There was a Nudge II—marching along with an un-Nudge-like solemnity. Other than that, she looked exactly like her.

“Holy moly,” I breathed, hardly able to believe it.

“Uh-oh,” said Angel quietly, then pointed. I swallowed a groan and dropped my head into my hands for a second. Excellent. Just what the world needed: another Angel. Because God knows, one six-year-old mind-controlling flying child just isn’t enough.

“I don’t believe it,” said Nudge. “There’s another me!”

“And another me,” said Angel.

Was everyone here a clone? Maybe not, but they were all mutants of some kind, I was willing to bet.

“What, I’m not important enough to have a double?” Total sounded completely offended. “‘No, let’s not clone the dog. He’s just a dog, after all.’”

I rubbed his head behind his ears, but he huffed and flopped over on the grass.

“I don’t have a double either,” said Ari. So Jeb hadn’t cloned his son. How sentimental of him.

“Are they going to try to replace us, like they did with you?” Nudge asked.

“Yes,” I said. “But we’ll catch on immediately when the new Nudge is silent and mopey, and the new Angel acts like an actual six-year-old.”

They smiled, and I congratulated myself on my ability to keep their spirits up even in the face of this new atrocity.

“Actually,” I went on, “let’s come up with a code word or phrase to use with one another when we need to make absolutely sure we’re the right ones. Okay?”

“Okay,” said Nudge.

“Ooh, I’ve got one,” said Angel, and we put our heads together as she whispered it.

“Perfect!” said Nudge, breaking into a smile.

I laughed silently and slapped her a very quiet high five.

Ari grinned and nodded.

Even Total’s furry black face seemed to smile.

So what was the secret word?

Yeah, like I’m gonna tell you.

83

What with all the stomping and the fiercely staring straight ahead, none of the Flyboys or clones or other mutants seemed to hear us when we flew over the wall as silently as we could. We caught up with the troops and started marching right behind them, a last line of followers eager to herald the beginning of the Re-Evolution.

I’m so sure.

Anyway, gutsy little devil-may-care freaks that we are, we trooped right into the building with them, our feet moving in lockstep, arms swinging tightly at our sides. We would see how long it took someone to notice. My guess is that it wouldn’t be long. Call it a hunch.

We filed between tall metal double doors, which swung shut behind us with an ominous clang. Inside, we were surprised by how the Marching Gang o’ Mutants immediately split up. The Flyboys veered off down one dimly lit stone hallway, and the others split up into several streams heading in different directions.

It was like a stone rabbit warren, with many hallways winding away from the main doors. Amber emergency lights barely lit the way.