Nevermore: The Final Maximum Ride Adventure

sky to do recon.”

“Fine,” said Iggy. “I’ll get some firearms.” He headed down the hall.

At the window, Nudge frowned and squinted harder, cupping her hands around her eyes to get a better view of the darkness outside.

I dropped and crawled over to her. “See something?”

“Yeah,” she murmured. “Seven o’clock.” She pointed carefully. “See that shadow? I think someone’s out there, walking toward the house.”

“Who is it?” Gazzy asked, also dropping down. “Is it Jeb?”

“No, it’s—” Nudge’s breath hitched in her throat. “That doesn’t make sense. Oh, my gosh. It couldn’t be.”

“What?” I asked, already mentally preparing a defense, an attack, a plan to escape. I pressed my face against the cool glass of the window, but even with my raptor vision, I couldn’t pinpoint what Nudge was seeing. “Couldn’t be what? Or who?”

Nudge drew back and faced us, looking utterly shocked.

“It’s Fang.”

46

THE WIND HAD been knocked out of me as surely as if Nudge had socked me in the gut.

“Fang?” I asked weakly, peering out the window again. “What do you mean, Fang? It can’t be. He’s walking.” The strangled sound of my voice vibrated in my ears.

“I saw his face when he passed through a beam of moonlight,” answered Nudge. “It’s either Fang or a perfect clone.”

A clone. Yeah, that was it. A clone like Ari, sent as a decoy by some whitecoat trying to sabotage us. It can’t be the real Fang, I told myself—Fang was gone. I let my breath out, relieved at the idea of fighting some potential threat rather than dealing with the possibilities of what Fang’s return would mean.

“Why is he limping?” Gazzy asked, squinting through the blinds.

“He’s limping?” I remained still for a split second longer, then rose and practically threw myself down the hallway with the flock on my heels.

Gazzy flung open the front door and flicked on the porch light. I sucked in my breath, and my heart nearly exploded.

The figure that blinked up at us from ten yards away was absolutely, unmistakably Fang.

I gasped at the state he was in. He looked as if he could barely stand. His face was grayish and drawn, his shoulders hunched. His clothes were filthy. One arm hung uselessly by his side, and one wing was caked with dried blood. He looked like the living dead.

“Fang!” Nudge shrieked, and, ignoring all the rules I’d taught her about the million possibilities of danger, bounded off the porch in a blur of pink nightgown. She reached him in one leap, ignoring his obvious injuries and jumping into his arms.

I stepped out onto the porch, scanning the area for threats, but there was obviously no point. It was the real Fang, all right. Nothing else could explain why I felt so tingly and weird all over.

The hairs on the back of my neck prickled, and I realized Dylan was standing right behind me. His fingers reached out to hold me at my waist, and I tried to subtly move away. But subtlety has never been my strong suit, and Dylan sighed loudly.

“Fang!” Iggy whooped. He and the Gasman followed Nudge off the porch, and the three guys exchanged those weird half-hug frat-boy things where they pat one another on the back. Even Total ran forward, putting his front paws against Fang’s leg, wagging his tail.

“Go on,” Dylan told me. “You know you want to.” His voice was bitter, so different from the gentle tone he’d used in the tree house. I could hear the implication in that tone and resented it, even as I felt myself moving from the doorway.

Fang detached himself from Nudge and looked up. Our eyes met, and just like that, my legs hurtled me forward and suddenly I was hugging him tightly. Fang’s uninjured arm went around my shoulders.

“You came back,” I whispered, hating the longing in my voice.

“Did you think I wouldn’t?” he asked with a half smile that was infuriating and devastating and revealed nothing and everything at the same time.

A smile I had known all my life.

Fang felt… familiar. Warm—as warm as Dylan had felt, just a few short hours earlier in the tree house.

As I buried my face in Fang’s dirty, bloodied hair, I felt Dylan’s eyes boring into my back, and tried to swallow my guilt.

47

FOOD HAS ALWAYS been our number one solution for any awkward situation, so Iggy had the bright idea of whipping up a Welcome Back cake for Fang. This was undoubtedly to save us from the semi-uncomfortable silence that followed once I finally managed to peel myself from Fang’s grimy, sweaty body.

It may shock you to learn that Dylan decided to skip Fang’s Welcome Back party. Said he had homework. But I could feel his glowering energy radiating through the house while the rest of us were making fake conversation in the kitchen, pretending that the newest member of the flock didn’t exist.

I avoided trying to figure out the who, what, where, when, how, and why of Fang’s return by forcing Iggy to let me bake the cake—maybe a first—and then serving it up. Almost without thinking, I scraped the icing off Fang’s slice of cake before I put it in front of him (he’d never been a fan of icing) and plopped a quart of chocolate milk down for him to chug out of the carton, like he always used to do. Like he was still a little kid.

He looked up at me with a dull smirk. “Been taking home ec?”

My face turned red. Was he disgusted, like I didn’t know him anymore? Or did he think it was sweet, like I’d always known him, and always would?

I’d been pacing around the kitchen, avoiding eye contact with him, for forty-five minutes. Now I finally planted myself across the table from him and stared intently at his beaten face. His hair had grown shaggy and long, and he’d aged several years in a matter of months.

He’d become a man.

At first the thought made me a little sad. And then it kind of scared me. But then it actually… excited me, somehow.

And what have you become, Maximum Ride? I thought. Definitely not a woman. And definitely not a savior. Barely a leader, anymore. Basically, I was nothing.

“So… no offense, man, but why’re you here?” Iggy asked, his mouth fully loaded with cake, spraying us all with chocolate crumbs. “Shouldn’t you be with your gang?”

Fang shoved a hunk of cake into his mouth. He glanced at Iggy and shrugged. Fang was giving us the silent treatment, just like old times.

“I’m just looking for some answers, man,” pressed Iggy.

“The gang is done,” Fang answered shortly, taking a swig of the chocolate milk. A shadow passed over his face, and I remembered what Ari had said about Maya. “So, how’s Dylan doing?”

Dylan, the elephant in the room (well, in the living room). The rest of the flock stared at me expectantly. Iggy whistled, and Gazzy made kissing noises.

“Out!” I yelled at them. They scrambled away, taking the rest of the cake with them.

“Dylan’s fine,” I told him, as nonchalantly as possible. “Doing well on his flying and fighting techniques, adjusting in the community, you know…”

“Uh-huh.” Fang stared at me, his dark eyes focusing on me intently, a tight little smile on his lips. “You look… different, Max. Lighter, or happier, or something.”