Nevermore: The Final Maximum Ride Adventure by James Patterson Page A

the passenger seat and the guy beside Fangboth stared at him intently, their muscles bulging in their tight T-shirts, their faces twisted into weird expressions.
    They looked… hungry. Almost like—Fang’s mind balked at the possibility—Erasers?
    Or was he just seeing things? It was hard to tell. He didn’t trust his own judgment anymore. After Star and Kate’s betrayal, everyone seemed suspect.
    He stared into the pockmarked face next to him, at the thick neck running up to a crew cut.
    No.
    They didn’t have the right amount of feral wolfishness marring their features to be Erasers. These guys were definitely human. Ugly as all get-out, but human.
    So why were they acting so funny? Maybe they were just ’roid heads, Fang thought—crazed on testosterone. He was just being paranoid, that was all.
    It’s called careful , you moron , he imagined Max chiding him. Always trust your instincts. Paranoia is our way of life.
    But Fang’s wing hurt, and he was tired, and at the moment there wasn’t a better option than these shady characters. Shady human characters, who he could surely take if it came down to it.
    Barely five minutes later, the convertible skidded to a stop. “Wow! A scenic overlook!” the driver shouted with over-the-top enthusiasm. “Whattaya say, boys? Should we get a closer look?”
    Fang’s eyes snapped open. Something was off.
    These guys didn’t exactly seem like the postcard type.

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    THE THREE GUYS hopped out of the car and strode toward the signs warning pedestrians to keep back from the railing.
    “Check out this wicked cliff, fellas,” the driver said to his two grinning buddies. They laughed as if he’d just told the most hilarious joke they’d ever heard. “Hey, kid,” he called to Fang, “why don’t you come over here? I think you’ll really wanna see this. You know, up close and personal.”
    Fang, leaning against the convertible, shook his head. “Nah, I think I’m fine right here, thanks.”
    He assumed a more defensive position and crossed his arms, but even that small gesture made him wince as his wing bone bent awkwardly. What was wrong with him?
    The driver grinned. “How’s that wing, Fang? Must be giving you some real trouble if you’re stooping to hitchhiking. Really slumming it.”
    “I’m sorry, do I know you?” Fang asked as casually as possible, but he eyed the trio warily. His instinct had been right. They knew who he was, and they were out to get him. But he could take these guys. If he could fight Erasers, he could definitely handle a few juiced-up punks.
    “We’re not important, Fang,” the driver said soothingly, still looking starved with those hollow eyes. “We’re just part of the Plan. But everybody knows you .” He took several steps toward Fang. “You’ll be the first, after all.”
    “Let me guess,” Fang said, his dark eyes narrowing. “The first to die.”
    They charged him then, and relying on instinct rather than thinking, Fang snapped out his wings, his mind calculating rapidly. He’d do a quick up- and-away and jump behind them. He would knock their heads together, leave them sprawled on the asphalt, and beat it out of there.
    But that’s not what happened at all.
    Instead, with that careless wing snap, his injured wing bone ground against itself. Fang groaned in agony and involuntarily hunched over, scrunching his eyes shut as the pain vibrated through him.
    And that’s all it took.
    In the next second they were on him, wrenching his arms backward and digging their elbows into his neck. The driver was violently twisting his hurt wing behindhim, and he saw black spots at the same time he felt his knees buckle.
    Fang swore through clenched teeth as they started to drag him. He cursed these guys, cursed being alone, cursed the Voice for putting him in this position. This was a perfect storm of crap, all flying through the same fan, right at him.
    The three of them worked together to pull Fang to the stone ledge beyond the