Evolution gone wrong 2 страница

I knew my flock’s flight patterns like I did my own name, and it clearly wasn’t Fang, or anyone in the flock.

But the five shapes ahead of me were definitely bird kids, and man, could they fly! Their wings were larger than mine, and their movements were so natural, so graceful, that you saw the bird in them before you noticed their human bodies.

I’d planned to approach cautiously, but several of them were already flying close and playfully cutting under my slipstream.

For the first time in months, I didn’t feel the weight in my tired wings. I just felt the pure joy of being able to freaking fly with others of my kind, without having them suddenly turn on me. Also, maybe they had food – they looked in good shape, from what I could glimpse.

“You guys are amazing! ” I called out. They didn’t seem to hear me, though – the wind was probably too gusty.

Taking a risk, I followed them back to their homes, which were... uh, nests balancing between mountain ledges. Okay, that was unusual. I dropped down carefully, and several of them turned to stare at me with curiosity.

“Hey! I’m Max. Have you guys seen any other bird kids? ” I asked. As more of them landed, I was struck by the way they knelt on the ground, folding their wings behind them. “I’m missing part of my flock. A guy named Fang – he’s dark, with dark wings... or a tall blind guy, or a shorter blond boy? ”

Then it hit me: They looked like the flock – tall and lean human bodies with wings attached behind the shoulders – but they behaved... differently. As I spoke, they cocked their heads in sharp little movements and made clicking sounds in the back of their throats.

And... they were naked. Not naked as in acres of skin, but naked as in without clothes. These kids were covered with feathers all over – thick, downy feathers, everywhere but their heads.

Between my cracked lips and matted hair, I’d been feeling pretty feral, but these kids were straight‑ up wild. They flew like birds because they actually were more like birds than humans.

As the possibility of communication dwindled, the giddiness I’d felt at finding another flock seeped away, to be replaced by disappointment. And when I felt someone nuzzling against my shoulder, I jumped.

His light brown hair was curling and tousled, and his bright smile was punctuated by two perfect dimples. He was about my age, with unusually large eyes that were a gorgeous shade of amber. He was adorable. In an avian‑ mutant kind of way.

“And who are you? ”

“Huryu! ” he repeated gleefully. “Huryu, Huryu! ” He was like a parrot latching on to a new word. So they really didn’t talk like people. My disappointment turned into crushing despair with no warning. The first people I’d seen in twenty‑ seven and a half days...

My throat closed up and my eyes started to sting. I couldn’t believe it. Would it kill the universe to cut me a break once in a while? Turning away, I wiped my eyes and wondered what the heck to do now. Then I felt something tugging at my feathers.

I whipped around. “What are you doing? ”

“Huryu? ” he asked, wide‑ eyed, and combed his fingers through my hair. Of course he hit snarls immediately, and with a look of concentration, he carefully picked at them, easing them loose, stroking them with his feathers. He was grooming me, making little cooing, chirruping sounds.

Instinctively I wanted to push him away, but I’d been on my own for so long... and he was kind of like me, my flock. With tears running down my face, I sat there and let myself be groomed.

The sun went down, but no one made a fire. Mostly in pairs, sometimes in small groups, these bird kids began curling up in their nests, huddling together for warmth. I made camp a little ways away from them, on flatter ground, feeling desolate and somehow more alone than ever.

I was almost asleep when the velvety sound of sweeping feathers made me look up. It was my number one fan, and lo and behold, he came bearing gifts. He had brought me a seriously large rattlesnake, and as he fluttered down in front of me, he dropped it at my feet.

The snake had only been stunned, and it quickly wound itself into a deadly coil. Its tail rattled in warning – it was wide awake now, and definitely within striking distance.

“Jeezum! ” I said, scrambling backward. “What are you doing? ”

But he flashed his dimpled grin and picked the snake up by the end of its tail. He swung it overhead and whipped the head against the ground, then proudly presented it to me.

“Huryu! ” he said softly, and patted the snake.

“Yeah, I get it... ” I said. “Uh, good boy. ”

Then he held the scaly body up to my lips, nodding eagerly. Did this count as flirting in the animal world?

“Cool. Let’s cook it first, though, okay? ” After the raw fish, raw seagull, and raw termites, I was desperate to have something warm for once.

The bird kid looked shocked when I struck a flint and made a small fire, then appalled as I skinned and gutted the snake. He clearly thought those were the best parts, because he quickly gobbled them up as soon as I dropped them on the ground.

I skewered the long body on a stick, turning it over the fire, and I had to admit, it wasn’t bad and there was plenty of it. If you’re wondering, it tasted kind of like chicken.

My new pal ate with sharp little movements, jerking his head forward to peck off a chunk of meat, but he studied me the entire time with those wide eyes.

“What? ” I said. “I’m sorry, but I don’t speak bird. ”

Then, from who knows where, he took out a crumpled piece of paper and thrust it at me. And I suddenly understood why he was so drawn to me.

It was a folded, wrinkled page of magazine from about a year ago. I touched the picture with trembling fingertips, tracing over the faces: Nudge and Gazzy hamming it up for the camera, Angel looking sweet and defiant at the same time, Fang standing protectively just behind my shoulder.

“ ‘Maximum Ride and Flock Take On Congress. ’ ” I read the headline aloud, choking up at the memory.

“Maaaaaaax, ” said the bird kid, my name sounding odd and guttural.

I looked up at him.

“Maximum, ” I said, pointing a thumb at my chest. “Maximum Ride. But you can just call me Max. ”

“Maaaax Mum. Maaaaax Mum. Maaaaax Mum, ” he repeated, and I sighed.

“Okay. Maximum it is. ”

He touched his own chest. “Huryu. ”

“Uh... that’s not actually a name, ” I muttered, thinking quickly. “Harry, ” I said firmly, and touched his chest. “Harry. ”

He reached out and touched my chest and I tried not to scream. His gentle fingers stroked the cloth of my ratty sweatshirt carefully. “Maaaax, ” he said softly.

I nodded again. “Max. ” And for some reason I teared up.

“Get ready... ” Gazzy said, lighting the waxed rope.

Iggy stuck his fingers in his ears.

There was a low, nervous clucking sound, and then a big bang. Feathers rained down, snagging on the pine trees, and when the smoke cleared, three wild turkeys were no longer very wild.

“Most excellent, ” Gazzy said, beaming, his face covered in black film.

“Well, that’s one way to cook a turkey, ” Iggy laughed.

It was hard not to be giddy. After the miles and miles of mass destruction they’d flown over these past couple of weeks, they’d found the forests of Appalachia somehow untouched. Now they were sitting on the cement platform of an old campsite, chowing down on the first hot meal they’d had in what felt like years.

“Ig, no kidding, this is the best thing I’ve ever tasted. ” Juice ran down Gazzy’s chin as he devoured the meat. “You should have your own postapocalyptic cooking show or something. ”

“Oh, totally. ‘Tune in next week for Seasoning the Squirrel, Blowing Up the Bird, ’ ” Iggy said in an announcer voice. Then he pursed his lips. “I was actually thinking it tastes a little funky. ”

Gazzy tore off another big hunk, considering. “Maybe you went a little overboard with the rosemary? ” he suggested.

Iggy paused with a turkey leg halfway to his mouth. “Rosemary? ” he repeated skeptically. “You don’t think it might have something to do with the fertilizer you used? ”

“Hey, I got a fire going, didn’t I? ” Gazzy pointed out. “I didn’t see any gunpowder or ice packs in that farmer’s shed, did you? ”

Iggy shrugged. “Well, it’s definitely a step up from bugs and rats. ”

“Are you kidding? ” Gazzy said, poking the charred birds with a stick. “This is a regular Thanksgiving feast. Hey, maybe we should say what we’re thankful for! ”

“I’m thankful I’m not currently eating bugs and rats, ” Iggy said immediately.

Gazzy nodded. “I’m thankful for the stupidity of wild turkeys. ”

“Since this is supposed to be Thanksgiving, I’m thankful for the memory of garlic mashed potatoes drenched in butter. Or yams with marshmallows. ” Iggy sighed.

Gazzy’s eyes twinkled. “Oh, man. Remember when Nudge wanted us to celebrate Thanksgiving like normal people, and we went all out trying to cook, but the marshmallows caught on fire? ”

Iggy chuckled, remembering. “We almost burned down Dr. Martinez’s kitchen! ”

“And then Ella ate all the burned yams to make Nudge feel better, insisting that she just really liked the smoky flavor? ”

At the mention of Ella, Iggy went silent and stopped eating. The lines around his mouth deepened in pain.

“Ig? ” Gazzy whispered after a few minutes.

“Hmm? ”

“I miss the flock, ” Gazzy said even more quietly.

Iggy nodded, but his milky, blind eyes were like a concrete wall.

“But Ig? ”

“Hmm? ”

Gazzy reached a tentative hand out and squeezed Iggy’s shoulder. “I’m thankful I’ve still got you, though. And that we’re still alive. ”

Iggy turned his head in Gazzy’s direction, his face softening. “Me too, little bro. Me too. ”

And just as the moment started to feel a little too heavy, a low, hornlike sound rippled through the air. The fire flared up in response.

“Oh, God! ” Iggy scooted away, holding his nose.

Gazzy was giggling like a maniac.

Iggy shook his head in disgust, but he was grinning. “Gasman, I knew I could count on you to keep it real. ”

“Freeze, scumbags! ” a gravelly female voice shouted from the woods.

Iggy and Gazzy leaped to their feet, sending burning pine needles flying.

But they were already surrounded.

At least A dozen heavily armed teenage girls circled Iggy and Gazzy just beyond the trees, holding crossbows.

“What didn’t you understand about the word ‘freeze’? ” asked the leader, a girl with dreadlocks and sharp eyes, stepping closer. When she saw the burn marks on the ground, color rushed to her cheeks. “Did you actually try to blow up our silo? ” she barked.

Silo?

“Are you kidding me? ” Iggy said as Gazzy gaped at the cement circle they’d assumed was a camping platform.

The boys had been working their way north toward Pennsylvania to try to find the blog commenter and his silo. They never imagined they’d been sitting right on top of it.

“You Doomsday guys think you can come here with your cleanup crews, take whatever you want, kill whoever you want? ” another girl with dark hair asked shrilly.

“No! We’re not–”

Dreadlocks narrowed her eyes. “We play by different rules. ” She cocked her weapon, and the sound echoed around the circle as all the other girls followed suit, stepping out from behind the branches.

With the flock backing them up, the boys might’ve had a fighting chance, but with just the two of them, they were seriously outnumbered.

“We’re not armed! ” Gazzy shrieked, putting his hands up.

“And we’re not with Doomsday, ” Iggy, who had once been hypnotized by the cult, said more calmly. “We’re mutants, see? ”

He unfurled his pale fifteen‑ foot wings over his head, and Gazzy did the same. As if that weren’t proof enough, they fluttered their feathers.

The leader stared at them, unimpressed. “The Remedy’s got plenty of mutants working for him, ” she noted, and the crossbows stayed trained on Iggy and Gazzy.

“Not us. We came because we have a friend here, ” Gazzy explained hurriedly. “From the Internet. We had this flock, and not bragging or anything, but we were kind of famous... ” He knew he was babbling, but he was desperate to buy some time. “So he went on our website and said we were welcome to visit. He called himself PAtunnelratt? It was an avatar? ”

He looked around with raised eyebrows, waiting for recognition, but Dreadlocks’ answer was flat and final: “Don’t know him. ”

Iggy pressed. “Are you sure? He said his dad–”

“Must’ve been somewhere else, ” she snapped. “The government built fallout shelters all through these mountains in the 1950s. Could be anywhere. ”

“But–”

Another girl’s impatient voice cut in. “There aren’t any guys living here, period. ”

Iggy’s eyebrow jumped with interest. “Just girls? ”

“Yeah, ” she said. “Just us. ”

“Sweeeet. ” Gazzy exhaled in wonder. From his dopey expression, he seemed to have forgotten about the threat and was convinced they’d landed in heaven. Iggy elbowed him.

The girls sighed in annoyance but seemed to understand that the bird kids didn’t pose much of a threat, and they relaxed their grip on their weapons.

“You still owe us for those turkeys, ” Dreadlocks said, gesturing at the pile of feathers and charred meat. “The forests are almost picked clean of game, and we can’t afford to lose them. ”

Iggy crouched down and ran his hands over their meager supplies. “We don’t really have anything to barter. Maybe we can pitch in? ”

The leader regarded them coolly. “And what makes you think we need any help? ”

“You know, with guy stuff. ” Gazzy broadened his nine‑ year‑ old chest. “I know it can be hard without a man around. Any basic repairs you need done? Heavy lifting? ”

Dreadlocks scowled, and her finger hovered over the trigger again, threatening to release the arrow.

“Jackie, don’t we have that thing we need done at the bottom level? ” the dark‑ haired girl interrupted. “You know. ” She wiggled her eyebrows at Gazzy and flashed a white, sharklike smile. “Men’s work. ”

The leader frowned in confusion at first, but the other girls around the circle started to laugh. Iggy and the Gasman were definitely not in on it, but Gazzy grinned anyway, happy to have the attention of so many giggling girls at once.

Iggy’s expression was more uncertain. Without the benefit of sight, he was more attuned to the subtleties of sound, and he was pretty sure the laughter was at their expense.

Dreadlocked Jackie relaxed as she, too, understood what the dark‑ haired girl was implying. “Actually, come to think of it, ” she answered, “there are some things we could use some muscle on. Thank God you showed up! ”

“Nice going, doofus, ” Iggy grumbled.

“I was just trying to be neighborly, ” Gazzy said, his voice echoing around the small room. “What if they had really needed our help? ”

The boys were on their hands and knees, scrubbing crusty cement walls with hard‑ bristled brushes and heavy‑ duty chemicals. Iggy sat back on his heels and nodded at the armed guard he heard pacing the scaffolding above them.

“Pro tip, macho man: When someone has a crossbow pointed at your head, they’re probably not all that vulnerable. ”

“I said I was sorry! ”

The room was at least a hundred feet underground, at the very bottom of the silo. The dim light made it hard to see – and though that didn’t make much difference to Iggy, Gazzy was grateful. He didn’t want to know what the walls looked like, or what they were scrubbing.

They could both smell it well enough.

“ ‘Men’s work, ’ ” Iggy scoffed, shaking his head. “Oh, would Max get a kick out of this. I can almost hear her laughing from across the ocean. ”

“At least Max never made us clean toilets, ” Gazzy said, dunking his brush into a rusty metal pail of cleaner.

“We call it the dump tank, ” the guard called from above them. “We figured since most guys are crap, you two would feel right at home. ”

“I’m pretty sure that girl with the black hair has a thing for me, ” Gazzy said wistfully as they worked.

Iggy shook his head. “That’s what you’re thinking about right now? Man, you sure have a one‑ track mind. ”

“Hey, she totally wiggled her eyebrows in my direction. I think she was checking out my wings. ” Gazzy spread his wings proudly in the darkness, as if the girl were watching right now.

But Iggy was skeptical. “She was, like, probably almost twice your age. ”

“Women dig a younger man. When we get out of here, I’m gonna make some fireworks – you know, romance her the old‑ fashioned way. ”

“I’m glad someone has motivation. ”

Iggy’s mind was on something else, though. He was remembering what the leader, Jackie, had said – that the woods were almost picked clean of food. The guys had thought they’d finally found an untouched paradise among all the wreckage, but it sounded like they wouldn’t be able to survive here for long. And neither would these girls.

“Gasman? I’ve been thinking, ” Iggy said in a more serious tone. He heard Gazzy stop scrubbing for a second, waiting for him to continue. “Maybe we should join up with the flock again. Somebody needs to stand up to this Remedy dude, and there are obviously some tough survivors left in the world. ”

As nervous as Iggy had been when they were first surrounded, when he’d learned that this troupe of street‑ smart survivors was against the Remedy, his spirit had been buoyed with hope.

“If we met up with Angel, and convinced some of these girls to join us... ” Iggy trailed off.

“Then we might just stand a chance, ” Gazzy finished. Iggy couldn’t see, but Gazzy’s eyes were glistening.

“Let’s do it, ” he said enthusiastically, and nudged Iggy’s shoulder. “Let me just go grab my girlfriend, and we can leave for Russia right now! ”

They heard a gurgling sound, and then a pipe protruding from the wall started to spit. Fresh sludge surged onto the floor.

“Gross! ”

The guard laughed as they scrambled away from the slime. “You missed a spot, ” she taunted.

“It’s a regular comedy hour down here, ” Iggy muttered, lifting his wet feet in disgust.

Gazzy watched the waste circling down the drain. “What’s the point of cleaning this place if it just keeps pumping down? ”

Iggy pulled his shirt up over his nose to filter the fresh stink. “There is no point, ” he said, his voice muffled. “That’s the point – we’re unnecessary. ”

“Ugh, I just can’t take the smell, ” Gazzy said, gagging.

Iggy chuckled to himself. “Oh, Gasman, I think that aroma’s called karma. ”

Gazzy socked Iggy in the arm.

“Wait, I smell something else, ” Iggy whispered suddenly. “There’s someone in here with us. ”

Horseman stepped from the shadows and clamped a hand over the Gasman’s mouth before he could turn around.

“Don’t move, ” Horseman whispered, keenly aware of the guard standing overhead. “Stay calm. ”

But when you’ve spent your entire life running, someone telling you not to move seems pretty suspicious.

The Gasman bit down on Horseman’s fingers so hard that, even through the gloves, he almost cut through bone. Horseman cursed, hunching over his wounded hand, and everything dissolved into quick chaos.

“Get out of here, Iggy! ” Gazzy screamed.

Iggy shook his head. “I won’t leave–”

“Go! ” Gazzy insisted, pulling something from his pocket. “I’m right behind you! ”

“What’s going on? ” the guard demanded, waving her crossbow. “Who’s that down there? ”

Iggy heard the snag of the match and dove for the ladder just as Gazzy tossed the small flame into the bucket of chemicals they’d been using for cleaning.

And then the blast drowned out everything.

It made the walls shudder and the floor disappear. It blew Gazzy, Iggy, and Horseman upward. Horseman shot his arm out to catch the ladder, dangling to the side. As smoke billowed up through the shaft, the dangerous mix of chemicals burned his eyes. He squeezed them shut, but the insides of his eyelids felt like they were lined with thorns.

He didn’t have time to worry about it, though – just kept his eyes shut and scrambled up the ladder as fast as he could, three rungs at a time. The fire alarm was wailing, and the army of girls was spilling out of the floors he’d been blown past.

“Breach! ” they shouted when they saw Horseman on the ladder. “Stop him! ”

Two arrows whizzed past his ears, and he heard the warriors climbing after him in fierce pursuit. He hadn’t heard the Gasman or Iggy since the explosion.

Horseman’s left hand felt nearly crippled, but the chute was too narrow to fly through, so he did the only thing he could do: He climbed as fast as possible.

His eyes still burned, and he tried opening them. Tears poured down his cheeks – everything was blurry and he couldn’t see through the smoke. The ladder seemed endless, but finally, after at least a hundred rungs of agony, Horseman burst out of the silo and blinked painfully in the light. His eyes were still tearing, but a quick glance showed him that the bird kids were nowhere to be seen. He turned quickly to screw down the heavy cement lid over the manhole, ignoring the loud bangs coming from beneath his feet – he’d deal with the group later.

He wiped his eyes with his sleeve and turned over his wrist, where he saw a number of impatient queries on the screen. The letters blurred – had the chemicals permanently damaged his vision? – but Horseman knew the gist of his master’s concerns. He tapped out a quick message to the Remedy: “The Gasman is dead. The kid blew himself up. ”

Standing on top of the silo, Horseman turned in a slow circle.

Now, where is Iggy?

Horseman saw the flash out of the corner of his eye – a figure disappearing into the trees like a pale ghost.

“Iggy! ” Horseman called, blazing after him on the trail through the pines. “Let’s not make this harder than it has to be. ”

Horseman didn’t exactly enjoy this part of the job – the kids’ fear reminded him too much of how he felt around the doctor – but he knew his body was made for the hunt. His wings were longer, his body stronger, and he had the eyesight of a hawk.

Well, usually. Right now, he felt like he was looking through a milky lens.

But however clouded his vision, Horseman still had Iggy in his sights, and he could cruise as long as he needed to; his lungs were built to outlast Iggy’s twofold. It was only a matter of time.

“Iggy! ” Horseman shouted again as he wove after him through the underbrush.

“Don’t call me that, ” Iggy yelled over his shoulder. “Only my friends get to call me that. ”

Iggy was distracted now, and Horseman was gaining on him with each breath. Closing in.

“You don’t want to be my friend? ” Horseman asked with a smile as he darted forward.

Iggy laughed and veered up sharply, winding toward the clouds.

Horseman grasped at the air in frustration. He’d thought he had him.

He strained his neck to keep track of Iggy’s movements above, desperate not to lose him now. Though Iggy was blind, he was a magician in the air and seemed to possess a sixth sense that made him even better at navigation... and almost impossible to track.

Almost, Horseman reminded himself. Not impossible for you.

He had to keep Iggy talking, keep him interested enough to stay close.

“Or maybe you meant friends like the Gasman, ” he taunted. “Did he call you Iggy? ”

The movement above stopped.

“You killed him, didn’t you? ” Iggy’s voice cracked in despair. “Gazzy said he was right behind me, but he’s dead, isn’t he? ”

Iggy’s accusing voice seemed to come from a hundred different directions, and Horseman squinted up through the maze of twining branches, trying to locate his prey.

“You’ve got me all wrong, ” he said, his voice earnest, persuasive. “Just stop for a minute, and we can talk. ”

I’ll tell you about the doctor and his plans, Horseman thought. I’ll tell you the truth.

It didn’t matter. He knew Iggy would never stop. There was only one way this could end.

Horseman glimpsed movement to his left – far from where he’d been searching. He turned his head to see the swoop of a light‑ colored wing standing out against the brown bark.

He took off like a bullet.

Following little more than the quiver of branches as they snapped back into place, Horseman plowed through leaves. He snagged his wings on burrs and dodged between whiplike vines. He followed the bird kid doggedly, recklessly, gaining distance, gaining speed...

And when Iggy turned and dipped sharply, Horseman slammed face‑ first into a thick tree and, almost a hundred feet in the air, momentarily blacked out.

His limp body started to plummet toward the forest floor.

Luckily – or really, unluckily – he slammed to a stop when his legs fell on either side of a stray branch. Horseman collapsed against the trunk, breathing heavily as waves of pain and nausea rolled through his body.

This mission has not gone as planned, he thought.

He’d hoped to find Gazzy and Iggy alone, and hadn’t thought it would be too difficult in the middle of the Appalachian wilderness. But he certainly hadn’t expected to be trapped underground with a community of rebel girls armed to the teeth when a chemical bomb went off.

Horseman’s palms started to sweat as he thought about all the witnesses, and whom they might be reporting to. The news about the Gasman would satisfy the Remedy momentarily, but if he found out the other target was on the loose, there would be serious repercussions.

“If you should fail, ” the doctor had said, “it would be my pleasure to send the next Horseman along after you. ”

Horseman had to get to Iggy fast, before things spiraled out of his control.

What he needed was a new strategy.

Horseman couldn’t see. That was his biggest problem.

Well, he could see, but everything was slightly blurry, his depth perception was off, and he was pretty sure he was seeing double. He didn’t know if the chemical damage was temporary or permanent, but he had to figure out a way around it.

He’d thought he had Iggy – twice – when really, the blind kid had better spatial accuracy than he did.

Would no vision actually be better than faulty vision?

At this point, anything was worth a shot. Horseman stripped off his shirt, rolled it over his eyes, and tied the sleeves around his head. The world went completely dark.

Just like it was for Iggy.

Horseman felt instant relief in his eyes. The burning lessened, and the flow of tears subsided.

The rest of his body seemed less sure about his decision. His boots teetered on the branch, and his stomach dropped sharply as he felt the nothingness all around him. Never in his life had he felt so completely vulnerable.

For a moment he grasped wildly at the air, his arms flailing desperately. Then, feeling his fingers touch bark, Horseman hugged himself tight to the trunk of the tree, trying to stop hyperventilating.

Maybe he should’ve tried this little experiment closer to the ground.

It was a stupid idea. For all he knew, Iggy might actually have been programmed with additional senses, and if not, he’d had his whole life to develop them. Horseman didn’t have years; he just had right now.

And if he didn’t do this, he wasn’t going to have a tomorrow.

Horseman exhaled against the tree. He just had to trust his instincts – they hadn’t failed him yet.

Slowly, Horseman edged back out onto the branch, keeping a light touch on the bark to steady himself. He took a long, deep breath, trying to open up some kind of latent third eye.

This time, when he let go, Horseman realized he could still sense the trunk to his left – the solidness of it, the heft.

Now or never, he thought, and he raised his heels, leaned forward, and took off.

He felt removed from his body and highly connected to it at once – almost like he was a pilot maneuvering a small plane instead of controlling his own muscles.

Horseman’s muscles were tense as he waited for the moment when he would smash into another tree, but it didn’t come. In one panicked moment, he felt branches rake lightly across his bare chest, but he quickly adjusted, and veered away from the tree in his path.

After that, his reflexes became faster each moment, and his other senses started to come alive.

The pores in his skin opened up to take in the information around him. Each time his wings flapped, he felt the air they moved bouncing off the objects around him, telling him how far away they were.