The Unexpected, Page 2

  Eliminate. The Controllers didn’t care about the Marine. They just needed him out of the way. He was the only thing standing between them and the wrecked Bug fighter.

  I had to get him to stop shooting!

  I yelled at him in thought-speak.

  The Marine hesitated for a split second. He glanced around, frowned, then tightened his grip on the pistol.

  BAM!

  BAMBAMBAMBAMBAMBAM!

  Automatic rifle fire answered back.

  The Marine dove behind the wheel, crouching low, ready to fire again.

  He’d be killed in a matter of minutes, no question.

  I circled the plane’s tail, spilled air from my wings, and dove. Under the plane. Past the Marine.

 

  The Marine edged back against the landing gear. He cocked his head and listened, obviously trying to figure out where the voice had come from.

 

  I circled.

 

  He looked up. And blinked. “Okay, this is totally nuts.” He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the wheel. “A bird is talking to me — AND I’M LISTENING.” He opened his eyes and shook his head. “This is crazy.”

  He leaned away from the landing gear and swung his pistol toward the Controllers.

  It was suicide.

  He aimed.

  I dove.

  I hit metal as the Marine pulled the trigger.

  BAM!

 

  Pain shot through my side. I spiraled, one wing flapping, the other hanging dead at my side.

  I saw the corporal’s pistol skitter across the tarmac in a whirl of plane, sky, and pavement. I pumped my good wing, straining to steady myself. The ground spun upward. Gray. Hard. Tilting. Closer.

  Then the spinning just stopped.

  I flopped on the tarmac. My wing lay mangled and torn, shattered by the pistol’s recoil.

  “That bird! Did you see the bird? It was an Andalite!”

  Bald Spot. I couldn’t let him find me. I scratched and writhed and flapped my good wing, and somehow clawed my way under the baggage cart. Bits of gravel embedded themselves in my bloody feathers. Pain seared through my body.

  Demorph. I had to demorph.

  “Where’d it go? Where’s the seagull?”

  The shouting grew louder. Closer. Shoes scuffed past the cart, inches from my head.

  Concentrate, Cassie, concentrate.

  I focused on my human form. Morphing is unpredictable. It never happens the same way twice. But I’d learned to control it a bit. I knew what I had to do.

  Human. Human Cassie arms. I felt my wings growing, the damaged one becoming stronger as my human DNA slowly replaced the seagull DNA.

  Cuuurrrreeeeeeeeeek.

  My shoulder bones cracked and widened. Wings narrowed and shot downward, the size of human arms.

  Schluuuuup.

  A thumb, then four fingers, pale and bumpy like a plucked chicken, shot from the tip of each wing. Rib bones melted and reshaped, growing to my normal size. Legs straightened and lengthened, the claws softening into ten toes on two human feet.

  And then I stopped morphing.

  I was still more gull than girl, a weird mix of fluffy wings and pure horror. The Blair Muppet Project. But I didn’t look human. Not even close.

  I inched out from under the baggage cart. Controllers were storming the cargo hold of the plane, closing off the entire area. Tobias and the others were long gone, but I could see the maintenance ramp they’d escaped into at the next gate.

  And I had a clear shot. Nobody was paying any attention to the giant mutant seagull crouched beside the baggage cart.

  I pulled myself up and ran, full out, almost human arms still covered in feathers, almost human feet slapping the pavement under scaly Big Bird legs, my own short dark hair looking more than a little strange on my giant seagull head.

  I veered in toward the terminal building, stayed beneath its shadow. Past the first gate. Followed the curve of the building. The next gate was dead ahead.

  “There it is!”

  Bald Spot! Behind me.

  “Stop the Andalite filth before it gets away!”

  The ramp was just a few yards ahead. I could make it. I was going to make it!

  Ka-CHIK.

  A glint of gun metal. A police Controller stepped out from behind a cargo bin, directly between me and the ramp. I turned. Bald Spot circled wide to cut me off. I turned again, back to the baggage cart. Controllers raced toward me on the other side. I was trapped. Me and the baggage cart, surrounded by Controllers.

  I whirled. No way out.

  No — one way out. The Marco way.

  I scrambled into the cart, turned the key, and floored it.

  The cart jerked, stopped, then lurched forward at full throttle, throwing me back against the seat. Bald Spot dove to the pavement as I shot past. I grabbed the wheel and tried to steer, a grotesque seagull-like thing the size of a kid, screeching through the airport on two wheels.

  I sped under the wing of the plane and swerved, sideswiping the landing gear. Luggage spilled from the back of the cart. I swung the wheel around and headed out toward the open tarmac. If I got out of there alive, I’d never again give Marco a hard time about his driving. He was Jeff Gordon compared to me.

  Sirens. Flashing red and blue lights.

  I whipped my bird head around. Two police cars behind me. In seconds they’d be within firing range.

  I jerked the wheel and rocketed toward one of the planes. Under the wing. Around the wheels. Between two rows of cargo.

  I hurtled around a food service truck and glanced back. I’d gained a little ground. The police cars were a lot bigger than my suitcase-mobile. They swung wide of the jet, while I plowed straight underneath.

  I headed toward the next gate, and then the next. In. Out. Under. Around. Getting the hang of the steering thing.

  The Controllers roared past.

  A 747, looming ahead! Not a problem. I gripped the wheel and sped straight toward it. Under the engines, around the front wheels. I could see the corner of the terminal building as I whipped past.

  Shot out from under the nose of the 747 —

  Straight onto open tarmac! Two police cars barreled toward me. In a split second I’d plow into them, head-on.

  I jerked the wheel and skidded into a tight U. Tires squeeled. More suitcases flew.

  I looked back. A garment bag flapped onto the windshield of one of the police cars. Nice. The car screeched one way, then another, as the driver leaned out the window, trying to grab the bag off the windshield. The other car veered toward the runway to keep from getting creamed.

  Okay. That bought me a little more time. But I couldn’t race through the airport forever. I had to find a place to finish demorphing, then morph something that could get out of there.

  Ahead, a set of roll-away stairs pushed up to the door of a jet. Guys in orange jumpsuits dragging buckets and a shop vac down the steps. A cleaning crew! The plane was probably empty. I raced toward it.

  A siren wailed behind me.

  The cleaning crew had reached the tarmac. Started to roll the steps away from the plane. I turned the wheel and tried to find the brake. The cart skidded sideways. The cleaning crew scattered, buckets flying as they dove for cover. I hammered the pedals with my feet, but the cart wouldn’t slow down!

  Ssscccrrrrnnnnnnncchhhh-KUUUNNNKK.

  I crashed into the stairs. My bird-girl body snapped forward against the steering wheel, then back against the seat.

  Oh. Ow. I swallowed. Brakes would have been easier, but the head-on collision had worked.

  No time to catch my breath. I bolted from the baggage cart and up the steps. The impact from the crash had jerked the stairs several feet from the door of the plane, but I didn’t let a 12-foot drop stop me. I hurdled the gap and la
nded with a soft thunk on the thin carpeting inside the plane.

  Police lights flashed through the door of the cabin. I peeled myself from the floor and ran.

  WHUMP!

  The entire plane shuddered as the roll-away stairs banged against the cabin door. I tore down the aisle, looking for a place to demorph. I could hear shouting below me, footsteps clanking up the stairs.

  “This way! Over here!”

  “The Andalite’s inside!”

  I’d reached the back of the plane. Hide. I had to hide!

  I whirled. Seats. Baggage compartments. A door handle! I lunged for it and pushed. The bathroom.

  I fell inside and bolted the door.

  Demorph. Fast!

  I could hear Controllers thundering onto the plane.

  Focus, Cassie, focus. You have to reverse this morph.

  I felt my body becoming heavier as my hollow bird bones thickened into solid human skeleton. My feathers darkened and dissolved, the plucked bird skin underneath smoothing into brown skin.

  Cuuurrrrrruuuunnnch.

  My jaw pushed out from my remolded skull. Tailbone shrank up into my spine. I was almost human now, fully human, except for the enormous seagull beak jutting from my face.

  “Where’d it go?”

  “The cockpit! Check the cockpit.”

  I held my hands over my ears and concentrated.

  The beak softened and melted into my face. Two lips. A nose. I was human.

  But I couldn’t stay that way.

  I dropped into the cramped space beside the toilet and the sink. The metal of the sink was so cool and smooth. I lay my face against it. If I could just stay there a minute and —

  “The Andalite has to be here. FIND IT!”

  I jerked my head up. Snap out of it, Cassie. I fixed my mind on fly morph.

  Sploooot. Sploooot.

  A pair of antennae shot out my forehead.

  Pop. Pop-pop. Pop-pop-pop-pop-pop.

  Stiff black hairs popped out like zits all over my body. Two tissue-thin wings emerged from my back.

  “Nothing in the cockpit.”

  “Or the galley.”

  I could hear Controllers tearing through the cabin of the plane. Footsteps. Shouts. Ripped seat cushions.

  Relax, Cassie. Think fly.

  A pair of black nubs pushed out from my sides, writhing into long hairy fly legs. My own arms and legs thinned and hardened. Hands and feet shriveled into sticky claws.

  The door handle rattled. “It’s locked!”

  “Good. We’ve found the Andalite scum.”

  Concentrate. Fly. Small. SMALL. Speed it up!

  The floor zoomed up at me as my body shrank to the size of a bread crumb.

  BAM! BAM! Clink. Ka-Clink.

  Bullets flew through the thin metal of the door and ricocheted off the sink. The sink that now towered above me. The sink that shattered into thousands of sinks as my human eyes bulged out into compound fly eyes.

  Ssshhhllllluuuuuuulp.

  Bones dissolved. Skin darkened and hardened into a shiny, crisp coating over the bulging fly body.

  Sssssuuuuuummmmp. Sproot-sproot.

  My lips sprouted down into the fly’s snout-shaped proboscis. Two spongy bumps erupted at the end. I was fly now. Pure fly. A fly in fly heaven. A bathroom. Each tiny black hair on my body quivered in delight. Through the stench of disinfectant cleanser, I could detect the glorious aroma of —

  BAM! BAM! Ka-Clink.

  Whoa. Time to get a grip on the fly instincts. I buzzed into the little space between the rim of the toilet bowl and the seat. As soon as the door opened I’d zoom out.

  BAM! Ka-Clink.

  “I can shoot the lock off.”

  “And give the Andalite a chance to escape?”

  “But it’s gotta be dead. The door is Swiss cheese.”

  “And you think that Andalite let us shoot him? Idiot! It probably morphed an insect. We’ll have to gas it.”

  Gas! I buzzed around the tiny bathroom, looking for a way out. The sink! I could fly down the drain. I shot into the metal basin.

  Tlink.

 

  A stupid airplane sink with a stupid sliding metal plate over the drain! A plate no housefly could ever hope to budge.

  I dove toward the the baseboard, looking for a crack. A tiny crevice. Anything. There had to be a way out.

  Psssssssssssssssss.

  My fly hairs quivered in panic. The Controllers were shooting bug spray in through one of the bullet holes.

  The bullet holes. Yes!

  I darted toward the highest hole, closest to the ceiling. Perfect fit. I zipped through.

  Air. Fresh air.

  “A fly!”

  Thwack!

  A giant pink hand slammed against the ceiling.

  “Missed!”

  Just barely, buddy. I shot sideways and down, close to the windows. They’d have to lean over the seats to reach me.

  Thwack! Whack! Wham!

  Hands, barf bags, rolled-up magazines, somebody’s deliciously smelly sneaker. I dodged and darted, buzzing toward the door. Feeling fresh air blowing toward me.

  Psssssssssss. Pssst-pssst-pssssssssssss.

  Bug spray! Thick. Sticky. Toxic.

  Fresh air. Follow the fresh air!

  Pssssssssssssssssssss.

  The spray clung to my legs, my body, my antennae. Every hair on my body was coated. My wings! I couldn’t move my wings!

  Daylight. I was out.

  And falling. Like a missile. Then a rumble — a baggage cart? — and a gust of wind. It swept me sideways. I tumbled. Dropped. Tried to right myself, but couldn’t tell which way was up. The world was a fog of darkness.

  Whap.

  I hit something and slid down.

  “Where’d it go? I saw it fall.”

  Voices. Footsteps. Echoing through the fog.

  Bigger. I had to get bigger or the bug spray would kill me. I focused my mind on my human form. I could feel my body beginning to swell. My mind emerged from the fog.

  I was in the baggage cart. The thing I’d hit was one of the few suitcases that hadn’t flown out during my wild chase through the airport.

  Footsteps shuffled past the cart.

  Had to get out of there. I couldn’t completely demorph to human. I’d be too big. I couldn’t morph back to fly. There was enough bug spray clinging to my body to kill me.

  I waited till the footsteps passed, then rolled out the other side and stumbled toward the next gate, too heavy to fly, too groggy to coordinate all six legs into a decent trot. Once again, a disgusting mutant creature straight out of the late, late show. I collapsed next to a conveyor belt.

  “It has to be here. Spread out. FIND IT!”

  I pulled myself onto the conveyor belt and burrowed under a golf bag. The belt rolled upward. The golf bag and I rolled with it. Then a lurch, and the golf bag flew through the air. I clung to the bottom with my sticky fly legs.

 

  I landed on my back. The golf bag landed on top.

  Thump. Thump. More suitcases. Crushing me in the darkness.

  I had to demorph. Had to get out. I tried to form a mental picture of myself. My human self. Cassie. But I was a jumble of wings, claws, skin, bulging eyes.

  Skin. I focused on the skin. Human skin. Smooth. Swirling. Fading.

  Fading to black.

  “Uhhhnn.”

  Frozen. Stiff. A frozen, stiff, throbbing ache. I swallowed. My throat was stuck shut.

  I lay on my back — at least, I thought I was on my back — on the corner of something very hard. Something else, something heavy, was crushing my chest. And something steely and cold jabbed my cheek. My legs … did I even have legs?

  All I could hear was a dull, relentless droning. My brain throbbed in time with the noise.

  What was that noise, anyway?

  I pushed the cold, hard thing away from my face. Curved. Metal. Felt like a golf club.

  A golf club?
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  Oh. No.

  It came back to me in a blur of bullets, bug spray, and a mental picture of my last known form. Basketball-sized half human with an extra pair of legs, stiff black hairs spiking out all over my body, and antennae.

  How long had I been out? How long did it take to get this cold? It had to be more than two hours.

  What if I was a mutant fly-girl nothlit?

  “I can’t even look,” I moaned.

  Moaned? My voice! My. Voice. My human voice.

  I pushed against the golf bag. More suitcases tumbled down on top of me. I dug my way out. The light in the cargo hold was dim, but I could see my own body. Two legs, both ending in feet. Two arms. Two hands. Regulation, human-issue skin.

  I touched my back. No wings. My head. No antennae.

  I fell back against the frozen pile of luggage. “Thank God. Thank you, thank you, God.”

  Except —

  I was in the cargo hold of a plane, nearly frozen, dying of thirst, and starving. MAN was I starving, jetting off to … where?

  I checked the tag on the golf bag: SYD. Grabbed the suitcase next to it: SYD. Rummaged through the pile of bags. SYD. SYD. They all said SYD.

  “SYD? What does that stand for?” I mumbled. “South Something Dakota?”

  And how long would it take to get there? I rubbed my bare feet together. We could only morph skintight clothes, so all I was wearing was a flimsy black leotard. I blew on my hands. My breath came out in solid white puffs.

  How many things could go wrong in one mission? It was only supposed to be a little surveillance at the airport. A bit of insurance.

  Ax and Marco had found something interesting with their new Web-watch program. Information about a piece of alien spacecraft that had washed up on the beach a few hundred miles up the coast. A piece that sounded very much like part of a Yeerk ship. A Bug fighter.

  Okay, so most of that Internet alien stuff is posted by paranoid nutcases. But like Marco said, you never know when a paranoid nutcase might be telling the truth. I mean, if I posted something about our little adventure at the airport, what would I sound like?

  Besides, Marco and Ax found this piece of information on a closed Defense Department site in an encrypted, top-secret memo to the Joint Chiefs of Staff. It takes way more than a security clearance and a secret code to defeat Ax.