“Ari!” I said. “Ari! Come on, snap out of it! Please, Ari?”
All around us, the battle thrashed on, but Ari was silent.
“Ari?” Horrified, I pressed two fingers against his neck, feeling for a pulse.
Ari’s time had come. He had expired.
Right here, right now, in my arms.
122
Oh, God. I felt as if my breath, my spirit, had been knocked out of me. For several seconds I just stared numbly at Ari’s ruined face, his unseeing eyes. My throat was gripped tight with emotion, and I brushed my fingers over his eyelids, closing them.
This poor, poor kid. I hoped wherever he was, he was no longer in pain, no longer ugly, no longer unloved and unwanted. Hot tears sprang to my eyes, and I wanted to sob.
Swallowing hard a bunch of times, I looked up and saw that everyone around me was still engaged in a life-or-death battle. They had no time to help me, no time to acknowledge Ari’s death. A whistling noise next to my ear made me realize that I was still under attack myself—a Flyboy had just swung its weapon at me, trying to crush my skull.
Feeling helpless and furious, I gently lay Ari down in the dirt. “I’ll come get you,” I promised in a whisper. Then, enraged, I leaped up, grabbing the first Flyboy in my way. I twisted its neck as hard as I could. The Flyboy fell, and I moved on, smashing another in the back, dropping it like a sack of rotten groceries. Roaring with fury, I ripped the weapon from a downed Flyboy and swung it around my head, cracking it against three more robots, knocking them off balance, slowing them down so that Jeb and Nudge could take them out from behind.
Ari was dead, and for what? Why had this happened to him? Why had his life been seven years of pain and confusion and loneliness?
“Ari!” Jeb had finally seen his son. He rushed to Ari’s side and knelt next to him. Looking stunned, he gathered Ari’s hulking form and held him to his chest. “I’m so sorry.” I saw his mouth shape the words, though I couldn’t hear them. “I’m so sorry.” He bent over Ari’s form, mindless of his vulnerable position.
Then he looked up and caught my eye. His eyes were shiny with tears, which shocked me. He pitched his voice so I could hear him. “Omega can’t track things fast with his eyes.”
I waited for more, but that was it. I turned and whaled back into the fight, trying to accomplish the universal goal of every warrior everywhere: Get the other guy. Do not let him get you.
So big whoop: Omega couldn’t track things well. Thanks, Jeb! Any other tidbits of wisdom for me? Like “Omega has an off switch”?
Who knew where the heck Omega was, anyway? For all I knew he was up on the stage, getting a manicure.
Swinging my weapon like a baseball bat, I felt the satisfying but bone-jolting thwack! as it slammed into a Flyboy’s shoulder. It turned, and I swung at the base of its spine. Crack! Another Flyboy shortened to the height of a coffee table.
“She says we must fight.”
The quiet words spoken near my nonbloody ear made me wheel to face...Omega. He looked spick-and-span, as if he’d managed to sit this one out.
“You don’t have to do everything she tells you,” I said, still lunging and fending off Flyboys. The gun flew out of my hand.
Omega spoke to the Flyboys around us: “Stop. She is mine.”
Which made me even madder, if possible. “I’m...not...anyone’s!”
The fact that the Flyboys listened to him and moved on to other targets made me see red, and it wasn’t just the blood running into my eyes. Though of course that didn’t help.
“We must fight,” said Omega.
I was so tired of all the puppet masters pulling our strings.
“You can decide not to,” I told him firmly.
He frowned. “I don’t know how...to not.”
“Oh, for crying out loud,” I muttered, then swung back and walloped him in the side of his head as hard as I could.
123
Ow ow ow! Something in my hand went crunch, as if I’d broken a small bone. Oh, my God, it hurt! I sucked in my breath and tried not to scream. Like a boy!
Omega staggered but caught himself and immediately spun into a snap kick at my knee. I dodged it and wheeled into a spinning side kick, which connected solidly with the top of Omega’s leg. Tucking my hurt hand against my body, I focused on kicks, aiming high at his head, bobbing and weaving to avoid his blows. He managed to block almost everything I threw at him, his silvery eyes following my movements calmly and precisely.
He can’t track things fast.
What did that mean?
As an experiment, I took my hurt hand and waved it quickly in front of his face, as if I were about to hit him from a bunch of different directions. Sure enough, his eyes couldn’t follow it, and he paused, as if to concentrate on it.
So I punched him with my other fist, a really hard blow right at his nose.
Apparently his perfect schnoz was not 400 percent stronger than the average nose, because it broke. Omega blinked and stepped back, looking startled, then blood started gushing from his nose. He touched it, alarmed.
“Head wounds always bleed a lot,” I told him.
Then I whipped my hand all around him, up and down, side to side, and again he tried hard to track it, as if he couldn’t help himself.
I jumped and landed a scissors kick against his neck, and he went down on his knees, coughing. Once more with the hand waving. It was like hypnotizing a cat. Then I clasped my hands together, wincing from the pain in my broken one, and gave Omega a powerful two-handed punch that sent him facedown into the dirt. Of course, hitting him with my injured hand hurt so much I almost shrieked and passed out right next to him.
But I held tough. Just barely. But enough.
I looked down at Omega, the superboy, the pinnacle of Itex’s achievement. I’d bested him because he couldn’t track things well with his eyes. I’d won because Jeb had told me about it. I looked up at the Director. She was staring at me with the pure, cold hatred of someone who’s been defeated by something she thought was inferior.
Well, that’s the breaks.
Omega was out cold but not dead. We were supposed to fight to the finish. If he’d gotten me on the ground, he would have killed me, poor sap. He didn’t know any better.
But I did. I could have given him a quick sideways kick at the base of his neck, which would have snapped his spine. Instead I walked away, heading back to where my half brother’s body lay.
Who’s the better man now, you idiot? I thought at the Director.
124
The electric net topping the castle walls could keep stuff in but not out, interestingly. I was pushing through the crowd, tossing off a quick punch or kick here and there, trying to get to Ari, when suddenly a large rock flew over the castle wall. It hit a mutant on the head, and she sat down abruptly.
I looked up. An actual arrow, flaming like in the movies, was flying overhead. It streaked right through the net and buried itself in the back of a Flyboy, who promptly caught fire. What else?
When humans catch fire, they run around screaming, or possibly remember to stop, drop, and roll. When a Flyboy catches fire, it just stands there looking stupid until it turns into a tall, flaming statue. Apparently, once a Flyboy is really aflame, its joints and pulleys quit working and it can’t move. Useful info I tucked away for future use.
More rocks began flying overhead.
Getting Ari would have to wait. I had the living ones to take care of now.
“Angel!” I shouted. “Nudge! Total! Stand next to the wall!” I hadn’t noticed Total in a while, and I was glad to see him bound out of the crowd toward me. He was limping, holding one paw up, but leaped into my arms and licked my face.
“Bleah. Blood,” he said, and quit licking. Bleah right back atcha, I thought.
“Who’s throwing the rocks?” Nudge asked, as we pressed against the wall.
“I don’t know,” I started to say, just as Angel said, “Kids.”
“What do you mean ‘kids’???
? I asked. More rocks flew overhead, and several more flaming arrows.
“I think it’s kids out there,” Angel said. “It feels like kids.”
I watched as another large rock hit a Flyboy in the knees. The robot buckled, and then two mutants fell on it, punching it and pulling its hair.
“Kids or, like, cavemen?”
“Kids,” said Angel.
“Save the flock! Kill the Flyboys! Destroy Itex!”
My eyebrows lifted as the growing roar outside became more distinct. Slowly, the noise in the courtyard stilled, and the roar outside grew louder. More and more rocks, some as big as melons, and flaming arrows streaked over the walls.
“Save the flock! Kill the Flyboys! Destroy Itex!”
I looked at Nudge and Angel. “Wonder if they’re blog readers?”
“Chase them away!” the Director’s voice boomed over the loudspeaker. Her angry face appeared eight feet tall on the screens around the courtyard. Some of the screens were now broken, and all had dirt and blood splashed on them. They had probably cost a lot too.
“Chase them away!” the Director shouted again. “They are vermin! They are here to destroy you! Chase them away!”
As always, the Flyboys jumped to do her bidding without question. There were maybe sixty left, and as one they shot out their wings and took to the air.
“Uh,” said Nudge, watching.
Yes. Oops. No one had turned off the electric net. Sixty Flyboys rose quickly upward, and sixty Flyboys instantly shorted out when they hit the net. They fell to the ground in perfect unison.
“That was poor planning on her part,” Total observed, and I nodded.
Bam! Bam! Bam! I heard the squeal of an engine outside, and then bone-rattling thumps against the tall gates. The people outside were trying to drive a vehicle through, trying to break down the gates.
125
Westfield, England
The regional director of this School looked over the tops of his glasses. “Holloway? What’s that noise outside?”
His assistant moved to a window. A look of alarm passed over his face. “It seems to be some kind of demonstration, sir,” he said.
“Demonstration? What the devil do you mean?” The regional director moved to the window. What he saw made his mouth open in astonishment. Hundreds, maybe thousands of people were protesting outside the School’s gates. They were...they looked almost like children. But that didn’t make sense.
“Is this some antinuclear demonstration?” he asked Holloway. “Do they have signs? Perhaps we should call security.”
Holloway listened at the window. The roars outside became more distinct. “Save the flock! Destroy Itex! Save the world! Destroy Itex!”
The two men stared at each other. “How could they possibly know we’re an arm of Itex?” the regional director asked.
Crash! A softball-sized rock flew through their window, showering them with glass shards.
Now they could hear the chanting clearly:
“We want...what’s ours!
“You belong...behind bars!
“Itex is an evil giant!
“Us kids ain’t buyin’ it!”
The regional director looked at Holloway, who had several scratches from flying glass. “Call security.”
Martinslijn, Netherlands
Edda Engels looked up from her lab bench and listened. Odd sounds were coming in the window. She went to investigate, only to dodge a heavy glass bottle, tipped with a burning rag. Wha? Was that a Molotov cocktail?
Boom! It exploded just as Edda dove beneath her desk. What was going on? Outside, it sounded like hundreds, maybe more, were surrounding her lab. What were they saying?
“You’ve ruined our water and our air!
“You’re evil and you just don’t care!
“Fang is right: the time has come
“For us kids to claim our home!”
Who was Fang? Edda wondered. And more important, how could she get out of here? The fire was spreading.
Woetens, Australia
“What’s all that dust, then?” The chief operating officer of the Australian branch of DelaneyMinker peered out the window. Miles and miles of desert stretched away as far as she could see. On the horizon, a wide, low dust storm was coming at them.
“Hand me those binoculars, would you, Sam?” she asked her assistant.
Sam handed her the binoculars.
“Is it...School Day?” asked the COO. “Are we expecting field trips?”
Sam looked at her. “We don’t get field trips here. It’s a top-secret facility. Why?”
“Well, it looks like...children! On motorscooters, apparently. And some of those four-wheel thingies.”
“ATVs?” asked Sam. He took the binoculars and looked.
A line of small vehicles stretched for at least a mile. It did look like children. Was this some sort of nature club? He squinted and adjusted the focus slightly. They were carrying signs. He could almost make one out...
DELANEYMINKER = POLLUTING STINKER
And another one:
THE PLANET IS OURS! GET OUT!
“You may want to go into lockdown,” said Sam, sounding far calmer than he felt.
126
“Iggy!” Fang yelled. “Gasman! Follow me!” Wheeling through the sky, Fang worked his wings powerfully, racing across the gray ocean toward the horizon.
Risking a backward glance, he saw that Iggy and the Gasman were behind him and closing fast.
“Dive-bomb,” Fang said. “On my count.”
The Gasman looked down, frowned, then drew in a deep breath and nodded.
“Oh, God,” said Iggy. “Talk about cold...”
“We are here to destroy you,” said the Flyboys, sounding like an angry swarm of mechanized bees.
“One!” Fang called, heading away from shore as fast as he could. He hoped there was a steep drop-off along this part of the coast. “Two!”
“You will recant!” the Flyboys droned. “You will recant!”
“Three!” said Fang, and tucked his wings in tight against his body. He aimed himself downward, right at the water. From this high, going this fast, hitting the water was going to feel like hitting concrete. But it couldn’t be helped.
He heard the Gasman’s and Iggy’s jackets flapping as they accelerated downward.
“This is going to be bad!” Iggy called.
“Yep,” Fang agreed, his voice snatched away by the streaming wind.
“There is no escape!” droned the Flyboys, who were, of course, following them fast.
Yeah? thought Fang. This is true.
Smash!
Hitting the cold ocean was in fact a whole lot like hitting concrete, Fang decided, but he was so streamlined that he shot straight down like an arrow, spearing the water. It felt as if God had punched his face, but he was still alive and conscious.
He heard the impact of the Gasman and Iggy hitting the water but could barely see anything when he opened his eyes.
As the boys started to make their way up to the surface, their ears popping, they saw and felt hundreds and hundreds of Flyboys smashing into the water.
It turned out they could not swim.
It also turned out that water was not a good environment for their systems to function properly in. The electrical charges of the Flyboys shorting out actually made Fang’s skin tingle, and he motioned to the Gasman to get away, now! The Gasman grabbed Iggy, and they swam hard after Fang.
They bobbed to the surface about eighty feet away from where a showstopping lights-and-sparks display was taking place. The Flyboys couldn’t help themselves, even as they saw dozens of their colleagues exploding and shorting out in the water.
Some of them tried to backpedal, but their wings weren’t designed that way—and the Flyboys behind them just hit them and dragged them all down anyway.
“Awesome!” shouted the Gasman, punching his fist in the air. “Oh, Iggy, man, if you could only see this!”
“I hea
r it,” said Iggy happily. “I feel it. There’s nothing like the smell of the shorted closed-circuit system of an electric Frankenstein.”
“So, guys,” said Fang, treading water. “Good plan?”
“Excellent plan, dude,” said the Gasman, and Iggy held up his hand for a high five.
Fang slapped it, then they swam toward shore.
127
With a gigantic splintering, grinding noise, the enormous castle gates burst inward. What was left of the mutants hurried out of the way.
A giant yellow Humvee careened in through the gates, its front end considerably smashed.
The driver’s door popped open, and a teenage girl leaned out. “I just got my license!” she said excitedly in a heavy German accent.
Then hundreds of kids started pouring through the broken gates, only to stop and stare at the courtyard, littered with bodies and busted Flyboys.
Onstage, the Director was white-faced. Her order had effectively finished off the last of this batch of Flyboys. Maybe she had more stashed inside. At any rate, she turned and started hurrying toward the metal door that led back into the castle.
I tumbled Total into Angel’s arms and grabbed Nudge’s hand. “Come on!”
The two of us took off into the air—the Flyboys had shorted out the electric grid as well as themselves.
“Help me get her!” I told Nudge.
Just as the Director reached the metal door and was grabbing hold of the lever, Nudge and I dropped down on either side of her.
“Not so fast, Mom,” I snarled.
128
Nudge and I each grabbed the Director under an arm and took to the air.
She was no lightweight, but together we took her high, way over the castle. She was screaming in terror, looking down, kicking her feet, losing both of her sensible shoes.
“Put me down this instant!” she shouted.
I looked at her. “Or what? You’ll send me to my dungeon?”
She stared at me with contempt.
“Oh, did you see?” I said. “I defeated Superboy. But who knows? Maybe someday you can turn him into a real boy.”