A/N: Well, note to self: that last chapter sucked almost as much as 16 (shudders at stupid mistake)... don't ever write about Iggy's comedic hour again.

Random comment: if you want an idea of how I picture Mercy, go Google Jensen Ackles and add a manic gleam to his eyes... yes, you will be seeing Mercy again. Next chapter, actually. (Whoops, did I just say that...?)

On a more serious note, a lot of you have been leaving reviews regarding a possible character death. First off, I am not even sure who will die; I'm grabbing at straws in an effort to put someone else in the current victim's place, because- quite frankly- I would prefer at least a semi-happy ending, but I'm not sure I can pull it off. The plot needs a death. Secondly, I promise I will leave a glaring, bold warning above that chapter, and possibly even the chapters leading up to it. Thirdly, it will not be until the climax of the story, and that is still thousands of words off. Look at it this way- I've just starting prewriting the Interlude, or Chapter 31. Though it actually falls somewhere around 2/3's of the way through the story, I can't make any promises as to the length (I never planned for it to be this long, and I've not even begun the climax) but I assure you there is plenty of time before someone (possibly) dies.

Also, a lot of you seem to think Max was going freaky paranoid over Fang's power, especially with the last sentence- I'll never feel safe again. That was partially a joke, people; Max is concerned, but not obsessively so- more just the mother hen fretting over how he's going to use it, considering his, erm, less-than-angelic morals. :)

Hopefully this chapter is back up to par; please review to make up for the measly numbers last time... if nothing else, the cliffhanger ought to be an incentive.

Disclaimer: I don't own Maximum Ride; James Patterson does.

Claimer: Don't steal my idea, even if it's not the only one I've got. (wha'? Doubletake)

Chapter 25

We scampered across the concrete lot, feeling exposed and tense. At any moment I expected guards to pop up on the roof or come spilling around the corner, shooting bazookas at us.

My face kept getting whipped with hair; there was no foliage to slow the wind, and it screamed past viciously. I had to double over, crouched low for stability as much as caution. Only our adrenaline-enhanced alertness kept Nudge from whimpering and Total from yapping complaints.

Finally, our straggling group reached the imposing wall; I pressed my back against it, then decided otherwise—the ribbed metal was frigging cold, like pressing my back to an ice cube.

It was overcast, thick clouds oozing by above, so there wasn't much of a shadow to cover us. Plus, the walls were featureless; all a sentry had to do was poke his head over the edge of the roof to immediately spot us.

The parking lot, I noticed, was only about a quarter full, and all the cars were bunched on the end furthest from us. Figures.

"Now what?" Angel asked, wiping her runny nose on the back of her sleeve and looking up at me with wide eyes.

With the lot of us lined up against to the aluminum wall like suspects, I was hard pressed for an answer. We had opted just to wear sweatshirts and lots of layers, as bulky, bright-colored parkas don't really make good spy clothing, but the downside was that we were all shivering. Even Fang had a bluish tinge to his lips, and he crossed his arms tight against his chest. I did the same and hunched my shoulders for good measure.

Forced to yell over the sharp hiss of the wind, I said, "We're gonna circle around and find a door."

Fang muttered something and eyed the bare wall doubtfully, but just as a particularly harsh gust whistled by to prevent me from hearing what.

"What'd you say?" I shouted, squinting against the bite. Angel had picked up Total; the two of them used each other's body heat to keep their hands (and paws) warm.

He glanced back at me, and I couldn't help but notice—underneath the black hair that was blown across his face—that he'd momentarily forgotten to glare.

He forced his hoarse voice louder; the wind carried it oddly, and though I could see his mouth move, the sound seemed to be coming from the other side of a wall. "If there is a door!"

I was going to reply, but decided it was just easier to nod agreement. I turned and began leading them along the side of the building, heading for the filled part of the parking lot and north wall. It would make sense for the front door to be nearest where people parked, right?

A couple times, I glanced back over my shoulder to make sure everyone was trailing. Angel was right behind with Total, then Nudge, then Iggy, then Gazzy, with Fang bringing up the rear. I couldn't hear him, but he held a fist to his mouth, and his shoulders shook as he coughed. Note to self: don't let him yell anymore.

Yeah, like Fang was prone to random shouting matches.

I paused before rounding the corner, worried of someone spotting us, but plucked up the nerve to poke my head around. Quickly, I took everything in with a glance, then twisted back to our relative safety to absorb it.

There was a door—I saw the frame and large knobs protrude from the wall—but no windows, which would've been the preferable method of breaking in. But I took heart in the fact there was some way in.

"What'd you see?" yapped Total; there was a short lull in the gusts that let me hear him.

I raised my voice so they could all hear. "There's a door, but also guards."

Two of them, posted on either side, cradling had what appeared to be machine guns in their arms. I couldn't tell if they were Erasers or not. Great.

There is another way in.

I wondered when you'd show up, I thought, daring another quick glance around the corner. People had begun trickling out, no doubt headed for lunch, dressed in the usual business outfits.

There was probably a closet inside for the lab coats.

You must do this alone; I c-cannot speak much in this vic-c-cinity, it said, but I can tell you that there is a garbage shoot that empties out of the s-south side.

I winced as my head pulsed and kneaded at my forehead…And what the hell was with the stutter? Can we fit? I asked, taking a calming breath, and is it possible to climb?

Would I be telling you if y-you couldn't?

Probably.

Once it stopped talking, the headache abated. Weird. There was something wrong with the Voice, more than the stutter—it sounded almost fuzzy, like the transmission was fading. Or maybe I was out of range.

Like I said, weird.

"Alright, turn around!" I called, turning to face the line behind me. Sheesh, yelling at the top of our lungs, checking out the front door, wearing sweatshirts and standing in plain sight…We definitely passed as experienced criminals.

Fang cocked his head and flicked his hand at me; I took it as a gesture to repeat myself.

I cupped my hands around my mouth like a megaphone, prepared to holler at the top of my lungs, but Fang suddenly made a frantic slashing motion across his throat. Stop.

He then tapped his ear and mouthed, Normal.

Oh. He'd thrown his hearing this time; if I yelled again, it'd blast his eardrums.

I tell you there is something very strange about being unable to hear what you're saying. I could feel my throat vibrating as I spoke at an average volume, saw Fang's expression wasn't confused, and yet I heard nothing over the howl.

"Turn around," I said. (At least, I think I said.) "There's a garbage chute on the south wall we can climb."

He nodded, then turned, tapping Gazzy on the shoulder to get the kid's attention.

With one hand brushing the wall for stability against the wind, he led our little train, while I took up caboose.

At least there isn't any snow, I thought, then winced at the sting from the wind. It seemed to be attacking, trying to batter down the wall, the only obstruction for miles.

Upon reaching the corner, he stopped and glanced over his shoulder at me; I broke out of line and passed by my Flock to draw level with him.

This close, we could hear each other without bellowing, though I still had to lean in to the point our shoulders brushed.

While craning my neck around the corner, I said conversationally, "This power of yours could come in handy."

After a moment of observation, I pulled back to look at him. I worried that my nonchalance was glarlingly fake, but he looked more bemused than irritated at my attempt for conversation. I took that as a promising sign and continued, "I mean, when we get inside. Scan around for guards and stuff."

He was starting to get that look that told me he was questioning my sanity again. Nonetheless, he hesitantly nodded agreement.

Now, to the point of this whole chat that was making my cheeks feel warm, even against another slap from the wind. "Just…don't pull an Angel."

From his blank expression, I could tell it took him a moment to figure out what 'an Angel' was, and another to figure out how she applied to him. Only then did his face harden into the defensive glare I knew was coming.

Subconsciously, he leaned in closer so I could hear his wearing voice; he was pressed against me, stooped slightly to get by my ear because of his height.

Okay, I'll admit—reluctantly admit—the extra body heat felt good. What? Winter is not my season; I was desperate for warmth.

"I'm not six," he growled.

I was starting to feel like an ass, accusing him of lacking the morals to go along with his power; I blushed and snapped, "Sometimes I wonder."

At first, his face got even darker, but then he shook it off to be replaced with something drier, almost amused. He cocked an eyebrow at me, almost smirking. "You don't trust me?"

Deliberately off-hand, joking—it was a testament to how strong the underlying emotion was that I could see through him so easily.

Yep, I was most definitely an ass. Only an ass could actually hurt Fang's feelings. I mean, he didn't even have feelings to hurt.

Making fun of him in my head actually made me feel worse, which was so strange I was momentarily thrown for a loop.

"I trust you," I defended, but in my confusion it lacked conviction. Fang just raised his brows and gave me a knowing look, his bravado never wavering. Fake-bravado, I realized—he really was offended.

I began to stumble over an apology, frantically racking my brain for a way to prove him wrong. "Look—"

"What'd you see?" he said. His tone was as light as the gravelly sound would allow, but his expression was turning brittle under the strain.

"I just meant—"

"Max."

It sounded neutral and calm. But the translation? Drop it and tell me what you saw, because I'm going to snap if you don't.

Pushing him would do more harm than good, I decided; if there was one thing Fang did not do, it was chick-flick moments. Especially when there were so many ways to evade it—starting with the building we were supposed to be breaking into. So I relented and described the back lot of the complex: "There's a couple dumpsters, one on either side of the door. Both are full to the brim."

I actually couldn't see the door—my view had been blocked by the garbage—just the caged security light screwed into the wall above it. Otherwise, there was nothing but flat concrete.

Over the wind's disapproving screams, I could hear voices. The rest of my Flock had bunched around me, checking out our predicament for themselves and discussing it. So much for secrecy.

Glancing around at my troop, I realized we had another problem—cold. We burned calories quickly had a low body fat percentage, so we didn't handle freezing weather well at all.

"Max, I'm c-c-cold," chattered Gazzy, right on cue.

Right now, we were shivering and numb at the hands, but it was getting worse. The flight back in even higher (and therefore colder) altitudes could easily give us frostbite if we didn't warm up first.

"Frostbite!" wailed Total. "I'll never walk again."

"Quit with the d-drama, doggie; you're the warmest of a-all of us," I snapped. We had to get in, and that's all there was to it.

Of course, that was easier said than done.

"Do we risk it?" I asked myself, eyeing the deceptively unguarded back lot. Something about the lack of security wasn't adding up, and I began to wonder what type of ambush they had ready for us.

"I'll go first," offered Fang; I jumped, having forgotten he could hear me.

I twisted my head around to stare at him with unabashed incredulity, which just pressed my shoulders against his chest more. He seemed by far the best at handling the cold; he barely shivered. His lips still had that bluish tinge, though, and his hands were shoved deep in the pocket of his sweatshirt for warmth. Comparatively, I probably looked like hell.

"I s-suppose…" I began, unable to hide the hint of uncertainty in my voice.

His expression was taunting, daring me to tell him I didn't think he could get us inside alive. You don't trust me? his falsely insouciant voice echoed in my mind.

"Oh, alright," I snapped. You're already on the max dose of painkillers, but go push yourself harder; see if I care!

Things happened very quickly after that, starting with the gunshot that spliced through even the wind's howl. A small black spot appeared in the concrete where the bullet ricocheted, a few inches from Iggy's foot; we all leapt in shock and I yelled, "To the back door!"

Looked like the sentries had finally returned from Nudge's false alarm. I heard faint yells; I dared a quick glance up and saw three men pointing guns over the edge of the roof at us.

"Move!" I snapped, already herding them towards the back, but then I heard Nudge give a panicked squeal and gesture behind me.

A handful of guards were jogging towards us, weapons cradled in their arms as they ran; they'd come around from the door on the north wall unbeknownst to me. Unable to tell if they were human—like the roof sentries—or Erasers from inside yet…

I made the decision that it really didn't matter which species they were when they had automatic machine guns.

"Shit," I hissed. We had maybe thirty seconds before they reached point-blank range. Quickly, I grabbed Gazzy's shoulders and shoved, yelling, "U and A!"

There was a quick succession of popping noises, and a ragged row of charred nicks appeared in the concrete right in front of him—someone from the roof had fired. He swayed and tottered back into me.

"Gazzy?" I asked, grabbing him under the shoulders. They'd missed.

…Right?

"Gazzy!"

"I-I'm okay," he squeaked. "Just…scared."

That makes two of us.

"Ready!" I heard the squad leader bellow; I turned glanced over my shoulder to see the group from the north wall within fifty feet of us. In one motion, they all raised their guns up to their shoulders.

I raised my voice in retaliation, swaying with a gust of wind. "Spread out! U and A!"

Iggy stepped away from the wall first to make room for his wings, but leapt back with a swearword as another spray of bullets from the roof raked the concrete.

Forty feet…Why didn't they fire already?

"We're stuck!" squealed Nudge. "Omigosh, what do we do?"

"Aim!" commanded the leader; all the nozzles were suddenly pointed right at us.

Fifteen feet…he raised his hand, prepared to swing it down as he ordered our deaths…opened his mouth—

Fang shoved Angel behind him as he pushed his way to the front of our huddle, his expression hard and defiant. Before I could react, he locked gazes with the commander…and thrust out his wings.

"Fi—Argh!"

The commander most definitely wasn't an Eraser. Only a human would react like that.

Fang could only get them about halfway open before his left wing hit the building, but it got the job done—flabbergasting the guards. They skidded and stumbled into each other in their haste to stop; the resulting chaos caused some to accidentally bump the triggers.

I jumped at the loud bangs, but the bullets went wide; they were left staring with huge eyes at the black feathers and his murderous glare—I could only assume they took him to be some sort of creature from their nightmares.

All I saw was the back of him; his wings screened us from the ground troops, which was the point…I think.

Taking this improvised plan in stride, I hissed, "Run, now."

No one hesitated; it was only a matter of time before the lot on the roof regained their composure and started to fire again. I tapped them as they scurried past, mentally doing a head count. Gazzy, Angel and Total…

"Sir?" asked one of the men hesitantly, unsure whether it was within his job description to shoot what he probably thought was a rare subspecies of demon. (I was strongly reminded of the squatters in DC.)

Iggy…

I couldn't see what was going on beyond the shield of wings, but as I didn't hear gunfire…Taking that as a good sign, I tapped Nudge's shoulder as she passed. Which just left him to deal with.

I grabbed the back of his sweatshirt (he'd cut slits for the wings) and dragged.

"Shi—" he began, startled by my touch. He stumbled backwards, then twisted out of my grasp to turn around. He automatically folded the wings in his haste.

The spell broke.

"Regroup men!" barked the commander, just as the loud clatter of machine-gun fire blasted my eardrums. Probably from the roof. We rounded the corner, sprinting for the door—Gazzy was already out of sight behind one of the dumpsters.

Angel just clutched Total closer and picked up speed, but Nudge screamed and covered her head with her arms. Iggy slowed up to look over his shoulder and called in a worried voice, "Nudge?"

"MOVE!" I hollered. We didn't have time for a med-check!

"I should've stayed—at the hotel!" she wailed, jumping about five feet in the air to avoid another volley of bullets. "And—eaten—more donuts!"

I dimly heard a shout through the wind and my own throbbing heart, then someone tackled me around the waste.

Concrete hurts. It's hard and relatively unbending. So when I hit it—already running flat-out—I skidded about three feet, tore my jeans and god knows how much skin, and got the wind clean knocked out of me.

Whoever was behind this had hell to pay. Except…they were laying on top of me, arms wrapped around my waste, and dead heavy.

I twisted and writhed—the only thing worse than being cornered is being pinned—but heard more gunfire and a whoosh as the bullets flew just above my head. Another crack, and a black spot appeared about an inch from my out-flung hand; I hastily tucked my arms against my sides.

"Don't. Move," growled Fang.

Well, at least I knew who was laying on top of me. I thought he smelled oddly familiar—like wind and sweat and pine and generic motel soap.

"Can't…breathe," I wheezed back; I'm not sure he heard me over a fresh round of gunfire. It was coming from two directions—behind and above diagonally.

I gasped, feeling the wind from a bullet rustle my hair; Fang hissed.

More shouts as they approached, ordering us to surrender; the bullets continued to rain, but they were loosely aimed around us, not at. With the wind howling, and Fang crushing me, I only caught every couple words: "Do no—if…surrend—questioning later…" Were they taking our immobile forms as a sign of submission?

The salvo of bullets slackened, then petered out altogether.

Immediately, the weight lifted off of my back; now able to breathe, I scrambled up and broke into a sprint.

He kicked up metaphorical dust; I could beat him in flight, but not running. Right on his heals, I just narrowed my concentration onto nothing but his back. Catch him, catch him, catch him…It was a trick, a goal to help me ignore the renewed shooting.

Where were the others? No, don't think, run.

He skidded into a turn, disappeared behind the navy-blue dumpster; there was a spattering of clangs as bullets punctured holes in it.

A searing pain in my leg; I kept pumping. Serene thoughts floated by, buoyed by my adrenaline. I must have been shot…I wonder if it's bad…

The sharp turn made me stumble; I fell to my hands, pushed back up…the door was open, Fang holding it…

The narrow aisle formed by the two dumpsters closed in around me. More shouting; so much firing it was a drone. He was a dark blur. A neon light. Cold; ice chips stinging my arms. Almost—almost…Then suddenly there was no wind.

Dragonology's Dictionary: "We shall show mercy, but we shall not ask for it." –Winston Churchill