Chapter 22

Toy Story 2 or 3 or whatever graced the screen as I stealthily slid through the entrance to theater number 5, trying to catch a peek of Mr. Monkey Suit before he slithered out a side exit. Crap. He was almost at the door to the outside world. If I didn't hurry up, I would lose him for sure.

I stumbled over feet, threw out twenty Sorrys, and about did a face plant after I tripped over an aberrant Coke cup. When I made it to the door on the other side of the packed theater, it was still slightly ajar from the mysterious man's exit, and with a quick mental pat on the back, I headed out into the darkness.

Peering around in a dimly lit back parking lot, I spotted my guy. He was running at top speed, sprinting towards a black van that zoomed his way. I took off after him, but within seconds, black-suit tumbled into an open door, and the van screeched its way out of the parking lot.

Rats. Now what? Do I go back and tell Fang and the flock what I saw, leaving us to wonder yet again who was chasing us and why were we always being followed. Or do I find out for myself? What I really needed was a cell phone so I could call Fang mid-air while I told him what I was doing. Of course, then I'd have to endure silence on the other line as Fang nonverbally communicated his protest.

Fang was so going to kill me.

I backed up several feet, took a quick run, and hurled myself into the air. Within minutes, I soared over the van, trying to keep pace, while trying not to be spotted by the fifty million people on the streets of Las Vegas who were blatantly committing one too many sins. Grafitti artists ran rampant in what was apparently a bad side of town and directly below me some couple's make-out session evolved into something beyond the PG-13 level. Ew. I might never let Fang touch me again.

Trailing the van through the city and out into the desert, I flew higher and allowed my raptor vision to kick in. The van was one of the few on the roads. No way I could lose it. I'd simply follow it to wherever it was going, find out who this group of baddies were (there seemed to be so many), and return to the flock.

Easy-peasy.

Yeah, right.

The van traveled onto US 93, and then onto Extraterrestial Highway (yes – it really is called that). Finally, after way more time than I should have been gone (Fang was definitely going to kill me), the van pulled up to a chain-link gate, passed a security marker, and zoomed inside.

Area 51. What could they possibly want with us at Area 51? Use us to design new prototypes for recombinant bird kids? Or maybe they wanted to infuse us with alien DNA. Didn't know. That's why I was going to do a little sneaking around.

Only problem – restricted air space. Okay – technically not a problem. I mean, it might be if I was built like an airplane or even a small helicopter, but I had the body of a bird. Should blend in just nicely with the rest of the hawks and large birds that hovered over the area.

Flying just high enough to not be spotted by the black van and its who knows how many monkey suits, I trailed the van to a large white building with several small buildings shooting off to the sides. The van pulled inside the large building. I landed many feet away, then ran toward it.

The metal gate through which the van entered shut even before I touched down and there were no windows on this massive building whatsoever. I scanned the perimeter for a grate, air shaft, anything I could sneak in through. The back of the building provided an entry, a small metal ventilation shaft that I squeezed through, tucking my wings in tight.

I crawled through large pipes, small shafts, a seemingly endless maze. Occasionally I'd hear voices, scurry toward them, but saw no one on my futile search.

That is, until someone saw me.

I never heard the bullets, only felt them when they penetrated the skin on my left leg. I saw my shooter briefly before he disappeared from the room directly below me. Stifling a shriek of agony, I crawled across the grate through which I was shot, got myself at least down that shaft and rounded two more before checking my wounds.

Two bullets. One in my femur. One in my calf.

Well, at least it wasn't my wings.

Crap.

Fang was really going to kill me.

A/N: Sorry to have been majorly MIA. I'll try to be better about updating now that summer is here. :)