Angel was eating a banana and watching him avidly. I sent her a question:
She looked at me and shrugged. No clue.
I sat down and snagged another cup of coffee and a muffin, since it looked like this might take a while.
For several minutes the doctor hunched over, grimacing. Then he managed to speak in wheezy gasps. “I’ve injected… a rare strain of virus… that is… going to cause a rather… shocking reaction.”
“What you science types do for fun,” I said with false cheer. Having grown up in a lab, I associated the words rare virus with hazmat suits. I wanted out of there.
He frowned. “Clearly not for fun. But for progress. Sometimes progress is… painful. Now, watch.”
Sweat broke out on his brow, and his face turned bright red. And get ready for this most horrific next part, kids: All at once, his skin erupted in grotesque pustules.
I jumped up. “Outta here, dudes!”
“No, wait, Max!” he gasped hoarsely. “The miracle is about to begin.”
The only reasons I didn’t do an up-and-away were (a) it’s hard in a tent, and (b) when I did a double take, I saw that the doc’s pustules were already shrinking.
Could I have imagined it? I sat back down shakily.
“To explain it in very basic lay terms,” he went on, more quickly now that he wasn’t gasping for air, “a number of my organs and systems – including the skin, brain, blood cells, thyroid, the entire immune system – are now working together to analyze the virus, produce the white blood cell and glandular response that will eradicate the virus, and circulate it through my body – almost instantaneously.”
“Okay. I can see how that might come in handy,” I said, thinking about the sick refugees I’d seen in the camp. “Especially if it puts doctors like you out of business. I don’t trust doctors.”
The doctor smiled. “You’re getting the picture, Max. Because in an apocalypse, there are no doctors. There are no hospitals and certainly no insurance companies. You are on your own. It is you against the forces of nature, which at this point in Earth’s history surely see it as in their best interest to eradicate the human race. Do you understand what I mean, Max? Let me give you another example.”
He pulled out a meat cleaver.
16
BEFORE I HAD A CHANCE to disappear – fast – Dr. Gunther-Hagen had hacked off the tip of his left pinkie finger.
You heard me right.
Angel screamed. I screamed. The madman screamed too, in pain, then regained his composure.
“Don’t worry, children,” he grunted. “My biological healing system… is now working together with an advanced stem cell response. I’m able to reposition my severed fingertip” – he moved it back into place and pressed it to his stub, with a pained expression – “or, even more miraculously, were you willing to stay with me for the next several days, you could actually watch a new one grow right back in its place.”
“Whoa” was all I could say. Dylan looked unmoved by the whole thing. Guess people sprouting new limbs was common where he came from.
A moment later the doctor held up his left hand and wiggled all five fingers – intact. This guy was seriously starting to worry me, and I began to back slowly toward the door, ready to leap out of the way if he lunged at me with a needle. Or a meat cleaver.
Angel looked excited, and I frowned. Typical yin-yang response from us.
“Okay, I think I get it,” I said. “I also get that it all seems a little too good to be true.”
“What makes you say that?” the doctor asked, examining his healed finger with satisfaction.
“Well… that must be some pretty super-mega-powerful body chemistry happening there. If it can kill a virus in a single explosion… could it, say, accidentally kill
The doctor waved his hand impatiently. “Of course there are bugs that need to be worked out. Certainly, overactive autoimmune response can be a tricky business, among other challenges. We’re working on that, but in the meantime we have the pharmacology to counteract the side effects. My point is that once those bugs are solved, a world of possibilities opens up.”
And a world of unpredictable chaos, I thought.
“After the apocalypse, we could all be living like cavemen again,” the doctor said. “We could be hunted by huge mutant carnivores, things we can’t even imagine now. We need every weapon, shield, and protection in our arsenal. And here’s the important thing, Max. Remember this if you remember nothing else:
His eyes were focused intently on me. I’ll just ask now: What is it about my persona that draws every insane, power-hungry nutcase to me like a
“We will have to survive on our own strengths. You can fly. You and the flock have gifts. Dylan here is also gifted, and in some ways different from you. But this kind of healing ability will be the difference between life and death in the near future.”
“Wow,” I said. Traditionally, I would have come up with something snappy and/or scathing here, but I have to tell you, this guy unnerved me.
Because, in a crazy way, what he was saying made some degree of sense.
“It’s… really impressive,” I said. “But I don’t see what it has to do with me, with us.”
Dr. G-H straightened. “I asked you here to discuss a possible alliance between us – a partnership, if you will: your flock and my companies, me, and Dylan. With your natural abilities and the powers of science I’m unleashing, we can, in essence, ensure the survival of humankind.”
“We would be allies?” Angel asked.
“No,” I told her, giving her a warning look that she ignored. Again, I started to make my way toward the door.
“You six are the most successful recombinant-DNA life-forms ever created,” Dr. G-H went on earnestly. “until now.” He motioned proudly to Dylan, who had the decency to look embarrassed. “My companies are producing some of the most cutting-edge, daring science in the world today. Together, we could actually achieve your mission – to save the world.”
I stopped in my tracks and turned back to face him. Okay, he had insider info.
“Sorry. Thanks for asking. But the flock works alone.” I was acutely aware of Dylan’s steady gaze, his tightly coiled tension as he watched the doctor. “Thanks for the great breakfast,” I added. “I’m really impressed with your science and all. But I don’t think we’re the right partners for you.”
That was probably the most diplomatic, least obnoxious reply I’d ever given anyone in my whole life.
“This isn’t good-bye, Max.” The doctor’s voice followed me as I exited the tent. “And that isn’t your final answer.”
17
DID I EVER TELL you how much I hate needles? Bad childhood memories. It’s a lab-escapee thing. The meat cleaver was a mere annoyance in comparison.
My mind was still reeling as I slogged through the sand back to our camp. I kept a death grip on Angel’s hand as she trotted beside me to keep up. The African sun beat down on us, and for the first time, the heat felt crushing to me.
I really wanted to help the CSM and the refugees here, but my Mother Teresa aspirations were crumbling fast. This place was suddenly way too dangerous for us. Angel’s dire prediction, what the Voice had said about Dylan, Chu and the disappearing refugees in the middle of the night, and now Dr. Hans’s obsessive fondness for wielding knives and needles full of pathogens had all combined to turn this trip into a nightmare.
We had to get out of there and far away from Dr. Cleaver. ASAP.
“What did you think about Dylan?” Angel asked.
“Poor sap,” I said briefly, and tried not to think about him too much in case she was in mind-reading mode.
“Don’t you think we should stay and help him?” “Help him do what?”
“Help him learn,” she said. “He’s brand-new. He doesn’t have anyone else. I don’t think he can learn what he needs to know from Dr. Hans. At least we all have each other.” She smiled up at me somewhat tentatively.
Stopping, I looked into her blue eyes. “Do we, Angel?” I asked softly, as her smile faltered. “Do we all have each other? Have each other’s backs?”
She didn’t say anything, and then we were in sight of our tent. Gazzy called over to us. I strode forward and motioned everyone inside. In the heat of the day, it was stifling, but I would make this fast.
“Okay,” I said. “First, here.” I handed out squashed bacon, muffins, fruit, everything I’d been able to stuff into the cargo pockets of my pants and my jacket. In retrospect, the handful of scrambled eggs had not been a good idea, but still, my poor hungry flock fell on everything like hygiene-challenged hyenas. Gazzy actually moaned as he downed a piece of bacon in two bites.
“Listen up,” I said urgently. “It’s time to round up your gear. I’m gonna check in with Patrick, and then we’re getting the flock out of here.” Ha-ha. “If we head northnortheast, we’ll hit Italy. From Italy to Ireland. Ireland to New York. Sound good?”
They all looked at me.
“I’ll explain on the road, but we have to get out of here, fast.” I even looked over my shoulder, as if Dr. HackerHagen was about to pop through our tent flap.
“Aren’t we supposed to stay and help?” Nudge asked, brushing off crumbs.
“We’ve helped. We’ve posed for pictures,” I said, shoving my stuff into my backpack. “us staying a bit longer won’t do that much more.”
“Are we going on another CSM mission?” Nudge asked.
“Nah. At least not for a while,” I said. “We’re headed someplace new and different -”
Fang looked at me and smiled. It was time to spill our little secret.
“Home.”
PART TWO. HOME IS WHERE THE HEART BREAKS
