I halted about ten yards away, doing a quick recon. Force of habit. No one started shooting at us. No hordes of Erasers or Flyboys swarmed out of the woods.

“I don’t know,” I said, looking at the jet. “It feels weird that no one’s throwing a black hood over my head.”

Fang smirked next to me.

Jebhad walked on ahead, and now he turned. “Max, we talked about this. This jet will actually get you to Washington faster than you can fly yourselves.”

Are we junior pilots? you ask. Why, no. If there are a couple of new readers out there, welcome! That mutant thing I mentioned? We’re 98 percent human, 2 percent bird. We have wings; we fly. Keep reading. You’ll get it all soon.

“Yeah,” I said, still feeling doubtful. Mostly I just wanted to turn, run, and throw myself into the air. That sweet rush of freedom, feeling my powerful wings lift me off the ground…

Instead,Jeb wanted to pack me into a little jet, like a sardine. A sullen, feathery sardine.

“Max,”Jeb said more softly, and I automatically went on guard. “Don’t you trust me?”

Six pairs of flock eyes turned toward him. Seven, if you counted Total.

I mentally reviewed possible responses:

1) Sardonic laughter (always good)

2) Rolled eyes and snort of disbelief

3) Sarcastic “You havegot to be kidding me.”

Any of those responses would have been fine. But lately I had grown up a bit. A little heartbreak, a little fighting to the death, finding out who my real parents were- it all aged a girl.

So instead I looked atJeb and said evenly, “No. But I trust my mother, and she apparently trusts you. So, little tin-can jet it is.”

I walked steadily toward the plane, seeing the glimpse of pain and regret inJeb’s eyes. Would I ever be able to forgive him for all the heinous things he had done to me, to the flock? He’d had his reasons; he’d thought he was helping, thought it was for the greater good, thought it would help me in my mission.