A/N: It's been a while since I've updated, but, in my defense, I've been heavily editing earlier chapters of this story. (I wrote them like five years ago!) You won't have to reread them because I haven't changed anything pertaining to the plot, but I hope it helped with my verb-tense issues and other kinda minor things, like fleshing out dialogue and actions. Also, longest chapter yet. :)

Special thanks to anybody who has been following this story from the beginning. I'm honestly impressed. And for those of you just joining, I appreciate you reading this far. May as well read the rest now, right? ;)

It continues to rain for the next day and through the next night. By the time the sun goes down, I'm soaked through and freezing. I swear, my nose went numb ages ago. Must be getting to that time of the year. Or maybe my lack of sleep is just killing me.

Either way, it's essential that I find shelter before I freeze to death. Sometime after wandering through a dark forest, I find myself at the edge of a community. The layout reminds me of something I've seen before, but I can't quite place it. There are houses all over, mostly looking the same except for the species of bush in the front yards. All of them have brightly-lit windows. Shadows move behind the curtains, and I can smell good food and evergreens. It smells like Christmas.

Christmas already? I must've lost track of time at some point.

A shiver runs down my spine. I blow warm air into my numb hands and begin looking for a place to crash. There's only one house on the block that doesn't have any lights on. There's a car parked on the street in front of it, but it could easily belong to a neighbor. Judging by the lack of snow underneath it, it hasn't been moved for a while, either.

When did it snow? Ah, no wonder I'm so cold.

It doesn't look like anybody's home, but I can hear the heater kick in from where I stand across the street. It's warm, and, heck, it would be nice to sleep on a mattress again. I decide to break in.

The back porch, coated in ice and fallen leaves, is slippery. I don't look forward to kneeling to pick the lock. Luckily for me, the door swings open with little more than a squeak.

Weird, but I'm not going to complain.

I step inside, into darkness. I try the light switch, but it seems like the electricity is out. No matter, I can see in the dark.

The back door enters into a kitchen. The fridge has crayon drawings of kids with wings. All of the cupboards are stocked with dusty cans of food. Heh. Preparing for the apocalypse? I'd hate to leave all this food uneaten, so I pop open a can of ravioli and eat it cold with a fork I find.

I pause, glancing at the stove. On it is a half-filled mug filled with molded coffee, steaming in the cold. It sits on an unwashed plate covered in what looks like spaghetti sauce. The shadows in the room suddenly seem to grow a little darker.

The kitchen is creeping me out, so I decide to explore the rest of the house instead. The next room I walk through is the living room. I don't risk trying the television, because the light may attract predators. But I take a seat on the couch, avoiding the left side because it's where Angel spilled that milk once and now that spot permanently smells spoiled.

While scraping the last bits of sauce from the bottom of my can, I get another chill. There's a pile of old shoes by the doorway, some small enough to belong to kids. Several picture frames hang from the walls, but they all lie askew and empty. The house creaks.

The heater must've turned off, because when I exhale, my breath fogs.

I notice another hallway to my left, and naturally I have to explore it. Unfortunately, it's empty but for a stairway to the upper floor. I can't find anything wrong with it at first, but something about it seems almost. . . sinister, I guess. The air gets colder as I back away.

Max. Please.

Angel?

I carefully approach the stairs again and test my weight on the bottom step, unsure where the voice is coming from but certain that I need to know. Immediately, another shudder runs up my spine, followed by the ominous click of a switch upstairs. A single, bare bulb hanging from the upstairs ceiling flickers to life.

I can't go up there. Something in my gut is telling – no, screaming – for me to leave. My heart starts beating faster than it should be able to.

Max.

This time I'm sure it's up there. Ignoring my instincts, I take the steps two at a time. The dark, sticky feeling in my gut gets worse with each stride.

When I reach the top my eyes widen and I almost tumble back down the steps at the sight. Instead, I let out a-

A loud scream rips me from my nightmare moments before it's over. Before I even have my bearings, I'm crouching by Nick, trying to muffle the yell that's echoing in the alcove and no doubt through the entire forest. He's not even awake.

"Nick!" I half-whisper, carefully shaking him with the hand that isn't clamped over his mouth. "Wake up!" I look up to scan the outside for a potential threat.

Suddenly, Nick swipes my hand off of his mouth and holds it in a white-knuckle grip. I grit my teeth against the pain. He still isn't awake. "Nick, snap out of it. Wake up."

After another second he stops yelling and his opens his eyes. I let some of my tension drain, but he's still panting, and sweat is running down his forehead. Not good.

"Where are you hurt?" I look at the rain-soaked bandages around his stomach and leg and subtly pull on my encased wrist. "Oh, gosh, it's your leg, isn't it? I knew I should have checked on it before—"

"M'okay."

His voice is too soft, his grip getting weaker. I easily wriggle my hand back into my custody.

"—we went to sleep. It's probably infected. What do you do for infection? None of us have ever had one before because we heal so quickly—"

"Max, I'm fine."

"—we should take your bandages off and see what it looks like first." I begin to untie the knot around his leg, not looking up from my fumbling fingers.

Nick hisses, rising onto his elbows. Long fingers rest on my shoulder. I finally glance up to see both James and Nick watching me with a curious gaze.

It takes a moment for it to click.

"Oh."

James returns to his seat on the floor and blinks bleary eyes. I carefully rewrap the bandage I'd almost ripped from Nick's gaping wound. He grimaces, not raising his eyes from the dirt floor of our alcove. "You want to talk about it?" The familiar phrase rolls off my tongue easily; I've heard it enough recently from him, I may as well return the favor.

He rolls his eyes. "What is there to talk about? It was just a nightmare."

I purse my lips, studying his face for any sign he's lying to me, because my guts telling me he's holding something back. I don't find one, but he's proven to be a good liar and my instincts are rarely wrong. Misguided, sure, but not ever wrong, especially when it comes to my Flock. (Er, whatever). I finish tying off the knot at his leg, my fingers probably lingering a little longer than necessary as I mull something over in my head.

"Was it related to-"

Nick snaps his leg out of my reach. "I don't want to talk about it." He casually wraps his arms around to hug his leg to his chest, defending both of his wounds.

I would say my guess is correct. Being held hostage is a pretty traumatic experience, and it was only a matter of time before Nick's brain starting leaking bad memories into his good dreams. But my only options are to force him to talk or let it go, and we don't have the time to deal with Nick's stubbornness right now. The sun's already up, and we're burning daylight. So I simply respond, "Welcome to the club. Need a hand?"

He pats away my proffered hand, signaling that he needs a minute to regain his bearings. I get that, so I let him be.

When I turn around, it's to find James testing his weight on his twisted ankle. There are dark bags under his eyes, and he's paler than usual.

"You don't look so good."

"Gee, thanks."

"I'm rolling my eyes, Ig—dang it. Sorry, James."

"Whatever." His full weight on his ankle, he takes a few experimental steps, clinging to the wall like he expects his leg to give out.

"Did you sleep at all last night?"

"Yes? I think so." Happy with his ankle, he bends to pick up the remaining backpack.

"No, here. Let me take it."

James tightens his grip on the backpack, frowning. "Won't it hurt your wings?"

A little startled at the reminder of last night's conversation, it takes me a second to find words. "No. They, uh, tuck in. I'm the only one not getting over a recent injury, so I should be the one to carry the extra weight. Plus, I've got super-strength."

James' eyes get a fraction wider. "Any chance you've got heat vision?"

I just stare at him. "No. Not last I knew. Why?"

James shrugs, sliding the heavy pack over to me. I fiddle with the zipper for a few seconds, mulling it over, before tacking on, "James?"

"Uh-huh?"

"Don't talk about my. . . my wings too much. You never know who's listening."

"We're in the middle of nowhere," he deadpans.

"Actually," Nick butts in, "I think I recognize this place." He turns from the cave opening to me, his tone heavy as he says, "It's only a couple of miles from the warehouse."

My breath catches. A couple of miles from the warehouse? I bring up a mental map of my flight from Bess' cabin to the bunker. "East or west of it?"

"Southeast."

I close my eyes and lean heavily against the rock wall behind me. "We've been going in circles." We had to have been going the wrong direction all night; it will take another day to make up for ground we've lost. How are we supposed to get outside town if I lead them straight into it?

And what happened to my sense of direction?

Ugh. It's not sleep I need, it's multivitamins. Multivitamins and coffee.

I straighten up, pull Nick to his feet without a lot of warning, and hoist the backpack over one shoulder. "Well, guys, we'd better get a move on."

They follow me outside the mouth of the alcove, but hesitantly. I brush their wariness off as grogginess and ask Nick, "Which way?"

Nick frowns. "Where are we going?"

"As far away as possible."

Nick nods grimly, but James' mouth drops open at the statement. "Woah, woah, woah. I didn't sign up for a cross-country hike-a-thon."

I give him a look. "Do you have a better idea? Because the way I see it, Nick's got people after him, I've got people after me, and you're guilty by association. Heading back into town is suicide."

He blanches. "You don't think they'd actually—"

I face him fully, doing my best to keep my tone even. "James, I don't think you're taking this seriously enough." Before I continue, I take a deep breath. "If you want to go back home, then fine. Go. But Nick and I don't have one to go back to, and I'm betting that by now you don't either."

"My parents—"

"Are better off not knowing where you are." I try to soften my tone when I see his face fall. "Trust me, James. I've lived most of my life doing this, and it sucks." A mirthless smirk. "But it's how I've survived, and I can help you stay alive, too, if you come with me."

I never thought I'd see the day that I asked an outsider to come with me—Nick doesn't count because he insisted- but I guess there's a first for everything.

James' shoulders sag, but another minute and he rolls them back straight. "Okay." A deep breath. "But how far are we going, exactly? I haven't updated my passport since, like, ever."

I huff through my nose. "We'll figure that out when we're out of range." I pivot on my heel to head out, then pause thoughtfully. "I hear Mexico's nice this time of year."

At James' face, I have to bite back a laugh.

"Which way is out?" I ask Nick.

"That," he gestures, "is the fastest way out of town. But are we avoiding major highways?" I nod. Backroads are definitely safer, and who's to say the police aren't still blocking all the major roads out of here?

Nick readjusts his position to slightly more to the south. "This way, then. We should be out of town by supper tonight."

I smile at the prospect. "Great."

What I don't say is that I'm planning on helping Nick and James find a safe place—even if I have to personally fly them to Hawaii—and leaving to find my family. If not both at the same time.

~xXx~

"I'm so hungry I could eat a. . . a horse."

"You already said that."

"Oh, so you are listening."

A huff. "Max, make him shut up. He's giving me a headache."

A groan. "Max, when can we get food?"

I look to the heavens in my exasperation. If there's one thing I haven't missed while traveling on my own, it's the kids' whining. The only phrase Nick and James haven't covered is—

"Are we there yet?" they ask simultaneously.

Finally, a question I can answer:"No." I shift the pack on my shoulders in the silence that follows.

Ah, silence.

Silence?

When I turn around, Nick and James are wearing matching mischievous grins. "What?"

Nick pretends to check a non-existent watch. "Four hours. Longer than I expected."

James nods pseudo-solemnly. "I concur. She has more stamina than I thought." A thoughtful pause. "Or she's going deaf."

I roll my eyes to hide the tension in my shoulders. Their words echo a whitecoat's too closely for my comfort. "So you were testing my ability to. . . what? Ignore you?"

James drops his airs. "Yeah, but we're also hungry."

I shift the backpack on my shoulders. "Nick? You, too?"

Reluctantly, he nods. "We skipped supper and breakfast. We should eat something. It's not healthy."

But we aren't out of the woods yet, literally or metaphorically. Stopping now will only make it harder for us to escape. The best thing we can do is truck through it until we're a safe distance away. I open my mouth to say as much, but my own stomach – triggered by thinking of food - growls. I scowl at it. Traitor.

Nick just smirks, but James feels the need to comment. "So where are we gonna stop? We've got enough cash to eat wherever we want."

I continue walking, hoping the conversation will distract the boys from their achy feet and stomachs. "We aren't going to spend money on food until it's absolutely necessary."

"What else would we spend it on?"

I shrug. "Odds and ends." Well, we've gotten caught shoplifting before, but luckily it was only Angel and luckily we were able to pay in retrospect without being reported. And sometimes we'd pay for a hotel, but more often the cash went towards bribing other people into silence. You can never be too careful.

"Where are we going to get food?" James asks. "A soup kitchen?"

Nick answers for me. "A soup kitchen wouldn't be safe. Too public."

"Then where. . .?"

Ah, and here's the kicker. "Once we find a place to hunker down for the night, we can search for something to eat. And we'd be able to set up a fire to cook it."

"You don't mean we have to kill something?"

"Unless you want it wriggling out of the fire, yes."

Nick sounds pensive – but definitely more comfortable with my proposal than James is - when he asks, "There's not much big game around here. What do you have in mind?"

I wave a hand nonchalantly. "Squirrel, opossum. Rabbit has a nice texture. Whatever we can find."

"Or we could eat there." I turn abruptly to look where James is pointing. It's downhill from us, far enough away it probably just looks like a blob that smells like food to him. To me, it looks like a run-down trailer, but it's clear from the blinking neon sign that the barbecue roasting in the smokehouse is for public consumption. There aren't even that many cars parked in the grassy patch next to it. The problem?

"It's too close to the road."

"But it's not even a main road! It has, like, a lane and a half!" Even as James says it, a car races down the middle of the pocked asphalt at speeds that can't be legal.

"I don't know. . . "

"Come on, Max." Nick chimes in. "I've seen places like this before. It's a tiny restaurant that serves the same old people every day. What would they have to be suspicious of?"

"Three muddy, bloody teenagers asking for a quick meal and no questions?"

I at least get a snort for that from James, but Nick presses on. "If anything happens, we could bust out the back door and sprint into the woods before anybody could maneuver their car into that lot."

I bite my lip, considering it. Now that I can smell the food, it's lot harder to resist.

"Please, Max? Real food? Air conditioning?" James pleads.

No. No way. If I'm gonna get caught by Them or Erasers or whoever, it's not going to be because of air conditioning, no matter how many muggy mosquito swarms I have to deal with otherwise.

But then Nick flashes me a toothy grin, one of the kind I wish I could coax out of Fang more often, and I realize I've lost the battle.

"Okay, but if either of you get the beans you're spending the night at least a hundred yards away from the camp."

This is received with cheers, and the three of us move faster to get to the restaurant than we've been moving all day. I try to convince myself the food will be enough to motivate us to keep up the pace.

I take careful stock of our surroundings as we approach. No new cars come around the road, which is good. The cars in the parking lot all have license plates from the area, which goes with Nick's theory. There's not a chimney on the trailer, but the smokehouse looks like it would provide good coverage from the windows, if we do end up having to run for it.

The greying lady that greets us at the door hardly bats and eye at our appearance. "Oh, you three chose a bad day to go hiking. It was so muddy this morning I had to push my car out of my driveway."

She ushers us inside. The entire interior of the trailer has been gutted to make room for the six tables and surrounding chairs. The lady sits us at the one closest to the kitchen – and furthest from the door, I note – and hands us all pieces of soiled paper that can hardly be called menus.

"I'll be right back with some water for y'uns." She disappears through the kitchen door.

The second she's gone, I prop my menu on the table so I can observe the other occupants of the restaurant without being too obvious. There's a man sitting alone in the corner closest to us, gripping a mug of coffee and rifling through his backpack. My eyes narrow on him, ready to dodge a throwing knife or camera flash, but he just pulls out a cigarette and lights it. After he takes his first inhale, his eye catches mine. I tense again, but he only gives a curt nod and flicks his paper back open, cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth. Satisfied he's not an immediate threat, I continue my scoping.

To our left, on the opposite corner of the smoker, two elderly women twitter at each other over hardly-touched plates of barbecue. I wonder briefly how they would be able to digest it, anyways. Their conversation, from what I gather, seems to revolve around some kid named Eddy, who used to work here, and his failed courting of one of their nieces. Yikes. Neither of them spare the three of us a glance.

The last occupants of the restaurant, not including whoever's in the kitchen, are the most threatening. The four men are old but not elderly, and their skin looks like leather. They occupy the furthest table from us, probably placed there to offset how much noise they make. There are a few spots left at their table, too. Are they expecting more people? I scan their belongings, trying to place them. They each have a light backpack with them, but it's the hunting knives strapped to each of their thighs that put me on edge.

I kick Nick's foot under the table. James looks up. Oops. I try again, and this time manage to get both of their attention. Without saying anything, I raise my eyebrows and flick my eyes in the direction of the filled table. They both have the grace to glance subtly. James just raises an eyebrow in question, probably because he can't see the knives from his angle. Nick, though, nods minutely. He shifts his chair around closer to mine so he can watch them without having to crane his neck.

The lady comes back out with glasses and a giant pitcher of water. "There you go, kids. You must be parched." Having poured the water for each of us, she pulls a notepad from her apron and stands with her pencil ready. "Now, what can I get you?" She looks at me first.

Oh, shoot. In my haste to make sure we weren't walking into an ambush, I forgot to look at the menu. "Um, Nathan?"

Nick takes my cue and orders first, distracting the waitress long enough I can slip into the backpack on the floor by my feet and slide Bess' knife into a more convenient position. While James orders, I kick the backpack until it rests on the floor between Nick and me. I can tell he's accepted his position as back-up defense when his jaw tightens imperceptibly.

"And for you, ma'am?" I almost jump, forgetting that I was supposed to be choosing my meal.

So I smile it off and shrug with one shoulder. "I'll have what he's having," I smile, leaning my head in Nick's direction. I think I heard James mention something about cabbage. Ew. Folding up my menu and handing it to the waitress, I continue, "Actually, I'll have two of what he's having."

The waitress raises her eyebrows. "Are you sure, hon? The sandwiches are pretty big."

I force another smile onto my face. "I'm a growing girl." And my stomach growls for emphasis.

The waitress winks at me. "I know how that is. Got a daughter of my own." She takes the proffered menus and snaps her notebook shut. "I'll be right back with your food. Holler if you need anything!"

"Thank you, ma'am," James smiles at her as she disappears into the kitchen again. At the looks Nick and I are giving him, James defends himself. "You two could use some lessons in social grace."

I snort. "All you have to do is lie through your teeth. It's not that hard."

James looks honestly confused. "Why would you have to lie?"

"Because everybody lies," Nick mumbles. I nod in agreement, reaching down to touch the handle of the knife in my pocket and in the backpack, just to reassure myself they're there, while taking a careful sip of water. It doesn't taste poisoned, but you never know.

James' eyes track my movement. "This may surprise you, but not everybody is out to get you."

"Uh-huh," I hum, making sure to lay the skepticism on thick enough you could slice it.

"No, really," James presses. His tone catches my attention, and I look up from studying the glass of water. "There are genuinely good people in the world; people who just want to help."

The words instantly bring back memories of Jeb, and my heart constricts. "There are too many bad people in the world to drop my guard, James. If I don't. . . I don't want to—I can't—start trusting people, because the second I do someone or something is going to come." James opens his mouth, but I beat him. "And it's not just me, you know. I've got kids to look after. It's my responsibility to be the paranoid one, because that's what keeps them alive and safe. If one of them were taken away because of me. . ."

I trail off, suddenly wondering if the Flock disappearing was my fault. I wasn't in my best mind, after all. Not enough sleep, too many nightmares; it's a miracle they kept me as leader when I started falling out of trees. Did I miss something crucial that night? Some sign that the Erasers had caught up? Did I mistakenly lead the Flock into a trap because I was too tired to spot anything?

Are they missing because of me?

Nick's hand brushes mine, gently prying my fingers off the knife handle. I hadn't realized I was gripping it so tightly. "Guys, maybe we shouldn't be having this conversation right now," he says, somewhat pointedly.

My eyes widen, and I double-check the other customers in the trailer. The man with the newspaper drops a tip on the table and leaves with his bag, giving us a sideways look as he passes our table. The old women pick their conversation back up, but something in their body language tells me their cheeriness is forced. The group at the other end of the trailer has grown; another two men joined them, also carrying an assortment of weapons. I swallow a large sip of water to hide my panic. The men don't seem to have been listening to my party's conversation, but they could also just be really good actors. Or they don't care what their prey talks about before killing them.

One look in Nick's eyes, and I can tell he's thinking the same thing. Before either of us can clue James in, though, there's a loud gasp from the women's table. "Oh, Martha, look out!" And then one of the women, who had been back towards the restroom without watching her footing, trips over a chair and spills her lemonade. All over Nick.

"Oh no! I am so sorry!" She says, righting herself. Nick runs a hand over his left arm, as though trying to wipe away the excess liquid. "Here, let me help with that." This Martha lady grabs napkins off a nearby table and lunges at Nick's shirt, but he abruptly stands and walks back to the bathroom himself.

I wish I could follow him. The second the door is shut, Martha turns to us, excitement in her eyes. "Glad that got rid of him." I figured as much; nobody goes to the bathroom with their drink. At least, I don't think that's normal.

Martha ushers over the other woman. "I'm Martha, and this is my friend Gail. We're from around here." Martha pauses, seemingly waiting for James and me to introduce ourselves.

"Um, hi," James says, uncertainly. "I'm-" I kick James under the table to keep him from introducing himself. He shoots a heated look my way and then continues, "I'm really hungry." His eyes float back to the restroom door.

Gail's eyes soften. "It's okay, sweetie, we know who he is. He doesn't have to know that we've talked to you."

Martha butts in, sounding more excited than sympathetic when she asks, "You're the kidnapped kids, right? Maxine Baker and James Griffith?" James whips his head around to stare at me in surprise and fear. My muscles seize up, preparing me for flight-or-flight, but I try to pass it off as confusion.

I mean, I am confused. That's the name I gave the hospital. . .

"Excuse me? I think you must have the wrong—"

Gail's hands land on James' shoulders, boxing him into his seat while trying to be comforting. "Nobody's got to know you talked to anyone. We'll be sitting at our tables again before he gets back out."

I bite my tongue hard, fighting the urge to hit something. I knew it. I knew something would happen if we didn't keep moving. Martha misinterprets the expression. "I knew it! Gail, didn't I tell you?" She grabs my hand and almost bounces with exuberance. "I was talking to Gail over there and I saw that man's paper. People everywhere are looking for you!"

Gail leans over James' shoulder to whisper to the two of us. "We could tell there was something odd about you three the second you walked in." When she leans back, she pats James on the shoulder a few times, probably too hard. James flinches. "We've already had the waitress call the police, it's just a matter of keeping you here until they arrive."

I feel the blood drain out of my face. "No! We can't—"

"It's okay, sweetie, Nicholas Walker can't hurt you anymore. You'll be home by tonight!"

A/N: Sorry for the cliffhanger, but this chapter it already too long. Until next time!