Saving the World and Other Extreme Sports

33

Flying again felt as wonderful and life-giving as flying again always did. Fang and I didn't speak for maybe forty minutes, streaking back toward where we'd left the flock. I was filled with apprehension and started to think through the almost-certainly-impossible idea of us all getting cell phones so we could keep in touch during times like this.

Finally it couldn't be avoided any longer.

"So what's with you?" I asked brusquely.

As if he'd been waiting, Fang rose and held his speed so he was almost right on top of me. While flying, it was the easiest way to hand something to someone else.

I held up my right hand, and he reached down, pressing a small white square of paper into my hand.

I looked at it as he shifted slightly so we were side-by-side again.

It was a photo, and I recognized it.

It was the picture of the baby Gasman that Fang and I had found in a deserted crack house, like, a million years ago. I'd left it in my pack, hidden back with the others in the canyon. "Why'd you bring this?" I asked Fang.

"I didn't." His voice was calm as always, but I saw rigid tension in his frame. "I found it."

"What?" That didn't make sense. "Found it where?"

"Between two books in Dr. Martinez's home office," he said, looking at me, registering my shock. "Between a book about recombinant-DNA theory...and one on birds."