Hello.
I just wanted to say, WOW. I haven't checked my e-mail since last night, so I thought I'd pull up the reviews for Fangel Experiment from Fanfiction. And holy Lordy, I have nine reviews in one night. Count 'em, folks. That's nine reviews in twenty-four hours. Thanks for taking me seriously on the R&R rule; if we keep going like this we'll make 100 in record time. I'm counting on you, folks.
Okay. Now, to the story.
The morning is, well…beautiful. Which just goes to show that nothing, I repeat, nothing, is as pretty on the inside as it is on the outside.
Everyone is holding a basket over each elbow, including me. All we need now is a mulberry bush to skip around. I guess we'll have to make do with strawberries, and Angel, sensing my thoughts, leads us straight over to the patch without dawdling, still clutching Max's hand.
"If you make cake, I'll make strawberries," Angel says, her sweet, clear voice carrying to the back of the group where I am walking, stony-faced. She even does a little skip as she says it, her cute white socks staining green.
"Yeah, that'll be the day, when Max makes a cake! I'll make it, Angel," Gazzy says in Iggy's voice. He does this constantly. It is extremely annoying – almost as bad as a killer fart. But…not quite.
Max whirls around, her face on the offense, glaring at Iggy. "Oh, thank you!" she exclaims. "Okay, I'm not a fabulous cook. But I can still kick your butt, and don't you forget it!"
She's right. But we're too busy trying to hold back laughter to agree. Iggy puts up his hands in denial, and Nudge looks like she's getting a stomachache from trying to hold it in. But Gazzy gives himself away: mischievousness is written all over his face.
"Was that you?" Max asks Gazzy indignantly. He grins and shrugs, trying not to look too pleased with himself. I pull in my smile and do a quick recon. Wait – what's that, in the sky, there…?
Angel freezes and screams suddenly, dropping her wicker basket. I flip into a fighting stance, shaking hair out of my eyes. Sometimes I almost wish I had some of Angel's barrettes.
Then the black thing zooms into view: it's a helicopter. In the next second, huge, wolfy men (otherwise known as Erasers) drop out of the sky like hail.
Darn, and we haven't even picked any strawberries yet.
I launch myself at a hulky Eraser, bringing my foot up and around to hit his cheek. It's a man down, for sure, but he just staggers and comes right back at me with his fists flailing. I use the momentum from my roundhouse kick to spin me around and land another blow on his cheek, this time with my fist.
His legs fail him and he falls to his knees. I'm about to finish him off when another Eraser grabs me from the back, locking his elbows together to keep me secure. The Eraser that I just beat up stands slowly, savoring the moment.
I'm not about to let him. With a roar, I snap out my wings, blowing the Eraser behind me back. I leap into the air and hover above their heads, flying in tight circles just above the Erasers so that they have to almost trip over their own feet to track me, snapping out with a dark foot whenever one gets dizzy. Soon I have the two Erasers moaning on the ground.
But I've overlooked one thing: the Eraser's jumping ability. I realize this as a 400-pound flying-human-killer jumps onto my back, effectively pulling me straight to the ground. I can hear Nudge and Angel screaming and crying but I really can't help them right now. The Erasers are literally about to slash my throat open, and anything I do that involves untucking my chin from my chest will certainly get me killed. Three claws scrape my cheek, and I grunt as a white-hot starburst of pain explodes on my left side.
Then, suddenly, the erasers leap off of me, leaving me groaning for about five half-seconds. (I'm not even going to think about it.) They make a break for the copter and hoist themselves into it. Too late I realize that they've got a squirming sack thrown over their shoulders: ANGEL.
I can't take the risk of going after her. Max is lying in a heap on the ground and I am already starting to go into hysterics – invisibly, of course. But if I wait too long, Angel might be out of sight. And my nose is broken, making it hard to think straight as blood rushes from it. I numbly readjust it, staring after the copter.
I make my decision and rush to Max. The remaining members of the Flock are already gathered around. I realize that my nose is dripping on Max and pull back a bit.
She blinks and stirs. Iggy and I lean anxiously over her.
"Max?" the Gasman whispers, his voice shaking.
Max moans, a sound so full of pain and fear that my heart explodes. I don't let it show, keeping my face calm.
"I'm okay," she says finally, sounding anything but. She tries to sit up, fails, and falls back into the grass. "Where's Angel?" she asks, her voice sounding ragged and strained. Her eyes meet mine.
I can't betray those eyes. But my mouth disobeys me.
"She's gone," I hear myself say. "They took her." Ooh, going for the subtle approach. I mentally smack my forehead and mentally wince as my mental hand hits my mental broken nose.
I think I'm going mental.
Max gets to her feet shakily. I want to push her back down but I don't. She leans against me, and I can see her fighting her weakness. She is obviously repulsed at having to need help, but I don't take it personally.
"We've got to get her," she says urgently, fighting to stay upright. I catch her elbow before she can fall back to the ground. "We've got to get her before they-"
She gulps and cuts herself off. Then, it's like someone pushes her "in-control" button – suddenly she's all business again.
"Check in, guys – are you ready for a chase?" she asks in a much stronger voice. I silently congratulate her on pulling herself together so quickly.
Nudge sounds like she's about to throw up, but she says, "Yes," and another tear trickles out of her eye.
"I'm up," says Iggy through a split lip.
Gazzy nods at her, putting his brave face on. But the second Max looks away his tiny face crumples again. I'd pull his to my side, but I don't pull people to my side.
Max wipes her eyes furtively. She narrows her brow, looking mad. Then Iggy cocks his head, and I hold my breath for the second time today. Everyone freezes and listens too. I can hear the drone of the helicopter suddenly: faint but definite.
"There!" Iggy cries, flinging his arm to the right.
The five of us run toward the sound, moving like grandmas in a three-legged race. After about a hundred yards, we come to a sharp drop-off. Nudge, who's in the front, skids to a stop and wheels her arms to keep her balance.
Down below us is a black Humvee, it's paint covered with "nature's mark", bumping along the quiet road. Max holds back a gasp: she obviously thinks Angel is in there.
Well, whatever.
"Let's go get her!" Max calls, then hurls herself off the cliff. After a few heart-stopping seconds, she rises into view: her beautiful wings sweeping the grit off the ledge with every downstroke. I jumpedinto the air after her, pausing to rip a dead branch from a pine tree.
Angel, here we come.
Please, please review and tell me if Fang seems OOC…thanks….