A/N: After nearly six months of hiatus, I rose from the ashes and finished this draft I started in February. I am sorry for taking so long to get this to you, but also not sorry I took the break. It took longer to recover from what was an overall dismal school year than I expected. But I think I'm well enough to write more frequently now. :)

"How is she doing?"

"Considering everything, it could be worse."

"What does that mean? Can we move her?"

"I don't know if that's a good—"

"We can't stay here any longer. Any minute now—"

"Max, please wake up."

"That's not going to help."

"We have to try something! Max!"

~xXx~

Nathan twists his wrists in the rope, only managing to make the burns worse. If he could just reach the hood, if he could just see—the container bounces for the umpteenth time, making him hit his already-sore head on the top of the container again. This time, he has trouble stopping the itch of tears behind his eyes.

His spine aches from being stuck in the same position for so long, and he's sure his legs and arms would, too, if they hadn't fallen asleep.

He needs to find Max. She wasn't awake last time he saw her, right before the bad guys—but they were also girls—dropped the pillowcase over his head. And what he saw wasn't good, either. He never looked at birds very closely, but her wings weren't the same on both sides, and he knows that no matter how much he hurts after being hit, she must feel worse, because she was hit first and harder.

He hits his head again when the car suddenly changes direction. He wishes he had fainted, too.

It feels like the car is slowing down. Nathan grits his teeth and twists his wrists harder. If he can get his hands free, then he can get the hood off, and then he can escape this stupid container and the stupid car and get this stupid rag out of my mouth. This time, when his eyes start itching, he can't stop them from overflowing.

The truck continues to slow down to a stop while he gasps behind his gag. He tries to calm himself when the back door slides open; his captors told him to be quiet and he's not sure whether crying will get him in trouble or not. With the door, open, he can hear the voices of people outside: just a few men.

"—in here. Take the gag out in case it gets sick again."

"Are you sure? What if it—"

"Just because it has wings doesn't mean it can do anything else." Nathan's heart soars. It's Max! "Besides, it's too hurt to do anything right now, anyway."

"Still. . . "

There is a sudden, loud thump on the other side of his box, and Nathan startles as it slides a few feet.

"Sh—here, use this!"

There is a terrifying minute of chaos: banging on the metallic sides of the moving van, heavy breathing and grunts, then a sharp hiss: "Touch me and I'll bite your fingers—Ah!"

Pop!

Nathan cringes at the sounds outside. Max sounds like she's been gargling rocks.

He watched, petrified, as Max's eyes slid shut and blood began to seep down her brow. The ATVs stopped with their headlights cornering them. No hiding. He couldn't run, either, because Max was too heavy and she wouldn't wake up.

"What the hell. . . Ross! Take a look at this!"

They picked up one of the wings covering Nathan. He was pulled out of the way and to his feet by a pair of meaty hands. The fingers dug into his upper arms hard enough to leave bruises.

He watched as a woman ran her fingers through Max's feathers in awe, brushing dirt and gravel out of the way. Then the fallen birdkid was swarmed, a dozen people crowding around her limp form. The person holding Nathan began to steer him away, but Nathan struggled. He turned his head toward Max and tried screaming.

"Max!"

Nathan shudders to the present at the sound of something else cracking outside.

"She won't fit in the box. Just. . . tie her to the brackets."

The sound of something sliding, across the truck from wherever Nathan's box had skid. Zipties.

"Behave and I'll take the blindfold off."

A swoosh, and few heavy steps backward toward Nathan. "Have it your way, then."

Nathan waits until the door is shut and locked, and then a few more minutes just in case before moving.

A soft sound catches his attention. Heavy breathing. . . and sniffling?

Nathan uses his elbow to knock against the back of the box. The sound stops immediately. But Max doesn't say anything else. He wrings his hands in his bonds, wondering if she's fainted again. He tries making a sound with his mouth, but it's barley loud enough for him to hear even himself. So he tries knocking against the box again, once, twice.

"Hello?"

He stops.

"If there's somebody there, knock again."

He uses his feet this time, and the entire box shuddered.

"Nathan? Is that you?"

He nods his head and tries to hum around his gag in the affirmative.

A sigh. "Thank goodness. Are you hurt? Knock once for yes, twice for no."

He knocks twice.

"Are you lying to me?"

He pauses, thinking about where he hurt.

One knock.

"That's what—cough—that's—" she halts, barely getting breaths in between deep, wet-sounding coughs. Nathan waits for her coughs to taper off, his anxiety racked up with each heaving breath Max takes.

"Oh, that can't be good." Her voice is even softer, barely coming out above a whisper.

Nathan growls and slams his entire back into the side of his box. Ouch, not a good idea.

"I need to see where you're hurt, but I can't really—you'll have to get out yourself. Can you do that?"

Yes.

"Are your hands tied? Behind you?"

One knock, exasperated.

"Rope?"

Yes.

"Can you reach the knot?"

He hesitates, splaying his fingers as far as he can over the rope. He can reach the knot, but can't manipulate it well from this position. He knocks once, then twice, hoping she'll understand.

"Okay, you need to get your hands in front of you first. Try scooting them underneath you, and then thread your legs through your arms.

He frowns. Easier said than done. There is hardly enough room for him to sit comfortably, how is he supposed to maneuver in this space?

Max's voice is quieter when she speaks up again. "I know it's hard, but you can do it. You're a trooper."

He chews his bottom lip, moving his feet and bottom to better judge how much space he has. Then he sets his face and shimmies like his life depends on it. He has to practically suffocate himself in his knees to raise his bottom enough to slide both of his hands underneath. He pauses to catch his breath, his hands bound beneath his raised knees. His muscles tremble already, from adrenaline or fatigue or both.

"Nathan?"

He knocks once, softly, with the back of his head.

"It's okay if you can't do it. Don't—don't hur—" she coughs only a few times, but it is weak. "Careful," she manages.

Psh. Pot, meet kettle. Nathan sets his mouth into a determined line and leans back against the box. He raises his knees so they almost slide to either side of his head. His hands still can't reach under his feet in the small space. He humphs around his gag, frustrated.

It's like his hands are getting caught on something. He lowers his knees and feet and feels around the box the best he can. There is nothing on the box—his shoes! He raises one foot on top of the other so he can pry them off by the heels. When he tries again, his hands just barely slip under his feet.

Triumphant, he raises his bound hands so he could pull the hood off his head, and when that is gone he works the gag around—it chafes but it's worth it—so he can get at the knot and untie it.

His mouth is dry from the gag, but it isn't enough to stop him from exclaiming, "Max! I did it!"

No answer.

~xXx~

"I'm scared."

"Sh. It's okay."

"It's not! What if. . . what if she doesn't. . ."

Pause.

"You want to know a secret?"

A nod.

"I'm scared, too."

~xXx~

"Holy crap," James whispers. Nick elbows him as a reminder to be quiet. But Max— "She looks like she got hit by a car. At high speed."

"Be quiet." They watch as the two men leap from the back of the moving van, leaving only a second to catch sight of Max, her hands restrained to the brackets on either side of her and looking more like a trapped animal than she would ever allow had she been feeling herself.

James sucks in a breath. "Yikes. Looks like a nasty head wound. Probably a concussion, at least, and looking at her wings," he pretends not to notice the way Nick's fingers clench, "I'm no vet but I think it will be a while before—"

"Shut up, or I'll make you."

James bites back his own irritation. Nick is only acting belligerent because he's worried. And because his personality could use some refining. "Okay, fine." Not like James wants to get caught, either.

The men slide the back door closed and lock it.

James and Nick hadn't gotten far on the ATV before realizing they weren't being pursued anymore, by the rest of their group or otherwise. It hadn't taken a lot of skill to find the parade of SUVs, ATVs, and tractor trailers heading away from where they had last seen Max and Nathan.

Tailing them had been a different game. As they drew closer to normal civilization, the ATVs were loaded into a truck. Pretty soon it was obvious why; James and Nick had had to ditch their own vehicles when they reached the interstate in favor of a broken-down car on the side of the road.

("I'm pretty sure they left it here for a reason."

"Seems to be working fine to me."

"Normal cars don't smoke oh my gosh we're going to die."

"Stop being so dramatic.")

It only got more difficult from there; every few miles a truck or a few cars would take an exit headed every which direction. James and Nick could only guess which ones Max and Nathan were in, hope they were both headed in the same direction at all. At one point, they were going to keep following the band down the interstate when they caught a glimpse of movement from one of the cars taking the exit.

("Nick! Look!"

The car almost tilted as Nick swerved to take the exit.

"Next time, I'm driving." The car they were now tailing was a few cars ahead of them, but they could both see as the taillight shattered from some invisible source and— "Is that a foot?"

Nick pressed is mouth into a hard line. "It's Max.")

James considers what he can see from their vantage point. "I know that brand of padlock. Easier to crack than to break."

Nick looks at him for probably the first time since their group was separated last night. "You know how to pick it?"

James gives him an equally-sly side-eye. "Does PETA have an award for whoever can find evidence of Schrödinger's animal abuse?"

Nick raises an eyebrow.

James sighs. "Yes, no, and maybe both."

"O-kay," Nick starts, shifting to stand and then stalling. "When—why did you learn to pick locks?"

James shrugs. "I was bored, and dad keeps the flammable stuff in a heat-protected lockbox."

"Does everyone know how to pick locks now?" Nick mutters.

"What?"

"Nothing." Nick scans the surroundings. "We don't have enough cover here to get her out unnoticed."

James tugs at the grass under his hands. "You're suggesting we wait."

"I don't like it either, but acting impulsively has gotten me in trouble before."

"So that's how you two met."

Nick opens his mouth to protest, closes it, and shrugs. "Seriously, though. You took medical classes, right?"

"I'm a high schooler on the pre-med track. I'm no expert."

"Do you have any idea. . . "

James thinks about it. If she really did get hit by a car—if Nathan got hit by a car—there could be internal bleeding. There could be broken ribs and punctured lungs. There could be abrasions filled with dirt and gravel. All of that not mentioning concussions, fractures, deep-tissue bruising, and sprained joints.

Nick reacts to his silence with, "That bad?"

James starts ripping up the grass. "It looks like she got hit by a car or something. If that's true, then, yeah, not great. I'm more worried about Nathan—"

"She would have gotten him out of the way," Nick says with such conviction the vice around James's heart loosens just a little. Nick's fingers, though, continue to dig into the hard dirt below them.

"If there's one thing I know about Max," James says as consolation, "it's that she's too stubborn to die."

~xXx~

Leaves, crunching under feet. The smell warm dirt and a fresh fire. The familiar feeling of Fang, sitting at my back. The ghost of someone's fingers combing through my hair.

For once, a dream I don't want to wake up from.

I listen to the Flock's chatter for a while, unwilling—unable?—to shift so that rock isn't digging into my back lest I disturb whatever dream I'm in and am thrown back.

Back? Somebody needs me. . .

But I'm needed here. The Flock, my family, comes first. Always.

"Fang?" asks a small voice.

Fang grunts in response. I would roll my eyes if I had enough energy.

"I think. . . "

The fingers in my hair still. "What is it, Angel?"

I can hear her shifting in her spot next to Fang. Hm. Normally Nudge would sit next to Fang, and Angel would stick closer Gazzy or me. The only times I remember them switching up is if one of us older kids were missing. I want to open my eyes, scan across the circle for Iggy, but it's like they've been superglued shut. Fatigue starts to eat away at my consciousness again.

I don't want to go.

A small hand grabs mine and squeezes lightly.

Pain cracks through my head, hard enough to send me back into a dreamless sleep.

~xXx~

With a final kick, Gazzy finally manages to kick the top of his box open. Sweat pours down his face and soaks his shirt, but it's more from the heat and humidity building in the back of the moving van than his own exertion. He sits a moment on the lip of the box, catching his breath and giving his legs a chance to recover from being so cramped for so long.

The inside of the truck isn't any brighter than what light he got from inside his box, but his eyes have adjusted as much as they can to the darkness already. He squints, making out the shape of several more boxes like his own —silent and still, thankfully—and

"Max!"

He hasn't bothered trying to untie the knot around his wrists yet, but the rope does little to keep him from running to her slumped form and pulling her blindfold off. "Max, are you awake? Are you okay? Where is everybody else?"

She groans and tosses her head away from him.

Nathan, panicked that she's not responding, brushes bloody locks of hair out of her face. "Max! Wake up!"

She jolts, eyes opening fast. "Gazzy?"

"It's Nathan," then, when her face crumples, he asks tentatively. "Are you okay?"

Max grits her teeth. "Yeah. Just. . . just give me a sec." Nathan scurries back away from her to give her space. He watches as she takes several long breaths, but they stutter to a stop when they get too deep. Her fingers flex in their bonds, on either side of her head. "Nathan, I'm kind of stuck, so I need you to do what I say. Do you think you can do that for me?"

Nathan's chest puffs out a smidge. "I got out the box, didn't I?"

It startles a laugh out of Max, who winces at the movement. "You've been hanging out with James too much."

"What do I need to do?"

"Use your teeth to get the ropes off your wrists. Then look for something sharp to get these off of me."

Nathan nodded, a gesture nearly lost in the dark of the van, and got to work tugging at the rope around his wrists. "Are we gonna bust out of here?"

"Uh, yeah, something like that." A half-cough. It looks like Max curls in on herself afterward. "I don't know about getting out of this truck right now, but it's best to be ready when they come back for us."

The ropes fall away from Nathan's hands, and he lets out a sigh of relief and rubs feeling back into his hands. When he looks back, he notices Max is trembling slightly.

"Hey, Max?"

"Yeah?" And her voice is strained again, but more like she's trying to hold something back than force it out.

"It's going to be okay."

He can make out a weak smile. "I should be the one comforting you right now," Max murmurs.

"It's okay, we can help each other." Carefully, as to not hurt anything more than it already is, he leans in and gives Max a half-hug. "Teamwork makes the dream work, right?"

"My little trooper. Thank, Nathan."

It takes nearly an hour of scavenging before he finds the knife Max always carried around with her stored in a box in the back. Then it takes another half hour of carefully sawing through the zipties. Max has to coach him through it, assuring him he's doing a great job every time his hands slip and he accidentally adds to Max's list of injuries. ("What hurt can a little more do? At this point, I'm going to look like the bride of Frankenstein when I get out of here anyway. Maybe a little more will make me look zombie-like enough I can just scare away anybody who comes after us.")

When her wrists are free, Max takes a long moment to rub where the zipties had dug into her skin. Nathan offered her a hand to stand, but she refused, using the wall as support instead. She didn't get all the way up before, even in the dark, Nathan could see the color drain out of her face.

"Maybe you should—" and Max slid back to the ground. "Yeah. That." Nathan slid down to sit next to her. "So what now?"

"Now, we wait."

~xXx~

"I don't understand."

"Angel, it's okay. What happened?"

"It's not okay! She was here!"

"Who?"

"Max! And it's my fault she's gone!"