A/N: Hellloooo everybody! I'm just going to take a second to point out that this is chapter twenty. A milestone I never thought I would reach. Also, if I did happen to reach this milestone, I thought I would be close to the end of the story. (The events of this chapter were slated to happen about ten chapters ago).

Thank you, reviewers, for keeping me motivated and interested in my own work. I couldn't have gotten this far without your continuous support and encouragement. Y'all rock!

"What is this, a concert?" I huff at the long line of stopped traffic. Most of the cars are empty, except for a few with people still climbing out or gathering supplies from their trunks. I put our car into reverse to back away from the crowd—I hate crowds—but hit something. When I look in the wing mirror (should I have been doing that while I was driving?), I realize another vehicle has pulled in behind us, effectively cutting off my exit strategy. Its occupants glare at me through the windshield. I sink in my seat. "Nick, I don't know what you've gotten us into, but I don't think we're getting out of this traffic any time soon."

Nick crawls from the back seat dressed in a fresh change of clothes, hidden in a backpack by his mother before. . . well, you know. He flashes a smile at the family climbing from the car behind us. "I see you've charmed your way into the hearts of yet another family. Careful, Max, popularity is a double-edged sword. I should know."

My eye roll is interrupted when I catch sight of the posters a group of teens pull from the back of their truck. #makewashingtonwhole and LOVE ONE ANOTHER. It feels like a stone drops into my stomach. "Nick—"

"It's a candlelight vigil. For my old school." He shrugs. "The news expected several thousand people to be here. It should be easy to slip through unnoticed, and we can leave the car. Nobody will find it until people leave, and that's not until sunrise."

I don't really feel like pushing my way past thousands of tear-streaked, emotional people, but I can't argue with his logic. I leave the keys in the ignition and slide from the car. "It's a better plan than mine."

"You had a plan?"

"Shut up." The joke feels out of place in the silence outside. We easily slip into the stream of people making their way up a hill, presumably towards the rubble left from the school. Nick lags behind a little when we reach the slope. Not surprising, with what he's been through these last few days. I fall back and pull his arm over my shoulder. He raises an eyebrow but admits defeat halfway up when we have to stop so he can catch his breath. After that, he leans on me pretty heavily, not that I mind. When we finally crest the hill, I slow down, taking in the scene below.

The news had it right. There have to be a thousand people hunched against the char-scented wind threatening to blow their candles out. Predictably, police line the outskirts of the crowd and guard the dusty remains of the school, all armed with radios and gun-shaped bulges. And every TV station in the city, as well as several from across the country, has shown up to catch video of the event. A few reporters pull people aside for interviews on camera. There's no way around the crowd; we'll have to go through to get anywhere. I swallow, realizing that if somebody from the School decides to take a break from evil for the next few minutes to watch the news, I'm no better off than a sitting duck, even with my larger wingspan and brain.

Nick must sense my discomfort. He squeezes my shoulders once before gently nudging me down the hill into the crowd. We angle ourselves in a way to avoid the worst of the cameras and cops, (Nick gives a wicked side-glare as we pass the police), around the bulk of the crowd but deep enough inside it that we don't stand out too much.

Except for the principal's voice, carrying over the speakers in the front, it's oddly quiet for such a large gathering of people. Unnerving, even.

Trying to get my mind off the thousands of potential life-threats surrounding me, I attempt a quiet conversation. "So, um, you said you had a friend that goes here? Chucky?"

The sides of Nick's mouth twitch up in a hint of a smile. "Yeah, Chuckles." We collectively scoot past a couple with a stroller. "We go way back."

I raise an eyebrow. "Like, potty-training-buddies 'way back', or we-share-a-long-and-convoluted-history-that-would-make-for-great-reality-television 'way back?'"

The small grin widens. "We used to skip school together. His dad owns this used car dealership, and a lot of the cars are crap, but we would learn how to fix them up, and take them for joy rides to the nearest amusement park."

"Don't they close while school's in?"

He smirks. "Never said they were open."

People step back to let Nick and me through without asking questions or sparing us a second glance. But there are just so many of them; the longer I'm in the crowd, the further away the edge of it seems.

Wait a second.

I squint my eyes and focus on the furthest point I can see. It seems to spiral away from me. Which doesn't make a lot of since, because since when do hills move? When my feet begin to lag, Nick notices and shoots me a sideways look. I shake my head and keep walking. Er, carefully placing one foot in front of the other.

Even with the crowd singing a sorrowful "Amazing Grace," my ears pick up the static of a radio. "We've got a visual on the target." I plant my feet and take a dizzying three-sixty. "South lawn, headed for the street." There! I recognize camera-man from the hospital immediately. My stomach flips, though whether from my predicament or this strange sickness, I don't know.

Nick's arm tightens around my shoulder. "Max? You okay?"

I brush off his worried gaze and respond in a low voice. "We've got company." Nick straightens to look around, but I pull him down to keep him from drawing too much attention. "Don't look, just move." He stares at me for a second before picking up his pace.

A single radio beep drifts from the man following us. I strain my ears to hear what he's saying. "Tall kid, dark hair. Yeah, the chick's still with him. We can't do anything until they leave." A pause filled with the fourth verse of the song. "No, do not engage. Too many people. Wait until they leave. Todd out." A string of answering beeps radiate from the outskirts of the crowd. I frown, remembering that the police have radios. Are they on this, too?

Even leaning mostly on Nick, my feet begin to drag through the grass. After another few seconds, nausea settles in. Nick, noticing my weight shift, slows down and frowns in my direction.

Before I have time to explain, pain cracks across my skull, from the back to the front. Without meaning to, I gasp.

Our escape halts. "Max?"

Nick's voice echoes and blends with the final verse of that dang song. A few people around us peer down with curiosity, and I realize that, somewhere between my headache and the acid swirling in my stomach, my butt has made contact with the ground. Nick crouches down next to me, laying a careful hand on my shoulder. His look says it all.

I grit my teeth. No, not here. Are you kidding me? A middle-aged woman leans over Nick. "Is everything okay? I have a phone, do I need to call an ambulance?"

That I manage to shake my head in protest without puking is a statement to my sense of self-preservation. I think Nick responds to the woman, but the blood pounding in my head drowns out whatever he says. I grip the sleeve of his shirt. "Go, Nick."

He looks like he's disgusted I would even suggest it. "No way. I'm not leaving you here by yourself."

I cut him off with a wave of my hand. "What do you plan on doing? Carrying me through this crowd? You won't make it with your leg." I lean in closer so the curious onlookers can't hear the rest. "Besides, I'm not the one they're after. I think the police are in on it. Your best bet is to go deeper and hope they lose track of you in the crowd."

When Nick opens his mouth to protest further, I fix my best leader-glare on him. "Nick, go." My eyes flick to the onlookers and back. "Find your friend. I'll be fine; it's not like I'm going any—" my thoughts, and, by extension, words, are cut off by a second, stronger wave of pain that shoots straight down my spine. I instinctively curl into a ball, clutching my pounding head in shaky hands. It's all I can do to keep my stomach acid in its natural habitat.

The hand on my shoulder tightens. I blink back the moisture in my eyes—no, I'm not crying, it's just a weird side effect of pain—only to notice a set of quickly-approaching shoes. Probably belonging to the camera guy from the hospital. I growl, pushing Nick away clumsily. "Go. Now!"

With a final, reluctant look, he slips into the surrounding crowd.

I drop my head onto my knees, taking deep breaths and swallowing the bile trying to claw its way up my throat. The approaching shoes break through the thin ring of worried rubbernecks and stop a foot in front of me.

I thinly register the static of a radio, a man speaking into it. Someone brushes my hair back and I reflexively jerk out of reach. But the movement throws me off balance, the world spinning a mile a minute. I squeeze my eyes shut, but the damage is done. I fall to my side, jarring my sore ribs, before blacking out.

"We've got her."

~xXx~

"Sorry. 'Scuse me." Nick slid past another group of huddled teenagers, feeling their stares on his back as he continued his "search" for his "friend." When he had made it another few feet, he paused and risked a glance over his shoulder. His breath caught in his throat.

There were two cops hovering near where Max had fallen, talking to the woman who had witnessed the whole thing. The woman pointed towards where she had seen Nick disappear. One of the cops, followed by some random guy in a white baseball cap, took her direction in their pursuit.

Nick took a sharp left, squelching whatever guilt he felt at leaving Max alone and vulnerable back there. He wouldn't do her any good if he got captured.

With that thought fresh on his mind, he tensed when something grabbed his shoulder, dragging him backwards. He turned to face his attacker, only to pause, studying his face in the dim light. A slow smile. "Chuckles, man—" Whatever he was going to say was cut off when the heavy-set kid, a few inches shorter and at least a year younger than Nick wrapped him in a tight embrace. After the initial shock wore off, Nick returned the gesture, somewhat awkwardly due to the height difference. "Dude, it's good to see you."

Chuckles reluctantly pulled back in order to breath. "I heard about what happened. I thought. . ." he trailed off, brow furrowing. "Wait, what are you doing here?"

Nick ran a hand through his hair and scanned the surrounding crowd for any threats. "It's a long story." Not finding anything immediately life-threatening, he faced his old friend again. "You said you know about the warehouse? I thought you got out."

Chuckles shrugged. "Dad's business isn't going good." At Nick's look, he crossed his arms. "And I'm not selling the big stuff anymore. I don't wanna kill anyone." The rest of the sentence hung in the air.

Nick fought down his disappointment. He would know as well as the younger boy what desperation was like. That's why they got along so well. "Have you heard anything else? About last week?"

Chuckles shook his head. "I don't know, man. All I heard is that you got busted up, but nobody saw you get out." He dropped his voice and leaned in. "Reno came over, looking for you. Said the gang's falling apart. Lost a bunch of guys last week." Nick nodded, ignoring the pain in his gut at the words. "Core members are gone, and the fringe is defecting."

At this, Nick startled. "Not to the Reds?"

Chuckles looked at him like he was crazy. "Didn't you hear? They found that one guy's body a couple'a days ago. The one who took over?"

Nick's face darkened. "Axel."

Chuckles nodded, oblivious to Nick's change in demeanor. "Yeah, some tourists found him out in the woods, near the river. Dead as a doornail."

"When was this?"

A lackadaisical shrug. "Uh, Wednesday?"

Nick did some mental math. "He couldn't have been killed during our fight; the warehouse is too far away from the river."

"I don't know, man. One of ours coulda got him, tracked him down and stuff. Anyways, word has it that the Reds are in the same shape we are."

Nick frowned; something bothering him. "If our people aren't joining the Reds, where are they going?" He had learned long ago that quitting a gang was the equivalent of going cold turkey; people would usually find somewhere else to go instead of leaving the lifestyle behind. It's why he worked so hard to keep Chuck away, even going so far as to quit school so the kid wouldn't be influenced by him.

Chuckles was staring intently over Nick's shoulder. "Um, Nick, is there somebody following you?" Nick's eyes widened a fraction before Chuckles grabbed his arm and tugged him through the crowd.

"No, Chuck, I gotta go back. Max—"

Chuckles snorted. "The chick everybody's been talking about? You dragged your girlfriend into this mess?"

"She's not my girlfriend!"

"That's not what Reno said."

"Reno's an idiot," Nick muttered under his breath.

"What's that?"

"Nothing."

Chuckles led him to a cluster of teenagers that Nick recognized as fellow gang members. "Hey, Sully, look who I found." One of the kids—definitely older—turned around, his eyebrows disappearing into his hairline when he caught sight of Nick. Chuckles interrupted whatever he was about to say. "We're being followed."

The other boy's face went grim. He nodded once, got the attention of the other teens in the group. Without a word, one of them passed his hoodie. Nick nodded his thanks and passed his own jacket to the donor. He zipped the new clothing over his shirt, settling the hood over his head to cover his hair and eyes. It wouldn't look too suspicious; it was a little cold outside. Somebody shoved a lit candle into his hands. When a girl tried to offer him her car keys, he refused. She rolled her eyes and shoved them in his pocket. "Black truck with a pink dinosaur hanging from the rearview mirror. I parked three blocks that way, so you should be able to get out." She pointed back in the direction Nick had come from.

"Um, thanks."

"Hey, we're just glad you're okay," one of the teens jerked his chin in the direction Nick and Chuckles came from. "You got a tail?" Nick nodded.

The girl who gave him her car keys smacked her gum. "Let us take care of them. You get outta here."

Nick only made it one step before Chuckles grabbed his sleeve. "Nick?"

Nick threw his friend a rueful smile, realizing this may be the last time he ever saw his friend. "Take care of yourself, Chuck." Then, spotting the wave in the crowd caused by those pursuing him, he jogged away.

Nick looped back around the crowd, ducking his face under his hood and holding his lit candle in front of him to blend in with the rest of the mourning people. He made it back to where he had left Max, but she wasn't there anymore. Of course. He couldn't risk giving himself away by asking anybody present where she had been taken; he'd have to look for her outside the perimeter of the crowd. He slunk to the edge and hovered there, facing the stage like the rest of the people surrounding him, but his eyes tracked the movements of the police. They were more alert than cops usually were in this town, which was going to make it difficult to slip away undetected.

Not a minute passed before Nick heard a shout behind him. Startled, he glanced over his shoulder to be met with Chuckles, riding the shoulders of white-ballcap-guy without the man's consent. Nick smirked. He had taught Chuck that move. The other teens were distracting the two cops, successfully drawing the attention of the officers along the perimeter into the crowd. One even left his post, walking right past Nick in his haste to break up the scuffle.

Seeing his opening, Nick fast-walked to the edge and glided easily past the badges and TV cameras. Once out, he ducked behind a parked car and leaned against the door, letting out a long breath. His leg and stomach were throbbing dully, frequently enough to hinder his movements. After another moment, he felt composed enough to continue his search. He let the candle fall from his grip as he wandered further from the crowd.

There's no way Max got up and walked away by herself. Last time this happened, she was out cold for a full day. No, the cops must've picked her up. Nick followed the soft glow of flashing police lights. When he got closer, he realized the light didn't belong to a cruiser, but an ambulance. He ducked behind a nearby car when a pair of cops strolled up to the back, pushing a gurney with a light-haired girl strapped into it.

Max. He shuffled around to the other side of the car he was hiding behind and risked peeking around the corner. Another cop stood next to his cruiser, speaking into a radio. Three cops. Not impossible, but not ideal. He jumped when the ambulance doors were slammed open. There were no paramedics in the back. His eyes narrowed. Actually, he didn't see anybody that looked like a medical professional. If they got Max into that ambulance, he didn't think he would be getting her back out.

There was no time to lose.

He took a running start to ram into the cop closest to him. The cop collapsed, his head bouncing off the cruiser behind him, and went still. Nick directed his attention to the two cops loading Max into the back of the ambulance. One of them pulled out his radio. "He's here!" Nick rushed him, knocking the radio from his hands. The cop didn't have time to take another breath before Nick had him flat on his face, out cold.

The third cop paused, eyes bouncing between Max and Nick. Nick noticed with grim satisfaction that this must be the only unarmed cop in the neighborhood. He wouldn't be able to load Max into the ambulance without help, and Nick wasn't about to give it to him. Nick took one step towards the cop, and the man took off in the opposite direction.

Smirking, Nick approached the gurney. His face fell when he saw Max's pallor. Glancing at the unconscious men around him, he wondered if it would be easier to push the gurney than carry Max. But, surveying the haphazardly-parked cars, he decided he could maneuver better without the medical equipment.

He made quick work of the straps holding Max down, noting the indentations they left in her skin after he'd removed them. The cops really didn't want to risk her getting away if she woke up. No sooner had he lifted Max off the gurney—realizing that she was even lighter than the last time he had dragged her through his house—then shouts warned him of approaching backup. The cop's radio call had been received, apparently. Carrying Max bridal-style, Nick sprint down the parking lot, looking for an escape vehicle.

His leg almost gave out after the first hundred feet. No way he'd be able to run three blocks to that one girl's car. His odds were better finding one already running. Surely. . . there! Some blonde teenager was climbing out of his car, unaware of the excitement coming his way. Nick could hear the engine rumbling from here. Perfect.

He put on another burst of speed just as the first shot rang out. A bullet bounced off the pavement next to Nick's feet. The gangly car owner whipped his head around at the noise. When he saw Nick, the girl in his arms, and the armed people chasing him, he ducked. Another bullet whizzed past Nick's ear, narrowly missing Max's head, cradled on his shoulder. He skid to a stop next to the running car, confused at first as to where the boy went.

Then he spotted a strawberry blonde head in the driver's seat, not a second away from pulling out of the parking lot. Even while the wheels began to roll, Nick pulled the back door open and lunged inside, thankful that the teen didn't think to lock his doors while armed police officers chased some crazy kid. Carefully shielding Max from the gunfire, Nick reached out and pulled the door shut before it gouged the sides of the next car they passed.

It wasn't until the door shut that the driver seemed to realize he had some stowaways. "Hey! What are you doing?" A gunshot shattered the back passenger window. "My car!"

Nick wasn't in the mood. "Just drive!"

Another bullet lodged itself into the driver's door. The teen didn't need any more encouragement. The car squealed into motion, the tires spinning for a hot second before finding purchase on the asphalt.

Nick looked out the back window at the receding forms of the cops. He saw the flash of a camera. They would have to change vehicles again soon. When they were out of range of the guns, he allowed himself to breathe. The sound was mirrored by the driver, whose white-knuckle grip on the steering wheel relaxed minutely. Nick pulled Max's head into his lap and absently ran his hand through her hair, noticing how clammy her skin felt.

"That was close." Nick startled at the driver's speaking. He expected the first words of the teen to be something along the lines of 'Get out of my car!' or 'Please don't shoot me!'. But the kid's voice sounded almost friendly. Bordering on excited. "You do that often? Why were those cops chasing you?"

Nick blinked. The driver was studying him curiously in the rearview mirror.

"I'm James, by the way."

After a moment of deliberation, Nick answered. "Nick."

"Nice to meet'cha, Nick. Mind telling me where we're going?"

A/N: Yes! I'm so excited to reach this point!

From here on out, the story shifts direction, as I never actually meant to dwell so long on Nick's convoluted gang life. Max will be returning to her original mission of finding her Flock. (Don't worry, other stuff definitely happens!)

I'm not a beggar, but it would be pretty cool if you'd leave a review for me. As a writer, I value your feedback, because it helps me to gauge my own writing in a realistic, objective manner. Frankly, I can't get better without it. (It also encourages me to write more (hinthintwinkwink)).

The adventure continues in chapter twenty-one!