Let's Make a Deal

By: Edna Baudelaire

Chapter Eight

Max's POV

The world stopped spinning. The air contained no oxygen. I looked down at Iggy, my Iggy, small, broken, frail upon the cold earth, wondering what exactly just happened. I was frozen, in time, in space, unable to move, unable to breathe the stale air. I could hear the others, shouting, running, screaming. I could see them rushing to Iggy, casting angry glances in my direction. I could only remain in the air, my wings flapping, unable to steer, to think, to move.

My head pounded, the temples screaming in agony. Something was wrong.

My senses rushed back, and suddenly I could feel everything. Every little beat of my heart, every feeble wisp of the wind, every cold glance from the others, every cell furiously running through my veins. I could feel it. I could feel it all.

I lightly touched down to the ground, and immediately, the others swarmed around, yelling crying. But I couldn't answer. No words could escape my broken mouth. I looked over at Iggy, pale in the moonlight, so pale. I shivered, remembering. Remembering that moment when I saw the look on his face, the fear. He was the little blind boy in the cage again, reaching out for my hand when the white coats would stroll in.

But most of all, I remembered the loss of control. At that moment, in the air, clutching Iggy's wings, I wasn't me. While arguing with Iggy, I was participating in an argument within myself. With the Voice. I was angry at Iggy, angry at him for fraternizing with the enemy. But the Voice was one step ahead, one level higher. He was furious, ordering me to get rid of Iggy, to get rid of Anya. One moment, I was screaming, my voice scratching my tired throat, and the next, my mind had gone blank, my hand snapping out towards Iggy's cheek. I remember the look on his face, the surprise, the hurt, but I couldn't do a damn thing about it. I was gone, locked up somewhere in the depths of my own sanity. He had taken over. The Voice. It was like watching a movie. I was sitting in an uncomfortable folding seat, watching this horror scene unfold before my eyes. There was no one there to hold my hand. No one there to console me, no reassuring arm. Nothing.

I remember screaming, as we rushed towards the ground. I didn't mean to do it. I wanted to take my hands away from him, to set him free, but the Voice had clouded my mind. It took over, greedily, leaving me the scapegoat.

Reality rushed back like a tidal wave, careening me backwards.

"Max! You jerk!" Gazzy cried, his small fists pounding at my arm, but I couldn't feel it. The numbness had yet to ebb away. "Why?"

I pushed him aside, and sank down next to Iggy. A thousand I'm sorry's swirled in my mind, formed in my throat, but couldn't pass through the gates of Hell. My hand slowly traveled up his arm, feeling his veins, the blood beneath, the movement. He was still alive.

"Get away from him." Anya stepped forward, a look of pure hatred plastered to her face. My indignation for her flared up once again, and I grasped Iggy's hand, refusing to let go. But then I remembered the feeling of losing control, of the Voice taking over. Fear flashed across my eyes, and I let go, sitting back. Anya looked surprised, but quickly regained her posture, kneeling next to Iggy. Her light, airy hands ran along his body. Her eyes closed, her chest rose and fell, slowly, slowly, slower, until it matched Iggy's.

She let out a lungful of breath and her eyes snapped open. "This may take a while."

"What may take a while?"I asked, my voice suddenly returning. I reached a protective hand over Iggy's, but Anya sent a glare in my direction. It took all my strength to retreat.

"Despite being deaf, I have other abilities," she said, her gaze hard, but her voice soft. She glanced towards Iggy, and her face softened.

"What do you mean, abilities?" I asked, retreating farther and farther into myself.

"I'm what you would call a Healer."

"You mean like magic?" Nudge asked, sinking down next to her, her face streaked with a river of tears.

To my surprise, Anya chuckled. "We're test tube babies. We can fly. You still believe in magic?"

Nudge's lips formed a silent "O" before returning her gaze back to Iggy.

"It's just another scientific addition I received." I thought I heard her mumble a small thank goodness, but I wasn't sure. Once again, she closed her eyes and ran her delicate hands over Iggy. Crazily, I wondered how she could deal with that, with being both deaf and blind at the same time. Doesn't she feel vulnerable?

"The damage is extensive," she stated. "His leg is broken. His arm is fractured. And it looks like his spinal cord has been damaged." She stopped, her hands running slower, her brow furrowing harder. "And I think a couple broken ribs."

"His back," I croaked. "Is it serious?"

"I can't tell for sure. I need to roll him over, but I can't. It's not safe with a broken back."

At that moment, Iggy's eyes fluttered open. At first, he blinked, confused, dazed, his lids groggily opening and closing, like a jammed window. But then those windows flew open, the breeze catching it by surprise. At that moment, all the fear and pain flew across his features and my heart ached. I put him through this, I thought. I did it.

He forced his blind eyes shut, and gritted his teeth. His breath came out in short, heated gasps, making his broken body convulse violently. Anya put a hand on his chest, attempting to steady him, but he ignored it, desperately trying to sit up.

"Iggy, stay down. You're hurt," Anya ordered.

Of course, he ignored her.

And that's when we heard the snap.

It rung out like a thousand echoes, snapping like an old, dusty guitar string against the night sky. We all fell silent.

And so did Iggy.

His body stopped convulsing. His squirming ceased. The pain erased from his face. His eyes slowly opened, a look of peace crashed over like a tide.

"I can't feel it anymore," he said, his voice groggy. We all stood there, shocked, wondering what the hell just happened. The corners of Iggy's lips turned up slightly, then froze. His sightless eyes grew wide.

"I can't feel it anymore," he repeated, growing anxious. "I can't feel it anymore!"

I looked up at Anya. "What's going on?"

Anya slid her hands underneath Iggy, along the trails of his back, and her eyes widened. "This isn't good," she stated. "I need to flip him over, now."

"Won't that hurt him?" I asked, getting closer, reaching out for Iggy's hand, to reassure him. I squeezed his palm, but he didn't squeeze back.

"Can't you hear him?" Anya asked, desperate.

"Can't you?" The words tumbled from my mouth, and I flinched at my own sarcasm. She sent me a sharp glare before returning to Iggy.

"He said he 'can't feel it anymore'."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"My goodness, they told me you were supposed to be smart." She rolled her eyes. "He's paralyzed, thanks to you."

I reeled back. "Me! It wasn't me, it was-" I stopped. She wouldn't believe me. Why bother?

"It doesn't matter now. Just help me flip him," she ordered, repositioning. I followed suit, wrapping my arms around Iggy. His eyes were shut, his lips moving silently.

"Can you fix him?" I asked, shaking.

She shot me a glance before nodding. "We need to get him turned over first. I can't reach his back this way. On three. And remember to be gentle. Don't mess too much with his back. Keep it straight. One, two...three."

I pushed, very aware of how limp his body felt. Anya sat closer, laying her hands on his back, breathing evenly. Her brows furrowed together. "You might want to take a seat," she told us. "This may take a while."

"I'll stay here," I announced, clasping Iggy's hand. Anya shot me another look. If pictures spoke a thousand words, her looks shouted a million. It was full of distrust, hatred, anger and blame. I held her gaze, the old Max coming into focus.

She humphed before setting to work.

…

She was right. It did take a while. Three hours to be exact. The others soon fell asleep, draped across each other, snoring lightly. But I remained awake, clutching Iggy's limp hand as Anya sashayed her hands across his back in delicate patterns, determination inebriated within her features. I took that moment to study her. Her light brown, almost auburn hair was naturally curly, framing her face with an array of shades and tints. Her eyes were dark brown, almost black, and just as intense. Her jawbones were sharp and angular, her hands, soft and gentle. I could tell she's never been though what we've been through, never seen our troubles.

And I bet she sure as Hell has never eaten desert rat.

Just by looking at her, I could guarantee that she didn't grow up in a cage. She looked like she was lavished and had a healthy living style. The pigment of her skin was light, unlike ours, darkened by the never ending sun. She didn't have that slight curve to her back, the one we got from cramping low in our cages for all those years. Her back was pinpoint straight, perfect.

No, she wasn't like us.

Except for that itty bitty 2 percent of DNA we shared. Her wings were a light tan, with flecks of white throughout. They fell open while she concentrated, splayed across the ground carelessly.

My gaze drew back to her hands. What had they done to her? What had they done to turn her into a healer? Something like that would be very useful in our flock.

Scratch that. Someone like that would be very useful in our flock.

No. What was I thinking? Anya could never be a part of my flock. I'm forgetting the real goal here. Fang. Fang is worth the world to me. I would give anything to get him back.

Anything.

"Done," Anya announced, her voice soft, spent. Her hands fell beside her, and an exhausted look crossed her face.

"Is he-did you-is he OK?" I asked, shaking his limp hand.

"Yes," she said. "He's just sleeping. His back's all healed. He needs to take it easy for a while though. His ribs and arm and leg were quick work."

"Thank you," I said after a moments pause.

She looked at me skeptically. "Why did you do it?"

I glanced over at the others, sighing. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

She snorted. "Please. We have wings. I just fixed a broken back with my bare hands. I don't think there's anything you can tell me that I wouldn't believe. Trust me."

I took a deep breath. "Well, you see-"

Footsteps crashed through the undergrowth to my left, to my right. My head flew to the side. I knew those footsteps.

Erasers.

I jumped up, on high alert. Anya, oblivious to the sounds, looked perplexed.

"Erasers," I said. Her eyes grew wide. "We need to skee-daddle. Now."

I really hope you guys are enjoying this fic :D Drop a review and tell me what you think. Ever little review makes my day.

Edna B.