C h a p t e r T w e n t y -F i v e

So apparently, I talk in my sleep.

I woke up and heard myself saying "Stop, Fang! Give me back that donut! You don't deserve it!"

Yeah. I'm a bit hungry at the moment.

Moving on…

I opened my eyes to find myself six stories above ground, but not by means of my wings, but some random guy's. Now I don't know much about you normal teenage girls out there (seeing as I grew up in a dog crate and whatnot), but I didn't particularly feel comfortable with being in the air with some guy whisking me away to who knows where.

But that's just me.

Needless to say, I freaked out, trying to unfurl my wings and punching and kicking at anything within range. But this is when the story gets even weirder: I wasn't strong enough.

Now if you've all been following the Maximum Ride series (written my James Patterson…except this one), you would know that I am stronger than the average full-grown man. I could kill a lion or tiger or bear (oh my!) with my bare hands. I know how to find the weak point in any given object that will make them crumble before me.

But could I get out of this guy's grip?

No.

Let's not tell anyone about this, ok? Our little secret. I do have a reputation to protect.

Of course, my wrists and ankles were tied together with rope, so that I couldn't actually utilize my kicking and punching skills properly, but that is beside the point.

"You will stop struggling now, Maximum," the creepish guy droned at me.

"You will get a foot in your face, Doomed One," I snarled back, wishing I could imitate his voice as well as Gazzy would've been able to.

"Enough talk!"

I opened my mouth to retort back at the kid, but he shoved a piece of cloth in my mouth (where he had one handy way up here is beyond me) and shifted me so that I was over his shoulder, looking over at his back. And I could see his wings perfectly.

And get this:

They didn't have feathers.

Yes, you heard me right. No feathers.

There was a very thin yet muscular looking piece of bone that was welded into the back of the boy; the main source of muscle and power in the wing. Three or four (hard to tell when the dang thing's flapping) smaller muscle-covered bones strong off of one joint in the middle of the largest one. Thin yet strong-looking leather straps of skin stretched across each frame, forming very odd yet functional wings.

Confusing, huh? Well here. Picture this: a bat. See the pretty little bat, fluttering about in your vivid imagination? Yeah. Now zoom in on its wings. That was pretty much what it looked like. Except, the boy's wings were more of a dark maroon color instead of black or brown.

I spat out the cloth, recognizing that there was no way I could kill anyone in my present condition (no, I'm not giving up; I'm just going to have to go with it until I am free).

"So," I said very cheerful-like. "Where are we going?"

"That is classified information, Maximum."

I turned my head painfully over the boy's shoulder to find the body that belonged to the voice that had spoken. A thin girl with the same sort of wings was flying nearby, her hair bright red. She looked very much like the boy, actually.

And then I noticed something else: they weren't flying all clumsy, like the Erasers had. They were flying like the flock does; naturally.

Well, crud.