A/N: I think I'm getting a hang of this slightly-regular updating thing. Sorry for the wait; this chapter ended up being a lot longer than I intended, (longest yet!), and I eventually just had to find a place to cut it off (as awkward as a place that happens to be).
For a while, we stagger through the forest in silence. After an hour, a few breaks, and a chance encounter with a bear cub, it's a different story. Nick slowly comes out of his daze, and his confusion from earlier disappears with it. Unfortunately, he has questions.
"What is your name?" He speaks a little too loudly. Without missing a beat, I open my mouth to tell him the same thing I said earlier, at the food court in the mall. He cuts me off. "Your real name." I consider the question carefully. Eh, what could it hurt? It's not like he could call the police on me or anything.
"Max. Just Max." A half-truth. He laughs. It sounds different from his 'I'm an evil mastermind' laugh. It sounds just like Fang's. "What? Something wrong with my name?"
"No! No. It fits a heck of a lot better than Marley." I can't help but crack a smile.
He pauses while I help him climb over a fallen tree. His next question is one word.
"Wings?" Dang. I was hoping he'd write that off as weird hallucinations, despite how I keep catching him staring at my back like it's going to start shooting lasers or something.
"I have them." That's all he needs to know. I know what he's really asking: how? why? when? who else? But telling him would be a whole new bucket of worms. He nods, disappointed but understanding. We walk further without saying much. Little by little, he puts less weight on me, needs less support. The forest thins out as we get closer to civilization.
"Why are you helping me?" This question is a doozy. I've been asking myself the same thing since I dropped into this mess. I have a reputation for doing stupid stuff like this.
"I don't know," I reply, trying to keep my tone light. It sounds more like I'm trying to talk while someone's strangling me.
"What? I have this ringing in my ears—"
I clear my throat. "It's just—it's the right thing to do, I guess." Uh-huh. Even I don't believe my answer.
Nick frowns. "I tried to kill you. Well, I didn't try to kill you, but Reno and Cody did. And then we kidnapped you."
"It hardly counts as a kidnapping when I get away." I can tell he knows I'm avoiding answering the question, but he doesn't push me to answer. Good. I guess it makes sense; he would know what it's like to keep secrets. Even if they're a bit of a different nature than mine.
There's a lull in conversation as we emerge from the forest. In front of us, miles of sprawling suburbs: white picket fences, yapping dogs, pristine lawns, the works. Further in the distance, a few buildings as high as five stories create a nice skyline against the clear blue sky. I spot the roof of the mall from yesterday. While we observe, an ice cream truck rolls through the streets a mere block from our position. Nick, almost able to stand on his own now, stiffens. As though on cue, we both duck behind a bush to watch. Neighborhood kids flock to the truck like Angel to stuffed animals. They walk away with sticky hands and smiling faces. After the kids have received their frozen treats, a pair of adults approaches the truck. I can't make out what they walk away with, but it's safe to say it is shady business. The ice cream truck rolls away, chirping its merry tune.
Nick stands (with about as much grace as a zebra in roller skates), smacking the dirt off his hands and the knees of his jeans."Probably drugs." He frowns. "We're not safe here. This is Red Creek territory." He surveys the land before lightly pulling me in another direction.
I plant my feet. "You can handle yourself from here. I can't go any further."
"But where are you going? What will you do?"
"Wherever and whatever I want." To find the Flock.
Nick studies me, deep in thought. "Take me with you."
I laugh. "No. Nope. Not going to happen." Nick opens his mouth to continue. "And there's nothing you can do or say to convince me otherwise." He presses his lips together and clenches his jaw.
"Fine," he says. "But at least let me help you." I protest. "No, you don't have any food or water."
"I know where to get it. I'm nobody's charity case."
He sniffs. "And, no offense, but you could use a shower."
"Well, excuse me for not bathing regularly while on the r—"
"On the run?" I practically see his ears perk up. "So, who're ya running from?" Crap.
"Uh. . ."
"The cops? Drug cartel? Parents?"
"Bloodthirsty, shape-shifting, attractive beings with fangs. They are strong, deadly, and usually hunt at night."
Nick gives me a look. "You're running from vampires?"
I manage to keep a straight face. "Yes."
He rolls his eyes. "Whatever. I know a safe place."
"Nope. Not coming with you."
"Could I bribe you with food? Freshly-delivered pizza?"
"How desperate do you think I am? Besides, a delivery isn't safe."
"Weapons?"
I pat the knife in my pocket. "All set."
"You sure? I've got silver. . . and garlic."
"Don't be ridiculous. Everyone knows the only way to kill a vampire is with a sharpened wooden stake through the heart."
"Seriously, though. Come to my place. Take a shower, take a nap. I think some of my mom's clothes might fit you. Take them, too. Then I'll give you supplies, and you can fly dramatically off into the sunset, never to be seen again."
I don't even bother refusing. An eye roll is the only response that absurdity warrants.
Nick smiles, that same smile he used in the mall. He grabs my hand. "It's settled, then. You'll be gone by nightfall."
I follow, half because of the prospect of food and sleep and half from my own curiosity. Because I refuse to learn from my mistakes.
As we shuffle along the outskirts of the city, the neighborhoods get darker. Grittier. The half-mansions devolve into alleys and storefronts with bars bracing the windows. Nick and I pull away from the forest and walk along a worn sidewalk. People lean out the windows of tired apartments, tapping cigarette ashes into otherwise empty flower boxes.
"What's with Fang?" The question catches me off guard, and I almost trip over some uneven sidewalk concrete. I try to feign innocence.
"Uh. What?"
"Fang. You keep calling me Fang." I keep my mouth shut tight. My name, that's one thing. The wings, that's another thing. But revealing my mission? My family? Out of the question.
Nick doesn't pick up on my No way, José vibes. "Is it some kind of weird pet name? Because I know I'm attractive—my hair stylist tells me so—but we just met, babe." I dip into my shallow puddle of patience.
"Just leave it alone. I'm not telling you."
"Ooh, hit a nerve, did I?"
I narrow my eyes. "If you know what's good for you, you won't ask me any more questions."
"What are you going to do—"
"Besides kick your butt to next week? Nothing. But, trust me, that's not a hornets' nest you want to poke." Jeesh, I liked him better when he was only half-conscious. Something catches my eye in a shop window we pass.
I take a one-eighty. It confirms the sinking feeling in my gut.
Nick keeps walking and talking, oblivious to my discomfort. Walking faster, I grab his arm as I pass him, towing him behind me.
"Nick, don't look now—" He immediately turns around to look behind him. "But we're being followed," I finish. "And now they know that we know we're being followed. Nice job, genius." I push him into an alley. "Hide. I'll take care of this."
"But—"
"Shut up. Your concussion will get worse if you're not careful. I've got this." A rusty red van pulls to a stop, and a beefy man with a handlebar mustache leans out the window of the driver's seat.
"Honey, I think you're in the wrong part of the neighborhood." A buffoon jumps from the back of the van. He's pretty. Too pretty, but his smile is all sleaze.
"Yeah. Why don't you come with us?"
Erasers. I figured they would eventually show up.
I slowly shift my weight into the balls of my feet. "No, thanks. I can take care of myself." When the driver of the truck gets out, clearly trying to intimidate me with his size, I continue. "Care for a demonstration?" The man in the passenger seat laughs and joins his friends. Together, the three of them back me into the alley, probably thinking it's in their favor. No witnesses in the alley, though they could have easily saved themselves the trouble. Curtains drawn, doors slammed shut, the town blinds itself to the atrocities it predicts.
My feet carefully shuffle backwards. All I would need to do now is trip over an empty glass bottle. I keep my eyes trained on my pursuers, planning my attack. It doesn't appear any of them are armed. At least, not in a way they could easily pull out weapons. Either the Erasers don't realize I'm alone, or they are very aware of it. Shoulder to shoulder, they fill the mouth of the alley, leaving me surrounded by high bricks walls set too close together for me to extend my wings.
I stop moving backwards. The Erasers take a few steps closer before halting their progress. Ugly smiles, all around. At least they haven't made any bad bird puns.
I decide to make the first move. Pushing off the dirty ground, I rush the guy on my left. He raises his arm to block my punch.
Crack!
I pause, confused. When did the School start making Erasers out of matchsticks? The thug cradles his right hand against his chest. In my confused state, the driver (the big one) pushes me. I stumble backwards before my back slams into something marginally solid. It tips over, and I land in a heap on top of it.
"Oof!"
I bounce back to my feet, unfazed by my unscheduled appointment with the asphalt. Only after Nick struggles to his feet do I realize that he's what I ran into. His jaw set, he coolly walks up to my attackers.
"No-" I grab his arm, trying to pull him behind me. Human versus Eraser? Yeah, right. He shrugs my hand off, and only stops walking when he's within kicking distance. The Erasers leer. I frantically scan the ground for a weapon to use while Nick fails at negotiating.
He crosses his arms (in a way that makes me think he's practiced the look in front of a mirror often), before asking, "What are you doing here?" There! A large, rusty pipe leans against one of the walls. I silently start to move in its direction.
"Nicky! Nice ta see ya. We'd all figured you'd fried in the fire." My hand closes around the pipe. It's heavier than I expected it to be, but that's not necessarily a bad thing. I move back to Nick's side.
It hits me. "Wait, you know these guys?" I whisper.
"Unfortunately," he says, not caring who hears. Well, that explains the fragility of the thug's bones. I loosen my grip on the pipe and allow myself to relax a little. Nick addresses the thugs. "I didn't realize the rules changed since last night."
They shrug. "Nobody's seen the boss since last night—"
"What?" Nick visibly pales.
"Not since that little stunt you pulled. And, Nick, the warehouse—"
Another thug interrupts. "Burned to the ground. I was there when it happened. Barely got out before the whole thing collapsed." He uses his hands to illustrate the event. The thug with the broken arm eyes the pipe in my hands warily. I meet his eyes and smirk.
He suddenly points accusingly at me. "That chick was there last night! I saw her! She was fighting for the Reds!"
Thug numero uno glances at me before addressing Nick. "Your momma wouldn't be too happy to hear about that, would she?"
Nick steps in front of me protectively. I let him, but more for the thugs' protection than my own. "First of all, Maxie here—" I glare at the back of his head for using my real name. He continues, oblivious. "Max is a double agent. I planted her myself. Second of all, you can go ahead and tell my mother, because she doesn't give a crap about me and what I do. Third," he pauses for emphasis. "Third, nobody likes a snitch."
The tension in the silence that follows could strangle a cat.
The third thug, the driver, finally steps backwards. "Listen, man, we was just on our way out of town, anyhow. Right, boys?" The other two don't move.
"Right, boys?" They nod stiffly, obviously not liking their situation.
"Nick, we could give you and your girl a ride to your place, if you want," says the third thug.
"I'm not his girlfriend. And, thanks, but-"
"Sounds great," Nick says, shaking hands with the driver.
I could beg for reviews, or I could go downstairs and eat ice cream. I choose the latter. Peace!