I do not own Maximum Ride or any of the other characters in James Patterson's series.

Chapter 7

When it was decided that I was definitely going to a hospital, I tried to fly myself. I leapt up into the air like I've done a thousand times, but the pain that shot through my body was too much. I fell back to the ground in a heap, whimpering pathetically. Normally I would have been so embarrassed, but the pain was so bad that I really didn't care how weak I looked. I just wanted it to end.

I guess I must have passed out again, because the next thing I knew Fang was holding me in his arms again and we were flying. The cool air soothed my fiery skin. I opened my eyes feebly, stirring slightly in his arms. He smiled down at me weakly.

"So you finally decided to join the land of the living, huh?" he asked lightly, teasingly. But I could tell how worried he'd been by the wrinkle between his eyebrows, the way his lips were pressed together into a thin line.

I nodded, closing my eyes again.

"Don't worry, Max," Fang said, lowering his voice so that only I could hear. "You're going to be okay. I promise. We're almost to the hospital."

The hospital. Great. I winced, but not because of the pain this time. I hated hospitals. Hated them with a passion. We all did. They reminded us too much of the School. Just thinking about the white walls and floors, the sterile, Clorox smell, sharp needles being poked into my skin…it sent a shudder through me.

I fell asleep in Fang's arms, and involuntarily imagined the horrors I was about to be subjected to.

***************

God, Gazzy had been right. I really did look like crap. Under the bright fluorescent lighting, and blissfully doped up on pain meds (anything butValium, as I'd specifically ordered—like I wanted to relive that catastrophe), I finally had a chance to really look at the damage I'd sustained.

Entire chunks of my hair had been burned away. God only knew how long it would take to grow back out. There were second-degree burns all over my body, from my neck to my ankles. That explained why I could barely move without hurting. They (meaning the doctors) said the burns would heal in about two weeks, which really meant roughly five days, what with my super-bird-kid powers of healing and all. I also had a minor concussion from the fallen board that hit me when I was in the cabin. It left a huge, ugly blue and purple bruise on my forehead (so lovely). On top of that it bled a considerable amount. That would take a while to heal, too—according to the M.D.'s, at least.

But apparently I was pretty lucky to be healing at all. I guess a lot of fire victims don't have a human-avian hybrid savior to rescue them. Huh. Who knew?

Any-who. My fears were not irrational; the hospital was every bit as horrible as I'd known it would be. Of course this wasn't my first time in a hospital; I'd just never been a patient in one before. Seriously. I'm almost fifteen years old and I'd never been admitted to a hospital.

I swear, it was a living hell. Every time someone came near me with a needle I'd cringe away, wishing I could just reach over and slug them. I never got any freaking sleep 'cause every five minutes throughout the night some nurse would come in to take my blood pressure, or poke me with more needles, or change my IV. The nurses were so sickly sweet it made me want to heave my lunch up. And speaking of lunch, the food there was the most disgusting thing I'd ever tasted in my entire life. This coming from a girl who's dumpster-dived, for God's sake! Oh, and don't even get me started on the doctors. I swear, they were the stupidest freaking people ever. I hardly ever saw my doctor, and when he did decide to pay a visit all he did was ask me dumb questions, scribble them down on a clipboard, then leave, saying I would be good as new in no time. God. What a load of crap.

And every time I complained about any of this, Fang just sat there and laughed. He actually laughed at me!What he found amusing about the whole situation was beyond me.

But despite that one minor setback, I had to admit that Fang was being pretty dang supportive. I mean, for him at least. I barely remember anything about my arrival here; for the first twenty-four hours I drifted in and out of consciousness. But I'm pretty sure I remember that Fang barely left my side the whole time. I think I remember waking up in the middle of the night even, and he was there, lying in the recliner next to my bed, fast asleep. And once when I felt a needle prick in my arm and woke up just enough to take in the nurse standing by my bed with a syringe, I could have sworn Fang was right there, holding my hand. Of course, I was pretty out of it, so I could have imagined all of that.

Now that I was awake and at least partly back to my old self, though, Fang had been avoiding alone time with me like the Black Plague. I noticed that right off the bat. If the rest of the flock was visiting, or there was a nurse or doctor here, he was just fine. But every time we were left alone in the room, he would come up with some excuse to leave.

At first I couldn't figure out what was up with him, but when my mind cleared a little I thought I figured it out. We'd had a fight. He'd sworn he wouldn't come back, and then he did. Fang didn't want to talk about it.

But I would make him talk about it. He couldn't keep this up forever.