“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.”

Chapter 17

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?”