A/N: Thanks everybody for the feedback on the last chapter! Oh, and thank you for six thousand views!
A note for this chapter: you should always wear a seat belt while riding in a vehicle, despite what may transpire here.
Thankfully, it's at that moment that the restroom door opens. Gail gives James' shoulders a tight squeeze and Martha pats my hand reassuringly before they slide back to their table and engage in a false conversation once again. James and I have just enough time to exchange terrified glances before Nick drags his seat out and sits heavily in it.
"I'm going to smell like lemonade for the next week," he huffs under his breath. But then his fingers brush mine under the table and quickly draw away, leaving a crumpled piece of paper towel in my palm. I hastily check to make sure nobody's watching – the women, to my slight amusement, are fully engaged in a conversation about the appropriate sock color to wear with black shoes – and duck my head to read a message scribbled on the paper.
What did they say?
For a moment, I've overwhelmed with a sense of relief that we won't be playing a game of charades to clue Nick in. I look back up, and he's wearing a grim expression. I mouth the word 'trouble,' and that's all he needs.
Nick stands up abruptly, his chair flying backwards before clattering to the floor. James startles to his feet after, and I follow without hesitation. Needless to say, it gets the attention of everybody in the diner.
I can hear cars rolling into the gravel driveway. My heart skips a beat when I realize the police probably didn't turn on their sirens to keep the element of surprise. There have to be at least three cars pulling in, at least half a dozen cops in them. Heck, that's enough to surround the building, if they were able to sneak around before we realized they were here. The odds are in their favor, and I'm guessing they know that.
Well, they've never dealt with a desperate birdkid before.
Nick is eyeing the front entrance, but I grab him and James and push them back towards the kitchen. Our waitress – and the man I assume is the cook - is standing just inside the door, a shocked look on her face that tells me she never planned on bringing us our food. No, she'd rather watch us being carted off into patrol cars from the safety of the kitchen. Without a second of hesitation I push her into the dining area. There's not a lock on the door, though, so I throw all my weight (which isn't a lot, mind you; hollow bones) on it to keep it shut. It's only a second before there's banging on the door, from a fist bigger than what can be the waitress' or one of the ladies. Ah, the hunting party has decided to join the hunting party.
A particularly loud thud actually manages to get the door open a fraction of a foot. It's enough that a gun barrel snakes through the opening to try and wedge it open, but I slap it out of the way and the door slams back into place. The thudding continues. I search the kitchen for a better way to keep the door shut.
"Nick! Help-" I can't finish the sentence because my head cracks against the door at another hard shove. Still, he seems to get the message and takes my place, bracing his good leg against the back of a counter. My head pounding, I clamp my fingers around a box freezer in the corner and tug with all of my might.
It barely budges.
"What do they have in this thing, gold bars?" I mutter through grit teeth. I've managed to pull it away from the wall, though, enough that James can squeeze in and push from the other side. Between the two of us, we're able to drag the freezer to the door. The three of us back away to admire our blockade. There's another push, and the door wriggles on its hinges but doesn't open. The pounding stops.
"That should keep them out," I pant. I pant. Gosh, I hate this, whatever it is.
"Not that they're trying to get in, anymore," Nick says grimly.
James nods. "This is the part in the zombie apocalypse movies where something really bad happens."
"I could track down food in a toxic wasteland, Nick could make a weapon out of a shoestring, and you know first aid. I'd say our chances are pretty good." I rest a tentative ear against the door and strain to hear the tail end of a conversation. "The police are here."
James pales. "Told you something bad was going to happen."
Nick frowns. "The worst the cops can do with these witnesses is arrest us. They'll wait to shoot us until we're out of range."
I do some mental calculations. "How far away is that, exactly?"
Nick shrugs. "Fifteen-minute drive. Ten, if they take the back road."
"That's plenty of time, if we get caught." I pick up a heavy frying pan and give it a practice swing.
James looks more hopeful at my words. "You have a plan?"
Oh, yeah. I'm the strategist in the Flock. Always with my well-thought-out ideas, so many exit strategies, and a knack for backup plans.
Ha ha. Right.
Nick gives me a knowing look. "We're going to wing it?"
I roll my eyes. "Very funny. Never heard that one before." My fingers tighten around the handle of the frying pan. "And yes. Follow me."
My earlier assessment of this fine establishment proves beneficial, after all. The back door is in the kitchen. After I listen for anyone waiting outside to ambush us, Nick, James, and I slink out, skirting the ancient wooden steps and a collection of rusty cans. I reach the edge of the wall first and carefully lean around the edge.
The parking lot is crammed full of more cars – mostly belonging to cops - than it can hold, lights still flashing and everything. The cops themselves are swarming in and around the front door to the restaurant, totally oblivious to the back door. Of course, that will only last so long. From my position beneath a window, I can tell somebody is trying to get the kitchen door open again and somebody else is talking to the waitress. No doubt they'll be on us soon.
"No way," James breathes. I pivot back towards my fellow outlaws only to realize my stealth has been proven moot; Nick and James are leaning around me like we're starring in a family comedy, heads stacked and everything. But then Nick smiles dangerously, and I hone in on a while vehicle on the far side of the parking lot with blocky, blue 'COUNTY SHERIFF' stickers across the doors. The trunk is still open. A set of keys hangs out of the trunk release. (How they saw that before I did, I'll never know.)
"No. We are not—" Before I can get the words out, James and Nick are sprinting towards the vehicle. I can hear footsteps approaching from the other side of the building, so I book it out of there as fast as I can.
When I catch up with them, Nick's already fitting the key in the ignition.
James gives a triumphant whoop when the engine turns over. Nick smirks, climbing into the drivers' seat and buckling in.
"We are not stealing a cop car," I say again. Not that anybody's listening.
"I am borrowing a police cruiser," Nick replies. There's a shout from behind me, and I have no doubt we've been spotted. "You coming?" James nods enthusiastically and jumps into the back seat. I want to cross my arms and argue, but then those cops pour out of the restaurant like angry wasps out of a nest, so I open the passenger door and dive in. The wheels screech as we pull out of the parking lot, and as I've yet to put on a seat belt, the sharp turn/lurching of Nick pressing the gas petal sends me flying into the closed window.
The radio attached to the dashboard blares to life, all crackles and air fuzz. It takes a few yanks, but when the wire snaps the radio splutters out.
"So what exactly happened?" Nick prompts after a minute of stunned silence.
There's a loud thump behind me, and I turn to find James plastered to the plastic partition dividing the front seats from the back. It takes a few minutes for me to find the right controls amongst the numerous buttons and instruments on the dashboard, but soon there's a whirring noise and the partition slides down.
Nick repeats his question, and James is happy to fill him in. "Those old ladies saw the hiker's newspaper. Apparently, you're a wanted criminal for kidnapping Max and me."
Nick hums. "Glad to hear you didn't assault anyone while I was gone." He veers off one back road onto another. "But this means they're trying to turn the public against us."
"We'll have to be more careful now," I translate for James. "No restaurants, no gas stations, and no public areas in general."
"How much gas do we have?" James asks.
Nick glances down at the dashboard. "Almost a full tank. Should be enough to get us through the night."
I close my eyes and take a deliberate, deep breath. I don't know what I expected when I climbed in the car, but it wasn't spending the next twelve or more hours inside. My legs are already cramping, the walls inching closer. I brace a hand against the door to try to keep it still. It doesn't help, only emphasizing how small the compartment is.
Another whirring noise, and the window starts to roll down. Startled, I glance at Nick. His dark eyes meet mine, and I shoot him a grateful smile. My next lungful of air tastes like the outdoors.
I let out a loud breath. It's not perfect, but better, at least. I catch Nick watching me again and say, "Eyes on the road," but the snip loses its heat with the gratitude in my tone. He just flicks his eyes up before returning to his reckless driving.
James braces an arm on Nick's headrest to lean towards me. "You're claustrophobic?"
I cross my arms over my stomach to keep my hands from fidgeting. "We, um, we all are. It just. . . yeah." I can't bring myself to explain further.
There's a tense moment where I can tell James wants to ask me more about it, but then he just nods and sits back. I relax into my seat.
We pass a sign that tells us we're approaching city limits, and I realize Nick's found the only road out around the police partitions. Another wave of anxiety melts off of me, knowing we're in the clear. Now, it's just a matter of getting far away and staying just out of reach of Them.
James reaches forward to turn the stereo on, and he and Nick immediately fight over what station to listen to. I tilt my head back and watch the clouds and treetops zoom by.
~xXx~
"Teachers and students, please pardon the interruption. At this time, we need all of the teacher assistants to meet in the teachers' lounge. I repeat, we need all of the teacher assistants to meet in the teachers' lounge. Thank you."
The class of third-graders freezes. That was the code.
A girl with pigtails is the first to break the silence with a whispered, "Mrs. Kritzfowler, is this a drill?"
Another student answers, "It can't be, we're supposed to have a pep rally!"
Nathan's fist tightens around his lunch bag, its paper neck already crumpled. Would this interfere with the assembly? How is he supposed to get away if it does?
The teacher at the front of the room hushes the students. "It's alright. Everybody, come line up at the door. And remember," she finishes by putting a single finger in front of her lips. She picks up the clipboard in the door while the students obediently file into place, ordered by the first letter of their last names. They silently leave the classroom and join the throng of quiet children in the hallways, teachers taking role as they go.
Suddenly, a loud explosion, from the direction of the cafeteria. The building shakes, a child shrieks, and all at once everybody's running for the steps. Nathan drops his bagged lunch when a teacher accidentally jostles him to catch a fallen student. That's when the eight-year-old realizes it.
This is his chance.
Abandoning his lunch to the stampede, he slips down a now-empty hallway. It's a dead end, everybody knows that. But there are rumors. Rumors of a tunnel leading from the school to the nearby mall.
The rumors, in this case, happen to be true.
The hallway is empty, so Nathan doesn't bother to stay quiet as he sprints toward the janitor's closet. Three weeks ago, he discovered the housekeeper had a habit of leaving the closet shut but unlocked. It was while hiding in it last week – from Adrian, the fifth-grader who made it his life goal to make Nathan miserable, at school and the boys' home – that he found the secret entrance.
Another blast rocks the building. Nathan whimpers and shuts himself in the closet. He almost immediately trips over a mop bucket, but catches himself on the wall and uses it to guide him. When his fingers hit the shelving, he turns sideways and squeezes past, a sink on the opposite wall making it a tight fit. When his shoulder hits the back wall, he pushes.
Just like last time, the wall swings open with a whoosh. Nathan smiles despite himself. This is so cool!
Suddenly voices echo up the hallway outside, so Nathan scurries into the secret passage and slides the door shut again. It takes a moment of fumbling for him to find the lantern he left here yesterday, and when it clicks on it illuminates the long, dark path to who-knows-where. He takes a deep breath, the weight of what he's about to do finally hitting him.
But it's for his sister.
He swings the backpack he's been painstakingly preparing for the last week over his shoulders and takes his first step.
Crash!
Something about the way the sound reverberates in the tunnel makes it sound ten times louder than it should. So when the janitor door slams open, Nathan hears. A chill runs down his spine, and he pauses, listening intently. There's talking, and then another crash, and then the sound of something shattering. The sink?
His eyes widen as the secret door starts to swing open. The eight-year-old takes off at a sprint, hoping the dust settled in the floor muffles the sound of his footsteps. Whoever is at the door allows it to swing all the way open before starting inside, giving the boy just enough time to wriggle into a deep crevice in the wall and turn off his lantern.
"Did you see something?" somebody asks. Nathan goes shock-still, trying to calm his breathing to an inaudible level.
"No, Brother. It was probably just your eyes adjusting to the dark," answers a higher-pitched voice, probably female.
A third voice interjects, lower than the previous two. "Children, remember what your Mother said."
"Sorry, Father," the first two voices – younger voices, Nathan realizes now – answer simultaneously.
"You are forgiven."
There's no more talking, but Nathan listens to the sounds of feet, definitely more than three pairs, making the uneven transition from school floor to dirt path. He watches from his hiding place as a light source approaches, held aloft by a beefy man. Following him is a slight young woman, maybe even a teenager (Nathan can't tell the difference; they are both a lot older than him, at least). She leads a shivering boy Nathan vaguely recognizes from the middle-school section of his school by his handcuffs. There's a cloth wrapped around the boy's eyes and another through his mouth.
Nathan watches, eyes wide and heartbeat accelerated, as at least a dozen similarly-situated students of all ages are dragged by, all led by other children. There's muffled whimpering echoing off the tunnel walls, and small reprimands from the teenagers scattered throughout: "Don't be afraid. You've been chosen." When the last child passes – a boy not much older than Nathan himself - carrying a lantern, the eight-year-old reaches up to wipe the soundless tears from his face with his shirtsleeve. He hasn't been this afraid since his parents dropped him and his sister off at the orphanage.
After a few minutes, there's an ear-splitting BOOM from above him that shakes earth loose from the tunnel's ceiling. It's followed by several smaller but just as devastating blasts. Nathan peels himself from his hiding place to avoid being buried alive, but hesitates before continuing down the tunnel. Maybe the bad people did see him, and are just waiting for him to follow so they can catch him?
But who's going to give Angelica her birthday present?
He waits two hours in the tunnel before following the group ahead. By then, they're long gone.
~xXx~
"You're shaking the car again."
"Huh?" I lift my head from the window to look more grounded in the world than I feel. Nothing as lulling as hours of staring at the twenty feet of road the headlights illuminate. Nick pats my knee, and that's when I realize it's been bouncing this whole time. I stop, a faint heat blooming across my face. "Sorry."
He smirks, eyes flicking to the rearview mirror. "It's fine; I just didn't want you to disturb sleeping beauty."
"Hey," comes a groggy protest from the back. "M'not asleep."
"Not anymore." Then a yawn breaks across Nick's face.
"Sounds like the pot calling the kettle black, to me," I quip. Turning to the back, I ask, "James, think you're ready to drive?" He nods sleepily.
It's a testament to Nick's exhaustion that he pulls over without much protest. When the boys get out of the car, though, I do, too. "What are you doing?" James asks.
I shift my weight from one foot to another, trying to dispel lingering anxiety from being in an enclosed space for so long. "Just getting some fresh air." I look up to the sky longingly.
Nick and James tilt their heads back, too. "It's nice out tonight," Nick says. I can feel him watching me.
James' eyes get wider. "Woah, I've never seen so many stars."
Nick nods, gaze returning to the sky. "There's no light pollution out here."
I smile, letting my eyes shut as a warm breeze pushes my hair back. It's perfect for flying. "At the E-shaped house – that's where the Flock hid for a long time – we used to bring blankets up to the roof and stargaze for hours." Jeb would make hot cocoa and point out all of the constellations. I can almost imagine Angel's weight in my lap, Gazzy's soft voice describing the night sky to Iggy with his limited five-year-old vocabulary, Nudge's wonder-filled gaze. Fang's fingers brushing mine as I lean against his shoulder.
Suddenly my heart drops, and I open my eyes to the concerned faces of James and Nick.
James is the first to find his words. "You really miss them." It's a statement, not a question.
I wipe excess moisture from my eyes with the pad of my thumb and shrug. When did I become such a sap? "They're family."
"And you never stop missing family," Nick adds. I send him a thankful smile.
The breeze picks up again, and my wings instinctually branch out to grab it. "Do you guys mind if I. . . you know. . . "
James eyes go wider. "You can fly?"
"No, the whitecoats spliced me with a penguin, so I use the wings for swimming. Yes, I can fly."
"Go ahead," Nick says. He turns back to the car, then hesitates. "Are you sure you'll be able to keep up?"
I smirk. "I'll be flying circles around you all night." My wings stretch out further at the thought. "Just for a few hours, though. Flying uses a lot of energy." I grin, taking a few steps back so I have room for a good takeoff.
"Look out." My wings snap all the way open, earning a gasp from James and Nick. I start running. On the third step my wings give a practice beat; by the fifth my feet aren't touching the ground anymore. I grin down at James' shell-shocked face as I climb into the cool night sky.
"You'd better get in the car!" A sudden, warm updraft gives me another boost, and I revel in the feeling of the wind in my feathers. Below, I can hear the car doors slamming and the engine turning. With the headlights on, I'll be able to see the car from miles away, so I allow my eyes to drift shut and just feel.
I haven't flown in weeks. My wings are stiff, but each flap sends warmth through the muscles and slowly breathes them back to life. Up here, I can't hear anything but the wind rushing past my ears. I take another lungful of the crisp night air, and for the first time since missing the Flock, I allow myself to relax.
I fly in lazy spirals, punctuated by bursts of endorphin-fueled speed that shoot me a mile ahead of the distant headlights before I bank or flip back around. The road below is abandoned but for the stolen police car and flanked by abandoned farm land that goes on for miles. There's nobody to see me, so I free fall, only opening my wings when I'm low enough to let my fingertips brush through the tall grass.
It's an hour and a half before I notice it. I'm trying to flip out of a free fall – a technique Fang was trying to teach me before all of this stuff happened – when I spot movement out of the corner of my eye. It takes a moment to right myself, and another to find the source.
Far below me and about two miles out, there's a figure moving slowly through the tall grass. I brush it off. Probably just a deer. Of course, there aren't many deer this late at night, especially not alone. Maybe it's hurt?
I go into stealth mode, rising in altitude until even paranoid-me is sure it won't see me. Then I fly closer in order to make out the shape in the dark. No way it's a deer. Not only is it too small, but the movement lacks the grace of anything accustomed to traveling through the wild. It reminds me of James. As I get closer, I hear a sound that almost stops my heart.
Sniffling. A stray sob.
A child's sob.
I actually forget to beat my wings, I'm so stunned. There's nothing out here, not for miles. More importantly, there is absolutely nobody. The kid is alone.
Another sniffle, and the unmistakable action of a tiny arm smearing across a face, and I lean into the fall, angling my body to reduce friction and increase speed. I land twenty feet in front of the kid and pull my wings in while the grass is still hiding them. The grass is almost up to my armpits; the kid couldn't be any taller. Even with a flashlight the child wouldn't be able to see anything.
I track the movement through the wriggling of the grass. When the child is close enough, I cautiously call out, "Are you okay?"
The rustling stops, and the still grass seems to consume the kid. I wait for an answer, but get none, so I try again. "Are you hurt?" Please, please answer me. Let me help you. "Hello?"
The grass parts just long enough for me to make out wide, terrified eyes, and then the kid is running, stumbling away blindly.
"No! Wait!" I catch up easily and wrap my arms around his waist. Gosh, he weighs almost nothing; even with my recent spell of weakness I can effortlessly lift his head above the grass. He struggles; kicks and hits and arches his back to try and loosen my hold. I just grip tighter, still careful not to crush him.
"Let go!" He pants. "Let go of me! Please!" His voice rises in pitch. "I won't tell anyone what I saw! I promise!" His shirt rides up his stomach along with my grip, and he seizes the opportunity and sinks his teeth into my arm. I'm so shocked my arms spring wide, and he collapses into a heap on the ground.
I act on pure instinct, slowly lowering into a crouch next to him. "Shh. I can help you." He's shaking, so I start to rub circles into his back. He flinches away at first, but between my whispered promises and lack of weapons (as far as he can tell), he slowly starts to ease into my touch. "There you go. It's okay."
"Please-please don't send me back."
A runaway then? Instead of making promises I can't keep – won't keep, if it's the right thing for him – I answer with a question. "What's your name? People call me Max." He gives a shaky laugh. "What's so funny?"
"I used to have a parakeet called Max."
Oh, kid. If only you knew.
The boy sits up and rubs his face, starts to turn towards me but hesitates. "I wasn't crying."
"Of course not," I answer, trying to put as much soothing in my tone as possible.
He nods, then looks me full in the face for the first time all night. He has a slight smile on his face when he says, "I'm Nathan."
But the words barely register, because I'm staring from the messy blonde hair down to the poorly-tied shoelaces. The spitting image of Gazzy. I strangle whatever sounds are trying to make their way up my throat so I can speak around them.
Forget whatever I was going to do.
"Are you hungry, Nathan?"
~xXx~
Nick and James have stopped again when I catch up with them. I would have missed them – they left their headlights off – but the music in the car is blaring so loud I can hear it easily from a hundred feet above the ground. I land expertly next to the car, careful not to jostle my sleeping passenger.
It only takes two taps on the drivers' side window to get their attention. Nick jolts awake, focuses on me, and takes a moment to study my cargo. Then he snorts, rolls his eyes, and gets out to climb into the back seat. With his help, I carefully maneuver the snoozing child's body into the back seat and buckle him in. He wakes enough just to make himself comfortable before dozing off again.
It's my turn to drive, so I climb into the front seat and turn down the music. James falls asleep the second I pull back onto the road. When I look in the rearview mirror an hour later, Nathan has claimed Nick's lap as a pillow. Both boys are fast asleep. Introductions – and my lingering questions – can wait until morning.
A/N: Yay! More character introduction! I was super excited to post this chapter. I may not update for a while, though, because I start school next week (yay college). Sorry. :/
So, thoughts?