But no contact with an actual human. No clues.
Nudge was trying yet another website.
“Hey, this one works!” She grinned as the log-in field popped up.
“Seriously?” I smirked at her. “The world ends and you want to check your Fotogram? Here, I’ll give you another ‘like.’ ”
“Shh,” Nudge said, swatting at my hand. “I just want to see something.”
She typed #apocalypse into the search field, and the screen lit up with images—pages and pages of disaster pics taken with cell-phone cameras. Most of the scenes were beyond anything we could’ve imagined, and believe me, we have dark, twisted imaginations.
“Whoa,” I managed to croak.
Because what else could you say about a selfie of a woman clutching a Bible as, behind her, a two-hundred-foot tsunami obliterated Los Angeles?
Or a shot of silver fish flopping on marble staircases while the train tunnels in New York’s Grand Central Station flooded with water?
We saw the city of Tokyo decimated by earthquakes. The president of France speaking to the press, wearing a hazmat suit. A row of houses in Spain buried by a freak blizzard.
It was as if the world had been tossed in the air and all the puzzle pieces were jumbled.
A sea of blue-masked faces showed us Hong Kong under quarantine. We saw forests burning, buildings burning, and people burning. Dead birds rained from the sky in so many of the pictures, they had their own hashtag: #crispycritters.
This was the end of the planet, chronicled before us.
There were hundreds of thousands of images, but the events were so varied, the effects so utterly weird, that everything started to blur together.
What happened? didn’t begin to cover it. It seemed like everything had happened, and more.
“Hey, we should check the blog,” Fang said suddenly. “I haven’t updated it since we took off in Pierpont’s jet, but it had a ton of followers…”
Nudge’s fingers were already flying across the touch screen as she nodded. “And maybe some of them are still checking in.”
12
AFTER FANG’S LAST post, there were a bunch of comments congratulating us on stopping the Doomsday cult, entries worrying about Angel because she had been missing, and a few standard Max-is-my-idol rants (no biggie). Then we got to the good stuff—the Fang-girls.
I started reading those comments aloud, of course. “ ‘Come to Cali, the water’s warm! Love, TeeniBikeeni.’ ” I wiggled my eyebrows at Fang. “Babette99 says she’ll give you a tour of Rome if you want to experience love, Italian style. Ciao, Babette!”
Fang blushed a deep red. “Okay, we get it, Max. Ha-ha.”
“And look! Brklynb8b likes vampires—guess your name gave it away, Snaggletooth. Are those the kind of comments you always got? No wonder you used to spend so much time on this thing,” I cackled.
“All of these are from January eighth,” Gazzy said. “That would’ve been it—wouldn’t it?—the day before…”
The laugh died in my throat as we all stared at the glass screen, realizing these might be some of the last words written in the history of the world.
Total had been flopped morosely on the floor, but now he said, “They don’t really seem to do our culture justice, do they?”
But then again, what words could?
“Those aren’t all of them.” Fang pointed. “Some of the postings are more recent if you keep scrolling. Check out the time stamps here. JumpinJoanie wrote ‘stay strong, bird kids. 6 jugs of water with the flock’s name on em in traverse city michigan.’ That one’s from March.”
As Nudge scrolled down, it was clear that Fang’s blog had turned into some sort of rogue news site since the Event—whatever it was—had happened. The reports were either posted as Anonymous or under Friends of Fang, and they came from kids across the globe, sharing what had happened to them and trying to make some sense of things.
And boy, did things not make much sense.
Are Europeans checking this board? Since it went Dark, can someone verify if all of England incinerated, or just London? Thx for any info.
Just London? I stared in stunned silence at those words and let out a choked breath. I don’t know what I’d expected, but I wasn’t sure I could handle this.
Anybody heard news W of Denver? Updates apprec.
Fires coming from the west as far as Mississippi R. and flooding still seeping from the east. We’re heading north to Ohio.
“From what we got on the island, I expected the flooding.” Fang looked up at me, his thick brows knitting together. “But what do you think is causing the fires? Was it from another natural disaster—more meteors or volcanoes—or something man-made? Something planned?”
I shook my head uncertainly. “Look at this one. ‘Whole fam got sick. I’m the only 1 left.’ Do you think that’s the virus my mom told us about—the bioweapon?”
Nudge clicked the link to see the responses.
Make sure you protect yourself. H-men sweeping populated areas now. Especially west coast usa.
Are H-men Erasers? My mom said they’re same as Doomsday cult, but I thought the flock got rid of those guys.
“What!” I jumped up and jabbed my finger at the screen, disbelieving. “If I have to deal with feral robotic man-wolves along with the dissolution of civilization, I am seriously going to lose it.”
We had almost scrolled all the way down to the bottom, and we weren’t any closer to the answers. The last comment was by PAtunnelratt, and all it said was We miss you guys.
It was from four minutes ago.
“Do you see that?” I jerked forward.
“I told you!” Gazzy’s eyes lit up. “Quick, Nudge, write them back!”
FangMod: @PAtunnelratt, it’s the flock. Are you still there?
“Ugh, this connection is so slow!” Nudge groaned as she hit Refresh over and over again.
Fang shrugged. “Well, the world has ended.”
Finally, it showed one reply, and we all crowded in closer to read it over Nudge’s shoulder.
PAtunnelratt: Awww yeahhh. FLOCK 4EVER!! I knew if anybody could survive it was U guys.
FangMod: Where are you?
PAtunnelratt: West Penn. In the mountains. Ppl thought Dad was nutz to buy underground silo. Sometimes impulse buys work out I guess. Ha-ha.
“Ask him about Erasers,” I said.
“And Cryenas!” Gazzy added.
“Oh my God, now it’s frozen,” Nudge groaned. “This always happens.”
“Sorry!” Fang said dryly. “Next time I miraculously find a working computer in the middle of freaking nowhere, I’ll try to make it speedier.”
FangMod: Tunnelratt, are there any other people in your area?
It finally went through, but Tunnelratt wasn’t responding.
“We have less than three percent battery left,” Nudge said nervously. She fired off another message.
FangMod: Have you heard anything about Erasers?
PAtunnelratt: No. but I heard of the Remedy.
“What is the Remedy?” Nudge typed lightning fast into the white box.
But the screen was already fading to gray as the tablet powered down.
13
SEVEN THOUSAND MILES due north, twenty stories underground, in a New World city known as Himmel…
The young man had left the lab without any instructions. All he had was a folded slip of paper with an address. This address. He made a fist with one gloved hand, the leather squeaking, and reached up to knock.
The door opened silently and a colorless servant with downcast eyes gestured him into a grand ballroom. A plain black office chair was the sole piece of furniture in the enormous room, and the white-haired man in a crisp lab coat was the only person.
“A10103!” the man shouted in greeting, his voice echoing around the chamber.
The young man stood in the doorway, unsure what was expected of him. He clasped his hands in front of him and awaited instruction.
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The white-haired man in the white coat stood and circled him for several minutes, measuring his height, his biceps, his feet, shining a light into his eyes to check his pupil reflexes. The servant had silently reappeared and wrote down everything the older man muttered.
A10103 stood tall and straight, and when the older man occasionally met his eyes, A10103 made sure to gaze back evenly.
Finally, seemingly satisfied, the older man looked up at the tall, handsome youth standing before him and reached a delicate hand forward. “I’m your designer. You may hear people here refer to me as the Remedy…” His face split into a garish smile that was all shiny pink gums. “But I’m really just a doctor, trying to mend things in my way. I apologize for the formalities, but we’ve had… violations of code in the past. You never can be too careful.” He sighed. “How are you feeling?”
“Quite well, Doctor. Strong.”
“Wonderful! And how do you like my… parlor?” The doctor gestured.
A10103 gazed up at the ceiling hundreds of feet high, decorated with gold leaf and intricately painted frescoes. He nodded appreciatively.
The doctor sank back into his office chair. “It’s a bit indulgent, perhaps, but I do so value my space, and for the next few years anyway, I’m afraid I won’t be able to spend much time aboveground.” He sighed deeply. “See how frail we humans are? Worthless creatures, really, so slow to adapt. I swear, I’d take my own life for the good of evolution, but someone needs to get things back on track.”
A10103 smiled.
“And speaking of getting things back on track, I have a mission for you, my child. I believe you are familiar with the background of Maximum Ride and her so-called flock?”
A10103 nodded, and the doctor raised his eyebrows expectantly at his pupil.
“Six youths…” A10103 began. “Ranging in ages from seven to fifteen and possessing a number of advantageous gifts. Raised in a lab as the fifty-fourth generation of genetically mutated animal-human hybrids, and only the second hybrid form to be viable. With avian-human genetic material—”
“Human-avian,” the doctor corrected. “They’re only two percent avian—mostly human.” He looked disgusted. “Those initial models were full of amateur mistakes. You understand the grave risk this flock poses, don’t you?”
A10103 hesitated. “Should they… breed… you mean?” he asked.
“Indeed.” The doctor shifted in his chair uncomfortably. “For a time we believed they’d be useful, but now that there are over a thousand mutants working out there in this new world, beautiful children like yourself, all scientifically evolved, we see the truth: Those specimens are a virus.” The man known as the Remedy slammed his fist into his palm, his face flushing. “And I’m a doctor, first and foremost,” he sniffed, calming himself. “I’ve worked tirelessly all my life to heal our sick earth, and with the advances being made in our species, my dream is at last coming to fruition. But in order for our endeavor to succeed, the virus cannot be permitted to spread.”
A10103 nodded intelligently. “They must be eliminated.”
“Your genetic makeup was altered for just such a highly specialized role. You are one of a group of carefully selected individuals, my horsemen in this last race to achieve paradise, you might say.”
“Like in the Bible.”
The doctor looked at him disconcertedly. “Excuse me?”
“The four horsemen of the apocalypse,” A10103 explained innocently.
“Yes, exactly.” The man cocked his head. “My, you’re a regular encyclopedia, aren’t you?”
A10103 tapped his temple and smiled. “The new upload.”
“I’ll have to be careful, or soon my little gadgets will be smarter than I am.” His creator’s lips curved into a thin, tight smile, and A10103 cast his eyes down.
“As the first Horseman, you’ll have the most important role, but there are other Horsemen as well, of course. One must always have backups.” He chuckled softly. “As you can imagine, I have a very difficult task, keeping all my little projects in check, and this is one I’d so like to cross off my list. Despite their genetic disadvantages, Maximum Ride and her flock have always been rather… slippery, so don’t fret if you find it difficult to complete your task.”
“It won’t be a problem, Doctor,” A10103 assured him.
“Yes, well, I know it can be a terrible burden to track them all down, so if you should fail…” His mentor met his gaze and flashed that wide, gummy grin of his. “It would be my pleasure to send the next Horseman along after you.”
“It won’t be a problem.”
14
A10103 WALKED QUICKLY through the city, searching for the address of his next appointment. There was no wind ruffling his hair, no cars clogging the road. The air held at a steady temperature, and the streets were spotless. With each step he took, the skyscrapers rose up around him. The sun shone, the sky was blue, and the smooth, sleek towers were gleaming symbols of money and power.
Or so you could convince yourself for a while.
They were all just holographs, he knew—changing images of London, Singapore, or sometimes Vienna, projected on the walls of the winding tunnels. A10103 tried to pinpoint the seams in the images as the light shifted around him, but he had to admit, they were pretty convincing.
If it weren’t for the sour taste of canned air on his tongue, he might almost believe he was outside.
A10103 at last located his destination and stepped into a cold metal cone, pressing the number written on the slip the doctor had given him.
“Generating relaxing dreamscape,” a soothing female voice informed him from the speakers. Moments later, the doors reopened onto a pillowed paradise.
He entered and sank into the soft luxury of silk and down, and gazed up at the 3-D experience in wonder. Brilliant green leaves unfurled around his head, giant flowers hung low from their stems, and the illusion of sun filtered onto his face. And though he couldn’t feel any heat from the sun’s rays, he could imagine well enough.
Just like he could imagine really being with the girl leaning over him.
She was beautiful, but doll-like, almost like an anime character brought to life. Her chin came to a delicate point, and her lips pursed in a small, perfect bow. Thick locks of brilliant red hair cascaded over her shoulders and huge, jeweled eyes gazed at him tenderly.
A10103 almost screamed when she touched him.
He’d thought she was a hologram, along with the rest of the space. But no, she was real—a real girl tracing her soft fingertips along his jaw. He doubted she was completely human, but she was definitely real.
“What’s your name?” he asked her, sitting up. He wasn’t really familiar with these types of situations, but that seemed like something you should ask.
She smiled. “What do you wish my name to be?”
He smiled uncertainly, unsure whether she was trying to please him or she really hadn’t been given a name, like him. “A10103” was branded on him, but he needed something more personal, at least for himself.
“I’m Horseman,” he offered. That would do for the time being—remind him he was a man with a mission, and a rather dark one at that.
She lay next to him on the pillow and gazed at him through long, curling lashes. “I love you, Horseman,” she sighed in a voice so sweet it was cloying.
“What?” Horseman laughed uncomfortably and tried to sit up on the impossibly fluffy pillows. “You seem nice and everything, but we just met.”
“How can that matter?” She threaded her hands through his. “We are the children of the future. Created for one another. I adore you. You adore me, don’t you?” She cocked her head like some exotic bird, studying him in puzzlement.
He understood then. This living doll was a gift from the Remedy, a bonus for his services. She was someone who would love him without question, which was all he’d really ever wanted.
So he’d thought.
Horseman felt an overwhelming empathy fo
r her then, a sadness at the uselessness of her existence, and a deep, gnawing guilt. Because this girl, or whatever she was, had been created just for him. Yet he knew beyond certainty that he would never love her back.
And right now, she was compromising his mission.
“I have to go.” Horseman sprang out of the pillows and stood up, backing away from her. “I’m sorry. If I make it back from my job, I swear I’ll try to fix this.”
Her poised, painted face frowned as the metal door opened and the projection faded back into the freight elevator it had been.
“Come back, my love. I can help you find what you need. Just come back…”
15
HORSEMAN STUMBLED ALONG the streets, desperate to get through the winding labyrinth of tunnels, eager to start his mission. He dragged his hand against the tunnel wall and watched the colors project onto his clothing. The projections seemed less charming when you’d seen what was behind the mirage, and the canned air was starting to make him gag.
He knew too much—he understood that. Felt too much. Or more than he was meant to, at least. There was some glitch in him, like with the flock, and that was dangerous. He worried it was starting to become a liability.
The guards posted at every checkpoint resembled heavily armored tanks shaped like men, and their eyes followed him from behind their goggled masks. Horseman knew his movements looked erratic, and he tried to slow his pace, to look professional.
Not that he felt any fear.
Inside the smooth leather of his gloves, he stretched his fingers—his only weapon. Because the Remedy trusted him to get the job done. Not like these goons with their heavy artillery. He had been crafted to be superior, after all.