Fang: A Maximum Ride Novel Read Free Page A

we can talk about later. Right now, if you want to set up …”
    “Sure, thanks,” I said, taking the sack. I looked at my tired flock. “You guys wait here — I think chow’s coming. And drink some water.”
    “I’ll help you with that,” said Fang, nodding at the tent.
    “Sure,” I said casually, but my heart was already speeding up.
    We ducked through the worn nylon flap of our tent, and I dropped the sack. In the next moment we had our arms around each other, ignoring the dust on each other’s lips and our hot and sticky skin.
    “The flying was amazing, but … I’ve missed you,” Fang murmured, his hands getting stuck in the snarls in my hair.
    “Yeah. And this is probably our only chance to be alone for a while.”
    “I couldn’t stand seeing you get shot at today,” Fang said, kissing my neck.
    I drew back in surprise. “You’ve seen me get shot at, like, a million times!”
    He shrugged, scratching my back between my wings, making me shiver. “It’s worse now.”
    “Yeah, I know what you mean,” I said, and held his face so I could kiss him again. It felt like we were in a time-free bubble, the only two people around, and in the ninety-eight-degree weather, I felt like I was burning up from my head to my toes.
    “Max! Fang! Dinner!”
    I jumped and pulled back. But no one came into the tent, so Fang’s lingering hands stroked up and down my arms as we tried to get normal expressions back on our faces. Part of me wanted to stay in there forever and forget the rest of the world, but I immediately felt guilty, thinking of the flock waiting for us outside. I was still responsible for them; we were still a family.
    And always would be.

8
    “PASS THE … GRUB,” said Iggy a few minutes later, holding out his hand.
    “The brown grub or the yellow grub?” I asked. My face still felt flushed from my time with Fang. I hoped the others couldn’t tell.
    “Either.” Iggy ran a hand through his reddish-blond hair, making it stand up stiffly with dirt and sweat. Later I was going to march everyone to the one water pump in this tent village, pump up a couple gallons of water, and try to decrust the flock as much as possible. We’ve got certain standards. They’re way low, but we have them.
    “You guys did great today,” said Patrick. “You must be exhausted.”
    “Um-hm,” I mumbled, picking up a white ball of millet paste. Dipped in the peanut–goat stew sauce, it was about a three on the Max Culinary Scale — above roasted desert rat or lizard-on-a-stick, but well below, say, a steak.
    Roger, the nurse, handed Iggy a small dented bowl. “Dried fish, mixed with … stuff. Try it.”
    We ate everything we could get our hands on. Living on the streets had beaten any pickiness out of us. Plus, we burn calories like a race car burns fuel, and we just couldn’t afford to not eat — whatever it was.
    The fire leaped in front of us, looking pretty and feeling cozy and warm but smelling to high heaven, since its fuel was camel poop. Yes. I mean, a regular camel is no bed of roses, but its poop? On fire? The only one not wrinkling his nose was Gazzy. But as soon as the blazing sun had set, the desert temperature had dropped about thirty degrees, and the fire was welcome.
    I ate, trying not to miss chocolate, and felt the warmth of Fang’s leg pressed against mine, here in the shadows. I was on my third pass of reliving our stolen minutes in the tent and already wondering when we could be alone again. These days I spent a ridiculous amount of time dreaming about someday just being able to spend all day with Fang. Alone.
    Now my face was really burning. In my dream, the flock was safe somewhere, Total and Akila weren’t there, and no one was chasing us. I would have no worries, no need to be on alert. I could just relax. Which, okay, I suck at, but I was hoping that with practice …
    “You guys met Jeanne today, didn’t you?” Patrick asked. “The little girl in the yellow