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touched them and couldn't believe that they were dead.
And then Kit woke. It was early morning, a hint of salmon pink tinted the blue
of the sky. He was in Colorado. In the mountains.
Frannie O'Neill was bent over him. "Shhhh," she whispered. "She's up there. I
can see her."
Chapter 52
MAX WOKE with a terrible start.
She didn't know how much time had passed, but she'd obviously fallen asleep.
It was morning again. She was wet-cheeked and shivering from the cold that had
swept across the mountain between sundown and sunrise.
She felt small and alone and utterly abandoned on the mountainside.
She missed Matthew and she even missed the awful, despicable School a little
bit.
No! I can't think like that. I mustn't start acting like a loser. Losers lose!
she told herself I'm not a loser.
Max lifted her hand to wipe her cheeks and, as she did, felt something like
spiderwebs all over her. Ugh! She pushed at the irritating, clingy stuff and
it shifted but didn't melt away from her face.
What was this? What was happening? She opened her eyes wide. Oh God!
She saw shapes bending over her. People! She couldn't tell how many!
They were standing between her and the sun, and it took a moment for her to
understand what was happening to her. When she did, she filled her lungs with
air and screamed.
She screamed bloody murder! That scared them. The shapes backed off, then
crystallized as the woman doctor and the man. They'd snuck up on her in her
sleep. Bastards! Creeps!
Max screamed again, louder than she'd ever screamed in her entire life. The
inside of her head was white with fear. She couldn't think straight, could
only flail wildly at the net. But pushing only made the string snag and catch
on her fingers and wings, her legs, feet.
Ohgodohgod what was this? What could she do? She had to escape!
They had her in some kind of strong animal net. They had caught her!
The creeps!
Max scootched back on the ground until she was up hard against the bark of a
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quaking aspen. The leaves clicked and clattered together as she tried to raise
herself to her feet. She was crying and shrieking, beating her wings
furiously, hurting herself, trying to hurt them somehow. She wasn't, though.
They were too crafty - too human.
The woman doctor was talking to her, but she couldn't, wouldn't listen to what
she was saying.
She would not be put to sleep! She wouldn't give up now! She wasn't a loser!
The man reached out to her and she batted his hand away. She struck out hard
at him, remembering how Uncle Thomas would grab her to get control, to get his
way.
The man's hand reached toward her again. Feinting one way - then clutching.
Sneaky, crafty man!
He was trying to grab her and win. She bit his hand, really hurting him, and
heard him say a swear word.
She kicked out hard with her strong legs. Missed him. "Take it easy," he was
saying. "Just take it easy. Jesus, she's strong, Frannie."
His hand came again, reaching near her face, reaching for her wings.
Uncle Thomas was in her mind She could see his despicable face.
Ugh! Ugh!
Max covered her head, bent over, made herself into a little ball, but she
couldn't escape the terrifying net. It dripped over her in folds and there was
no end to it.
Oh, I made a horrible mistake. I shouldn't have been watching them. I
shouldn't have rested The doctor was talking to her. Trying to, anyway.
Typical doctor crap.
Always so soft, the whispers, the lies coming so gently, so easily. Just like
with Uncle Thomas and the other creeps.
"Everything's going to be okay," I said. "We won't hurt you. I'm a doctor.
It's okay."
Either she didn't understand me or she didn't believe me, because she opened
her mouth impossibly wide and screamed again. Her screaming was the most awful
sound I've ever heard, like an animal shrillness but with a human undertone
that made me think of the cries of mother seals, or maybe mother whales when
their families are in danger.
I wondered if she had a human larynx, an avian syrinx, or both. The syrinx has
no chords, just a sac at the bottom of the windpipe. It contracts to force air
out. And maybe I had just heard it at full blast.
It hurt my ears to listen to her. My eyes, however, couldn't get enough.
Just as I'd thought, almost everything about her was, well, human but not in
conventional proportions. Her eyes were round, and incredibly intense, and
seemed intelligent, or at least very focused. Her hair was light blond, quite
long, and hanging way below her shoulders. Some of her feathers were also
blond, which made some sense, since both feathers and hair are made of the
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same material, keratin.
As I gorged on the vision of her, the girl was punching out at Kit.
I got a real good look at her mysterious, absolutely marvelous appendages.
They were muscled and jointed as human arms are, but the forearms were
shorter. Her fingers were elongated and cloaked in feathers out to the last
joints of the digits.
Because they were made tofly, Frannie!
Jesus, Jesus. She was a miracle. She couldn't be - and yet here she was. How
could this have possibly happened? How could she be here?
How could I?
Her beautiful wings were feathered in pure white, and in the early morning
light, I saw glints of blue and silver shining through. A strange feeling came
over me then - I think I almost envied her. She was so beautiful, and she had
such an amazing gift.
She could do what nearly all of us wish we could do - this little girl could
fly. How in the name of God had it happened? Was she a miracle?
An angel? No. Angels can disappear, get out of a net.
I snapped myself out of my trance, my inner thoughts. This was the wrong time
and wrong place for it.
The girl was in a panic. She could damage her wings, and she could just as
easily go into shock. I'd seen animals die of fright before. Their hearts just
seemed to burst.
When Kit had tried to touch her, she'd been obviously threatened by his hand
coming toward her. When I tried, she panicked, but not as fiercely.
That showed me something - what, though? Had she been mishandled by men?
Where? Who?
"Hang on to the net," I said to Kit. "Hang on to her."
Then I ran as fast as I could back to the camp. I was going to have to subdue
the winged girl, but God only knew how I was going to get a needle into a
vein. God only knew, because I sure didn't.
When I returned moments later, the situation was exactly as I had left it;
terror, hysteria, the child's face was even brighter red. Her veins were
bulging dangerously. I told Kit he was going to have to bring her down.
He said something about an "end run" and I'd seen just enough Sunday afternoon
football to get his drift. I started talking to the girl again.
Actually, I was making word music, soothing sounds, the kind you make when
you're trying to get close enough to a badly frightened, eye-rolling horse to
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