The Last Flight (A Maximum Ride fanfiction)

TLF chapter 3.

This chapter is shorter than the other one :P

Me: ok Max, you can say it now.

Max; Say what?!! 0.0

Me: ( what a bogus head) The disclaimtion( is that how you spell it)

Angel: Max! she called you a bogus head

Me: You blond tattleteller, I'm gonna kill you if you don't shush up

Max: How? you don't even know how to fight

Me: Yes, true. But God give author the abilities to kill any character they write, even borrowed one *smirk* if you don't do what I said, I'll kill Fang * smilling evilly*

Max: *eye wide* o..oh right. None of this belong to her, all credit go to JP *turn head* Happy?!

Me; Try it with a little more ''emotion'' next time

Max: Wha.. What *rolled shirt up*

Me: OK BYE! *turn to Max, latop in hand* Dare you to (*narrowed eye*)

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3

Dear Mr. Hutchinson ... My name is Nick-"

Fang pried his eyes open and tried not to think about how much pain he was in. All he wanted to think about was how he was going to get back to the house and get help.

He ground his teeth together and contemplated trying to sit up and examine his wing. Just to see if he was hurt as badly by his fall as he believed himself to be. He was about to risk the pain and sit up when something in his head popped like a raw egg squeezed in a tight fist and the sudden pain left him lying there choking on what was left of his last meal.

He lay there for a few minutes in the mud and early autumn leaves and shivered. He had to get up, he had to get home. He had to get help.

He was stupid for leaving in the middle of the night. So what if he had had to lie there listening to Max breathe on the other side of the wall? He'd done it for months now and only given into the temptation of his idle hands twice ... Maybe five times... No more than ten...

He could have restrained himself tonight, but no ... He had to go flying in the middle of the night in his underwear.

Why didn't I at least put on pants? This wouldn't be so bad if I were wearing pants... He thought weakly and sat his jaw forcing himself to his feet. He nearly screamed when the sensation of having a handful of broken glass ground into his wing knocked him back to his hands and knees in the wet dirt.

He was alone, alone, practically naked, covered in mud ... His head hurt, his tongue hurt and he was injured, possibly badly. He set his jaw and turned his head, intent on getting rid of the evil 'possibly'. Possibly was that terrible place all his fears lived...

It didn't look that bad until he noticed his wing was twisted, the soft downy feathers underneath turned out to the air. And there was something sticking out between the feathers ... Something that was wet and dripping with blood.

Then he knew that there was no 'possibly' left in his list of complaints. He was alone, practically naked, covered in mud, his head hurt, his tongue hurt and his wing was injured ... badly.

He broke out in a cold sweat and his vision blurred. A sudden permeating chill possessed him and his legs began to shake. He thought for a moment he was going to be sick again but he swallowed the bitter liquid filling his mouth and staggered forward.

Tired ... No, not tired, I have to get home ... I have to get help.

He wanted to sink into the warmth of the forest floor and go to sleep. Sleep would feel so good. He didn't feel pain when he slept, there was nothing, just sweet dreams. Flying with Pale Male in Central Park or watching Itex burn to the ground. Or he'd even dream of that powerful feeling he'd gotten when he'd picked up that Flyboy's gun in the airplane hangar and blown them all to kingdom come.

And on the odd occasion he would have a special dream, and he'd wake up and think of that sound and that look Max had given him in the clearing. Then, he'd lie awake trying to remember what that look had said her passion tasted like.

He wanted to lie down and dream of that ... He wanted to dream Max was there, giving him that look and making that sound just for him. He'd even be happy to dream of that stupid letter, as long as the pain stopped.

He took three steps forward and sank to his knees shaking. He was cold, he could only remember being this cold once, not to long ago and that memory made him want Max there even more...

He wished desperately that he weren't alone and he lay down on his right side trying to coax some kind of warmth into his body. I'll get warm, then I'll get help ... Get warm, then get help...

Sometime later, after he'd lain there long enough to grow deathly cold despite attempts to draw even the smallest amount of heat from the ground, he felt her soft, warm hands on his cheeks and looked up into her earthy brown, tear filled eyes. He smiled weakly at her and tried to lift his hand to smooth away the little wrinkle forming between her eyebrows. That wrinkle that meant she was distressed, but he couldn't lift his arms.

She was smacking his face and shaking him, calling his name, trying to rouse him but he was too far-gone and he faded away from Max's frightened cursing and into the warm embrace of dreams.