There were hugs, of course. These people couldn’t spit without having to hug someone. It felt unbalanced, being able to hug back with only my right arm—that is, my left arm could move up, but it was pretty dead below the elbow. Awkward.

I saw Dr. Martinez step toward Fang, her arms out, but a glance at his face made her stop, then smile warmly and hold her hand out for shaking. He took it, to my relief.

“I’m so glad I met you,” she said to him, looking as if she were visibly restraining herself from hugging him. He stood stiffly, not saying anything.

“Take care of Max.”

He nodded, and his mouth quirked on one side. He knew the idea that anyone needed to take care of me would get my knickers in a twist. I scowled. We would discuss this, for sure.

“Later,” he said to Ella and Dr. Martinez in that gushy, hyperemotional, overdramatic way he had.

Then he ran across the yard, leaping into the air and unfurling his wings right before he hit the woods. I heard them gasp at the sight of his fourteen-foot wings lofting him effortlessly into the sky, so dark they looked almost purple in the sunlight.

I smiled one last time at Ella and her mother, feeling really sad, but not as sad as I had last time, despite my ruined arm. Now I felt like, I found them again; I can always come back.

And I really thought I might, when all of this was over. If it was ever over.

33

33

Flying again felt as wonderful and life-giving as flying again always did. Fang and I didn’t speak for maybe forty minutes, streaking back toward where we’d left the flock. I was filled with apprehension and started to think through the almost-certainly-impossible idea of us all getting cell phones so we could keep in touch during times like this.

Finally it couldn’t be avoided any longer.

“So what’s with you?” I asked brusquely.

As if he’d been waiting, Fang rose and held his speed so he was almost right on top of me. While flying, it was the easiest way to hand something to someone else.

I held up my right hand, and he reached down, pressing a small white square of paper into my hand.

I looked at it as he shifted slightly so we were side-by-side again.

It was a photo, and I recognized it.

It was the picture of the baby Gasman that Fang and I had found in a deserted crack house, like, a million years ago. I’d left it in my pack, hidden back with the others in the canyon. “Why’d you bring this?” I asked Fang.

“I didn’t.” His voice was calm as always, but I saw rigid tension in his frame. “I found it.”

“What?” That didn’t make sense. “Found it where?”