Max- Punching Fang

  THE SUN BEAT DOWN on my shoulders. It felt heavenly to be out flying, my hair streaming back, silence all around. I gazed down at the earth beneath me, the winding streams carved through red canyons, the striated layers of rock revealed by millennia of erosion, my tiny shadow on the ground, barely visible —

  And the dark shadow following me, so close, practically right on top of me.

  I took a breath, folded my wings down, swung my feet so I was vertical, and snapped my fist up hard. With unerring timing, it connected solidly with a face.

  I heard a surprised hiss of breath, felt skin split beneath the force, then dove down, did a somersault in midair, and angled myself to attack from below.

  “What the hell is the matter with you!” Fang shouted. One hand was pressed to his face, below his right eye.

  “Fang!” I evened myself out till I was flying close to him. Our wings kept us about eight feet apart. “I’m sorry — I didn’t know it was you. Why were you sneaking up on me?”

  “Who else would it be?” He sounded cranky and kept rubbing his face.

  “Anyone! An Eraser, or a Flyboy, or —”

  “There aren’t any more Erasers,” he said, giving me a confused look. “And I don’t think there are any more Flyboys either. We haven’t seen any in ages. Who else is going to be flying after you except one of us?”

  We both thought of Dylan at the same time. “Sorry,” I muttered again. “I just reacted.”

  His cheek was pink and already swelling — he would have a helluva shiner by tomorrow. “Look, there’s a tree over there. Can we stop a minute?”

- Fang: A Maximum Ride Novel, chapter 42