Gazzy and Angel were alone in a huge, cavernlike room that reminded me of the subway tunnels in New York City. There was a grate of metal bars at the entrance, but it had been left open, as if someone had left in a hurry. I stood up and stepped forward.

Angel saw me first. "Max!" I saw relief on her face, but she remained quite still, and I soon saw why.

She was completely surrounded by explosives.

72.

"MAX!" SAID GAZZY. "Look!" He waved his arms at piles and piles of what looked like Silly Putty. Big, huge bricks of Silly Putty. Which had wires running to them. On the wall was a digital clock with large red numbers. It was counting down.

The sewer tunnels beneath the Place de la Concorde, where thousands of people were awaiting their "new beginning," were packed with enough C-4 to make a crater the size of Texas. France is a bit smaller than Texas.

"Thank G.o.d you're okay, Ange," I said, my throat tight. "Did they hurt you?"

"I'll tell you later," said Angel. "Time is running out. Gazzy and I came down here to check out some stuff we overheard at the DG headquarters and-"

"Max," Gazzy broke in, practically vibrating with excitement. "Have you ever seen so many explosives?"

"No," I said. "Not even close."

"I guess this is the big fireworks display they were talking about," Dylan said.

Suddenly a new voice spoke out of the darkness. "I bet you're right."

The four of us spun around. We a.s.sumed battle positions even as my brain realized that it was Fang, that he must have followed us, and that fighting in a room full of plastic explosives was probably not a good idea.

"Where did you come from?" I asked, rattled.

"I saw you go down," said Fang. "I came to help." My sense of pride flared up, then quickly faded. The days when I preferred to fight the bad guys with one wing tied behind my back were gone. The more help, the better.

"Could I maybe... just keep ten chunks?" Gazzy asked wistfully. "Small ones?"

"No," Dylan, Fang, and I all said in unison.

"Okay, I'm seeing a lot of plastique, and it's wired to a detonator," I said. C-4 by itself is actually pretty stable. It needs something to ignite it before it will explode. "But what's in these big metal tanks?"

"It's marked VX-gaz toxique," Angel said.

"Is that a cute French way of saying we're surrounded by a completely lethal gaseous nerve agent?" I asked.

Angel nodded unhappily.

Perfect. A quick glance around showed almost as much poison gas as explosives. "When the C-4 detonates, the VX will be released too," Dylan realized.

"All those people above us," I said, the full horror slowly sinking in.

"These sewer pipes go all over," said Gazzy. "Some of them go out into the ocean, and some go into Belgium and Germany. They're really old, and they all seem connected. They'll carry the poison pretty far away, and it'll seep up through drainage grates."

"Is there any way to dismantle the timers?" Fang asked.

"They're complicated," Gazzy said, "but I've seen them before. I wish Iggy were here."

"We can grab him," I said, but Fang shook his head.

"When I left him, he and Nudge were circling back with Maya to find the gang. We'll never reach them in time."

"What does that timer say?" I asked.

Gazzy looked. "Seven minutes."

"Is that enough time for you to kill it?" Fang asked.

"I think so," Gazzy said. He traced a set of colored wires from one timer to the next. "I can probably do it in about five minutes. I've always wanted to work on one of these."

I was torn and looked at Fang. He understood: Gazzy could stay and try to save everyone, possibly sacrificing himself in the process... or I could order him out of here, saving my whole flock but sentencing thousands of innocent people to certain death.

It was my call. Because I was the leader.

I'm great at thinking on my feet and making snap decisions, but this-this was a big life-or-death choice. I felt stuck. And every second counted.

Dylan touched my back gently, as if to tell me that he knew it was hard, but he'd understand whichever way I went. At least, I hope that's what he meant.

"I think Gazzy should stay," Angel said, looking up at me. "And I'll stay with him, to help. I'm not as good as Iggy, but I can do whatever he tells me to."

"No, not you too," I said.

"I'll stay," said Fang. "With three of us, we'll make it work." He turned to Gazzy. "Get going. Be fast but careful."

"Fang is right," said Dylan.

I realized I couldn't fix this situation. I couldn't make the perfect decision that would save everyone. I had to trust their instincts. And I had to do what I could.

"We need to go warn everyone in the plaza," I said, trying to kick my brain into gear. "We need to get as many people out of there as possible."

I didn't say it, but we were all thinking the words just in case. just in case.

Angel nodded. "Yes. You guys get going!" She looked at me one last time. "It'll be okay, Max. I'll be with you always, no matter what. And Max-I believe in you. Forever. Forever."

73.

DYLAN AND I raced down the tunnel as fast as we could. I was overjoyed to see the shaft of light coming from the open manhole.

"How do we fly up through that?" Dylan asked as we skidded to a halt.

I grabbed a ladder rung set into the cement wall. "We climb!"

Once we were out, the normalcy of the street scene made what we'd encountered below seem even more surreal. Without worrying who might see us, we launched ourselves into the air and rocketed back to the stage in the middle of the Place de la Concorde.

Iggy and Nudge-no Maya in sight-were still flying, performing for the audience. Onstage, I saw an older teenage girl, talking into a headset, walking around, smiling.

"You want to be saved, don't you?" she said.

"Yes!" the crowd roared.

"You want to be safe in the arms of the Earth Mother when the apocalypse comes, don't you?"

"Yes!!"

"And you, your children, and your children's children will be safe, will be saved forever, because of the choices you make today," said the girl, turning serious. Then she smiled and walked to the other side. "And what's the way to the future?"

"The One Light!" the crowd roared. They were practically hysterical with excitement, and I wondered if they'd been given some type of drug. I couldn't tell. All I saw were beaming faces, fists raised in the air, people waving signs, "Kill the Humans" T-shirts.

T minus five and a half minutes. Let's get this show on the road.

I aimed down at the stage, and the girl caught sight of me. "Look, everyone!" she shouted into the microphone. "That's the future of the human race! Enhanced is where it's at! That's the promise of the One Light!"

The crowd cheered and applauded for my enhanced self.

I continued flying at full speed, and the girl's expression went from delight to confusion to concern in a matter of seconds as I streaked toward her. I buzzed her close enough to mess up her hair, then grabbed the cordless mic out of her hand.

"Everyone! There are bombs under this plaza!" I shouted with no preamble. "You have minutes, maybe seconds to save yourselves! Everyone get out of here as fast as possible! There are bombs and poison gas under the plaza!"

I glanced at the girl. Where I'd expected to see outrage, anger, excuses thrown out at the audience to keep them there, there was... nothing. Just smiling, serene, calm. She'd known about the impending disaster awaiting the crowd, awaiting her, and she'd just accepted it.

Her tranquil smile tore at my heart like long, icy fingers. It was terrifying.

Scanning the faces of the crowd was even worse. I'd banked on screaming people swarming the exits like frightened cattle, knocking down the metal barricades. Or at the very least, some vague murmurs of alarm. Instead, they were nodding at me like puppets on strings, smiles painted into place.

The icy feeling within me was growing. They wanted to die. Every last one of them.

"This is a trap!" I bellowed at them, frantic. "There are bombs under this plaza! Bombs Bombs and and poison gas! poison gas! Don't you get it? Get out of here! Scram! Save yourselves!" Don't you get it? Get out of here! Scram! Save yourselves!"

"Save the planet! Kill the humans!" they chanted. "Support the future of enhanced society!"

Dylan swooped beside me and grabbed the microphone. "How are you going to get enhanced if you're all blown up into little pieces?" he yelled.

They actually cheered.

Every ounce of energy seemed to leak out of me, and I felt like giving up right then. If everyone wanted to go up in one big firework, who was I to snuff out the spark? But then I glanced over and saw the determined look on Dylan's face as Nudge and Iggy dropped onstage for backup, and I remembered who I was and what I was here for.

These freaks might have thought they were saving the world, but that was my job, and they were going to play by my rules. Which didn't involve any of that "Kill the Humans" c.r.a.p.

Fight time!

74.

THEN A SORT of riot broke out, but it wasn't the outraged, we-don't-want-to-die kind we'd hoped for. A bunch of the One Lighters jumped onstage and made a beeline for us, mumbling about "merging with the promise of enhancement."

Truly horrific.

Nudge and Iggy were going all Fight Club on some of the DG guards, who were heavily muscled, as if they'd already received enhancements. But it wasn't those dudes that were giving them trouble. My flock were pros. A roundhouse kick here, a karate chop there, and the guards were toast. It really was just like riding a bicycle.

No, it was the kids-the culties-who were the real problem. Picture Michael Jackson in that "Thriller" video, surrounded by flesh-craving zombies closing in. That was us, but our dead-eyed suicidal zombies all had angelic grins pasted on their faces as they pawed at our wings. It was like they wanted to claim claim us. Ick. us. Ick.

The mob was a living, breathing sponge, hundreds of kids deep. And after spending my developmental years in a cage... Claustrophobia? I has has it. They were clutching at us, pulling on our feathers, touching our arms and our faces. How do you fight a swarm of sickos who want to die and don't mind taking you with them? it. They were clutching at us, pulling on our feathers, touching our arms and our faces. How do you fight a swarm of sickos who want to die and don't mind taking you with them?

And all this while the countdown to D-day continued.

I was panicking, really panicking, for the first time in... at least a few days. And as I glanced around, the overwhelmed faces of Dylan, Iggy, and Nudge were not the least bit rea.s.suring.

Right on cue, Maya showed up, gang in tow. They were able to rip through the crowd, in part because at first the culties didn't seem to understand that the gang was enhanced as well.

Kate grabbed armfuls of Doomsday kids, four or five at a time, and hurled them out the exits. When she'd cleared a pathway through the crowd for us, she picked up two huge, lumbering guards and swung them upside down by their feet, one in each hand, while Nudge boxed their noses, dodging the rush of blood. With s.p.a.ce cleared, we could use our wings again and attack from above.

Meanwhile, Ratchet seemed to sense every attacker coming his way, and, on top of that, seemed to be kicking it at some old-fashioned hand-to-hand combat. He had teamed up with Iggy, who was a natural spinning, whirling dealer of pain as he punched, kicked, and chopped his way through an onslaught of guards. They both looked pretty happy.

And Star, the blond girl, had hit on the biggest jackpot of all, sort of by accident. She was using her hummingbird speed to flit in circles around the guards, who looked so dizzy and confused that it was almost kind of pathetic.

But the key thing was that when she was zipping around, she was making this high-pitched noise-a supersped-up "Aiiyah!"-that seemed to crack the Doomsday code of brainwashing. The kids were covering their ears, but that sound, and some common sense, was getting through. Star had done for these kids in ten seconds what it had taken Angel hours of mind-coaxing to accomplish: They were... snapping out of it. And running for the exits.

Huh. Wish we'd figured that out sooner!

With the mob no longer singing Killmas carols, maybe we could wrap up this little party and make sure Gazzy and Angel were safe. Though with Fang there, of course they were. He wouldn't have left them- Right then, Ratchet signaled to us, and Dylan spied something I couldn't quite see off to the side of the stage. His face twisted with rage as he pushed me out of the way.

"Look-" he started to say, then suddenly his voice cut out, and I saw him spin like a top. Blood started flowing to the ground, spurting like drops of rain.

75.