Unfortunately, his mate for life, Akila, didn’t have wings, so the non-mutant Samoyed spent most of the year with her one-hundred-percent-human owner. “Yes, Max, I am aware.” He fluttered his own miniature pair of flappers. In case this is your first dip into the deep end of the ol’ freak-of-nature pool, I’ll just put it out there: We fly. At least not completely.” I unfolded my wings partway. For a small, Scotty-like dog, he had a lot of presence. “Just because I can talk doesn’t mean I’m human,” he complained. “But I don’t have thumbs!” Total said indignantly. “Quit throwing waffles!” I yelled, snatching the syrup bottle away from Iggy, who was aiming it at his open mouth. “Food fi-” he began happily, only to stop at the look in my eyes. Gazzy shot a fist into the air, his face twisted into that maniacally guilty grin that only nine-year-old angelic-looking boys seem to be able to master. “Don’t throw waffles at me!” she screeched. A waffle whapped her in the head, and with turbo-charged reflexes, she snatched it out of midair and hurled it back at Iggy as hard as she could. “I can’t find the socks that match this skirt!” Nudge said, holding up some floaty, layer-y clothing situation. Iggy was slinging waffles at Gazzy and Total, who were trying to catch them in their wide-open mouths, like baby birds. Not that it was a quiet morning to start with.īehind me in the kitchen, the usual chaos was unraveling.
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I frowned and smashed a fist down on top of the set, which only resulted in setting off a series of loud, plaintive beeps. The newscaster’s face, frozen in practiced concern, dissolved into static as fuzzy black lines hiccupped across the screen. “Just who-or what-is ninety-nine percent?” The newscaster raised one perfectly groomed eyebrow and leaned forward. He carried a sign that read 99% IS THE FUTURE. “On the home front, officials rush to quell pockets of unrest as a subversive new movement takes hold in the cities.” The camera zoomed in on a glassy-eyed fanatic raving about an advanced society and how we must act now to preserve the purity of the planet.
The news anchor peered out at me with grave accusation. I sat at the kitchen counter, staring at the small TV. “IN WORLDVIEW THIS morning, whole villages in the Philippines have been demolished, and hundreds are missing as typhoons triggering massive mudslides continue to wreak havoc.” But no future appeared before her.įor the first time in her young life, Angel had no idea what would happen next. She waited for the visions she had fought for so many years before coming to accept and even depend on them. How many seven-year-olds had seen the world go up in flames?Īngel shut her eyes tight. She thought of Max holding her hand, calling Angel her baby. Flying, diving together in one strong V, with Max at its center. It almost felt like she was completely and totally alone. That she hadn’t told anyone.Īngel tilted her head back to feel the chill of wind rustling her blond curls, now stringy and dirty. The power inside her was the only thing that scared Angel now.
It had terrified her so much more than the idea of Armageddon. Angel had imagined her grief as a blackness stretching out before her, the crushing weight of Max’s death a night without stars, without hope, without end. You didn’t see what was there-you saw the spaces between. She couldn’t see anything from her night perch on the cliff, but even in the light of day, the horizon didn’t look like anything familiar or natural. You were ready.Īngel squinted into the darkness. She traced her fingers along her scars and fought back the memories.ĭespite the warnings from nature-the earthquakes, the floods-despite all the efforts of science-Angel winced, remembering the scalpels and fluorescent lightbulbs and blindingly white sheets-despite everything, in the end, the earth had been savagely claimed back for nature.Īnd despite Max’s missions and the flock’s preparations over the years, they still hadn’t been ready.īut then, who could ever really be ready for the end of the world? She had endured enough panic to last her a lifetime.Īngel hugged her knees to her chest and folded her dingy white wings around herself, cocoon-like. There had been plenty of screaming, fire and brimstone, and panic. Wasn’t noise what the apocalypse was supposed to be about?īut there had been chaos, Angel reminded herself. Shouldn’t there be the din of destruction thundering around her? The crash of buildings sinking into rubble? Inconsolable wails mourning all that was lost? That the world as they’d known it had gone so quietly, slipping into the ether like an old, beaten dog, was disconcerting, to say the least. Her wings were spread out behind her, her ravaged legs swinging into nothingness, her ears straining in the strange new silence. IT WAS NIGHT, and Angel was perched on the hot surface of the scorched rock cliff.