect home life, where she would return to her loving family and recover from the whole thing. Her special ability would kick in and they'd never find her again.

Maybe he was giving the hybrids too hard a time. After all, the kid had escaped from a high-security armored car. That was moving, no less. Picked four deadbolts, smashed three MasterLocks, fried both ID-scanners, and broken through the electrical firewall wired through the doors. In less than eight minutes. When she was five years old! Younger than the oh-so-special Subject Eleven from California. Smarter than that whole group.

And they'd let her escape. . .

The pencil in the whitecoat's hand snapped in two as his frustration and rage overtook him.

How could they have been so stupid?

A small beep from his phone told him he had a call. He pulled the cell out of his pocket and flipped it open. "This better be good!" he growled.

"Okay, with a temper like that, you'll never get anywhere," came the cocky reply. "It's just plain rude, and people tend to dislike rudeness."

The whitecoat closed his eyes in frustration. He took a deep breath. "What is it, Constantine? I'm not in the mood to deal with your crap right now."

Laughter crackled through the phone--he must've been on speaker, so the others heard.

"Come on, Mr. Jay! It's good news! You should be happy we decided to call," another voice said, this one a girl's. Blaze.

"What the hell is it?!"

"Got a lock on her location," a third voice said. Another boy--Swift.

Mr. Jay--whose real name was Julian Newell--inhaled sharply. The kids on the other end laughed again.

"Your slip-up in Chicago messed up her cloaking ability," said a fourth child. Shadow, the youngest of the group. "She's been transmitting the whole way home."

"What? Why didn't I know this? Where is she? Why didn't. . .!"

"Calm down, Jay," Constantine said. "I'm sure your little techies are gonna pick up on it at some point. But she's out west now. We're about to go pick her up."

"How the hell did you figure out where she was?" Newell demanded. "Con, I swear to God. . ."

"How dare you take the Lord's name in vain!" Blaze exclaimed, sounding shocked. Swift and Shadow snickered in the background. There was even a little giggle from the second girl of Con's flock, Avi.

"Anyway, just thought we'd tell ya. Keep you involved, y'know?" Con laughed. "Avi already set a lock on the Salt Lake house, so that's where we'll find her. We'll bring her home in a week or two. See ya, Mr. Jay."

"No, Con, wait!" Newell cried. "Don't hang up, I need to know exactly wher--"

Click.

Line was dead.

With a shaking hand Newell deposited the phone on his desk. He sighed deeply and tried to think things through.

First of all, his "slip-up," as they'd called it, hadn't been a total and complete waste. It had messed with the girl's mysterious ability to interfere with tracking devices. When she was calm, safe, and sound, nothing could find her. Put a bug on her? No signal until she came across an upset in her routine. The necklace they'd given to her when she was in the Factory had been a waste after she escaped. Any satellite transmissions that would've allowed the staff of the Factory to track her these past ten years had been lost.

But now she was transmitting again. The chip in her necklace was giving off a signal.

In other words, they could find her again.

Second of all, she'd flown halfway across the country in less than two days. For an injured, teenaged bird-kid, she was tough. She'd grown stronger--and Newell couldn't wait to see just how much stronger.

And third of all, Con's team was going to pick her up.

Newell chuckled, shaking his head.

Spark, as they used to call her, had been trained by the best before she'd escaped. Oh, she'd been young, but she'd shown promise. Time had probably transformed her into a formidable opponent, a capable fighter. Even if she'd been confined to a life acting human.

But even she couldn't face Con and his team.

They were, after all, her old family.


and so we meet the anti-flock.

amongthewinged is the genius behind the kid named shadow, who's about 8 years old.

so yeah. . .until next time, peoples.