OCRed By Arpit Nathany

The author wishes to thank Ellen Geroux for her help in preparing this manuscript. For Michael and Jake

Cover illustration by David B. Mattingly
Art Direction/Design by Karen Hudson/Ursula Albano

If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as "unsold and destroyed" to the publisher, and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this "stripped book."

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ISBN 0-439-11517-5

Copyright © 2000 by Katherine Applegate.
All rights reserved. Published by Scholastic Inc.
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12 11 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1 0 1 2 3 4 5/0 Printed in the U.S.A. First Scholastic printing, July 2000

M y name is Tobias. Still a freak of nature. Part human. Part bird. Confused? Don't worry, it gets better.

I am flying over the forest. The air is thick. A storm is approaching. It is only early afternoon, but the sky is growing black as the front moves in on the city. A towering wall of rain, wind, and cumulus clouds.

I had to find food before the storm. I was hungry. But then, I'm always looking for food. That's life for a bird of prey. Hunger.

A shrew stepped out from its burrow. It loitered nervously, sniffing the moisture. We had the same thought, me and the shrew. Hunker down against nature's wrath, but fill your belly first.

I was higher on the food chain. I tucked into a dive.
My wings pressed tight to my body. Air whistled past. Mountains, forest, and sky. All a blur, a flashing streak. Everything but the shrew, shifting agitatedly, chomping on a seed . . .
My talons struck, embedded, and squeezed. Drained life instantly.
Wonder what it's like? Dig your fingernails into a too-ripe peach. Rip sections off with your teeth. Gulp them without chewing. The kill is something like that.
I downed the shrew and lifted off.
I don't think about the kill anymore. I'm hawk and human. I'll explain later. Just try to understand that the hawk must feed the human. It has to happen.
I don't think about it anymore.
That's a lie.
"You vile little bird! Do you realize what you've done? Do you realize what you've become? You're trapped! You have to live out your life as a bird!"
Her name was Taylor. My Yeerk torturer. Her voice screeching. Bruising my ears. Tormenting me after every kill. Other times, too. Still, after all this time . . .

THWOK! THWOK! THWOK! THWOK!

A helicopter! Hovering low over the trees, dispersing terrified crows in all directions. If I were a true hawk, I'd have cleared out with the other birds. Instead, I circled around and flapped toward the turbulence.

My friends, the Animorphs, the ones who fight the Yeerk invasion of Earth, say that since my capture, I live too much of life in my head. They must be right. I'd almost missed everything.

Not just the helicopter. The humans below, streaming across rough forest floor, the tires of their ATV's scoring the soil. The searchlights streaking the trees in the daytime darkness, making rabbits and deer dart in alarm.

I flew to the nearest ranger station. It was ringed by squad cars and TV news vans. I swooped down, closer to the action. Landed on a low branch. A blond woman in a raincoat held a microphone close to her lips and swatted windwhipped hair away from her face.

"Bobby Mclntire," she shouted above the noise of the vehicles, "missing now for two full days since he wandered away from his camping party. Hope that he'll be found alive is fading. But it's not just a race against time and the weather." Lightning struck the sky above her, imparting urgency to her words. "Little Bobby is deaf and can't hear the desperate calls of rescuers. Kelly King," she concluded, looking skyward, "reporting live." She held a frozen, concerned expression until the producer gave her the all clear.

"I will break you." It was Taylor's voice again, whispering in my mind. "You can't win."
I set a course for the storm front. A strange thing to do, to turn toward the lightning. To fly into the line of rain, the thunderclaps, the wind. But it made me feel like Lindbergh over the Atlantic. Fearless and strong. Maybe even a little heroic.
I wanted those feelings.
See, it wasn't long ago that the Yeerks captured me. A crazed and insane human-Controller made my life a hell for several excruciating hours. I survived. I even thought the torture was over. I didn't realize that torture doesn't end when you're freed.

People think it does. People who've never been through torture think that when the physical injuries heal, you're healed, too. They're wrong.

Torture plays tricks on your mind. "You're weak and scared," it says. "You think you're in control? Hah!" it says. "Doubt yourself. Worry, and question, and fear," it tells you.

Pain can be very convincing.
Sometime during my capture, my mind was assaulted with memories, images of all the times I've been weak. Or think I might have been . . .

Like my first time at the Yeerk pool.
My mind flashed back to it now, to the scene at Yeerk Central, that echoing underground dome with a sludgy pool churning at its core. The Yeerk pool. That's where the Yeerks do their dirtiest dirty work, where parasitic, sluglike aliens dunk your head in the muck and force one of their kind through your ear.
The Yeerks squeeze your brain and wring out your freedom. They control all thoughts and movements. They silence your howls and screams of grief until you are nothing but a slave. A stupid puppet. An unwilling soldier of the Yeerk Empire. A threat to all humanity.
But you've probably heard about all this by now. Right?
Tha-BOOM! Boom!
A thunderclap roared and half brought me back to the present. The other half of me was still at the Yeerk pool that first, horrible time. Clinging to the rock face, praying for camouflage, searching the colossal cavern for a way to escape. A way to get past Visser Three's men.
<Where's Tobias?> I'd heard Rachel say, faintly.
How long since I'd morphed to red-tailed hawk? An hour and fifty minutes? An hour and fifty-five?
How long?!
The others had escaped already. The other Animorphs, I mean. They'd dodged the visser's fireball gauntlet. They'd slipped out to safety, back through the janitor's closet, back into the school. Rachel, Cassie, Marco, Jake.
Had I missed the deadline? Had I been more than two hours in morph?
Couldn't have. Can't have. No. I'd be trapped forever. A bird.
Independent, free, alone.
Forever.
Images of the human life I'd led till then flooded my mind. The images were dark. My apathetic aunt. My alcoholic uncle.
Then, something brighter, something powerful surged through my mind. Something else. Shoring me up. Drawing me in. A wave of. . .
What? What had I felt then, at that moment, with the seconds ticking down? With the deadline chasing me . . .
Weakness or strength?
"You'll never know," Taylor said. "You won't know who or what you are when I'm done with you."
Bobby Mclntire needed to be found.
I let a fading thermal lift me into the atmosphere.
My name is Tobias. I'm a human. I'm a hawk. If you want to find something in the forest, you'd do well to ask me.
There's nothing I don't see.

T ha-BOOM! Boom!
Thunderclaps. I let the warm air draw me up. Three hundred feet. Higher. I could see through the haze, from city's edge to the mountains.
The national park is a very big place. You could hike for days and never see anyone. Spotting a boy from a helicopter would be like finding the needle in the haystack. And the haystack was about to get really wet.
Binoculars, infrared goggles, and laser sights flipped on. I don't mean to brag, but nature gave me excellent tools. I can see a hiker's broken shoelace. A robin's chicks.
I can pick out deer poop.
"You vile little bird!" Taylor's voice, always humming in my ear.
Quiet as a glider, my personal search plane swept huge, broad strokes above the trees.
My friends, the other Animorphs — the other kids who knew the great Andalite warrior Elfangor, who'd been there as he died, and who'd accepted the Yeerk-fighting Andalite technology to become any animal they can touch — they were expecting me to show up at Cassie's barn. There was a meeting scheduled for after school. If I wanted to make it, I had to travel east.
I edged west, following the search party's tire tracks. Tracing the lines as they crossed and converged in a half-mile section of sparse tree cover. I was guessing that this was the last place the boy was seen. Good place to start. I dove to fifty feet, skimming the treetops, looking for a sign, a clue. Anything.
Nothing.
A raindrop struck my wing. No, not yet! Three more drops hit me like BB's.
A whistling gale pushed me back into the air and blew me away from the search party tracks. I flapped harder to fight the strengthening wind. It was pushing me toward mudflats. Forcing me toward a dried up stream.
The raindrops were starting to feel like wargame paint pellets. I remember. My uncle took me to do the paint-ball thing. I hated it, but it was one of the only things we'd done together. Anyway, I was going to have to stop. The downpour was starting.
Suddenly — a splash of red against brown. A shred of bright cloth caught on a bramble.
Yes.
<Bobby?> I chanced in open thought-speak. <lf you're here, show me where you are.> Brushing the treetops, I scanned the mud. Nothing.
The wind was absurd. Violent one minute, dead the next.
Then — a single footprint. A kid's footprint.
<Bobby!> I called again. <lf you can hear me, wave. Or move. Do something!>
A faint rustling of brush. Then, more movement. I circled in to land. A dirt clod shot straight up into the air, grazing my beak.
<Whoa, okay! Great, Bobby. Good work.>
I didn't see the giant sinkhole until I almost landed in it. It was a pit so invisible under the overgrowth, it would have taken searchers months to find it.
I peered down at the kid. He was searching wildly for the source of my voice. His eyes were swollen from crying. His hands were raw from trying to climb up the vertical, featureless sinkhole wall. He stood in stagnant water a foot deep. And a flash flood was on the way.
<We're gonna get you out of there,> I said. But I didn't have a morph that could haul him out. Hork-Bajir? I wasn't practiced enough with the blades not to lacerate the kid and I definitely couldn't let him see an alien. <Hang tight, Bobby. I'll be back soon. It'll be okay.> A lightning bolt sizzled the ground nearby. Not good.
The trip to the ranger station was probably the worst flight of my life. The rain pummeled me. The wind screwed up my feathers. But the very worst part was the dead air. By the time I reached the ranger station, my body was burning ligaments for fuel.
Through the windows I saw most of the search party, inside and drying off. Getting ready for another round of wet and nasty searching. Then I saw a guy who looked like he needed a miracle. He was sitting outside on a stump, letting the rain drench him through. The ink from his name tag was running down his chest, but I could still read the letters. "Mr. Mclntire." Bobby's dad? He fixed his sad stare on the mountains.
I touched down just feet from him. Didn't once think about the consequences. <Listen,> I said, <l know this is going to sound crazy. I know you'll think you're losing your mind. But I can take you to Bobby.>
You can tell a lot about a person by the way they respond to a talking hawk. There's the run-away-screaming type. The bring-palms-tohead-to-squeeze-out-demons reflex. Even the killthe-animal maneuver. Most people don't do too well when their reality's challenged.
But Bobby's dad was cool. I mean, he looked kind of freaked at first. His eyes bugged out and he spun around frantically, looking for the prankster who was fooling with him. But once the initial surprise faded, he quickly regained his composure.
"Okay," he said. "Lead the way."
He probably thought he was nuts, but I don't think it would have mattered whether he was hearing voices or talking with aliens. He just wanted his son back.
That kind of love .. . it made me feel . . . strange.
I flew from tree to tree, a few hundred feet at a time, waiting for Mr. Mclntire and three rangers he'd convinced to come along. All the while I gave him directions in private thought-speak. At least I could stay a good distance from the men, to keep it uncertain whether a hawk was really running the show.
I pictured Bobby in the pit, the torrential rain tunneling into channels, forming a raging arroyo. Racing like a hungry, deadly snake. A massive, silent snake that Bobby's deaf ears wouldn't hear.
"You will die, Andalite. "Taylor's hateful voice, droning in my head.
<Overthe hill,> I directed.
Then we crested the rise and I saw something I didn't think was possible. Sheets of rain punished the earth to our right and our left, but over Bobby's sinkhole . . . unbelievable. A corridor of rainless clouds with two ends of a weak rainbow marking the borders.
I was sure my mind was making the scene up. It couldn't turn out this well. Nothing ever did. Taylor wouldn't let it . . .
<Bobby!> I called. I pumped my wings and found him, the water rising around his knees. I perched on a low branch and watched as three powerful rangers pulled him to safety. Watched as Bobby collapsed in his dad's arms, shaking, as joy replaced fear.
Bobby's dad glanced up at me, gratitude in his eyes.
Ever have something work out so perfectly, you feel you could fly? That's how I felt — and the cool thing was, I could actually do it. I could actually fly.
I took off down the swath of rainless sky toward Cassie's barn. It felt so good. I played in the air like a pilot at an air show, awed the audience with my death-defying stunts. I cut my engines, fell into a nosedive, ready to pull up just seconds before I hit the ground.
And then . . .
A golden eagle, twice my size, screeching toward me like a wrecking ball . . .
WHAM!
And all was blackness.
I never even had a chance.

This hawk's gonna feel that wing. Hero or not, when he wakes up, he'll hurt like crazy."

My eyes snapped open. Through the links of my cage I spied the faces of two concerned, labcoated veterinarians. Both women. One brunette, one blond. The words University Clinic were stitched on their pockets.

"Do you think Superbird needs an epidural?" I tensed my extremities. Right wing not responding. A sore and twisted neck. That nasty golden eagle had banged me up pretty bad. The memory of the impact got my hawk heart pumping. Fear, territoriality, confusion.
"No, I gave him enough medication to keep

him comfy till morning. Hey, look, he's awake. Feeling better, Mr. Hawk?" the blond one said, with the gentle condescension appropriate for wildlife who can't make it in the wild.

I could have found both vets extremely annoying. But as it was, with an ugly vulture in the cage next to mine, and a prehistoric egret two doors down, I was actually glad to hear a human voice.

How much time had passed? What day was it?

"Seen the headlines?" the brunette asked me, as if in answer to my question.
Sometimes, not always, if you ask questions you want answers to, the universe will respond.
It was the evening edition newspaper that she held in her hands, and it confirmed that I'd been asleep way too long. "'Father Claims Hawk Led Searchers to Lost Boy.'" She smiled at me, then summed it up.
"You da bird!"
The vets chuckled. They didn't know this was no laughing matter. They didn't understand . . .
It hit me, right at that moment. I'd messed up big time. That headline .. . the kiss of death . . . if the Yeerks found me first. . .
I was stupid. So stupid!
Any time you get an animal doing unusual stuff, you get Yeerks. To Yeerks, all animals are suspects, possible "Andalite bandits" disguised in morph.
This was bad. What was I thinking?
My friends, they'd be looking for me, too. I'd endangered our own security. By trying to fight Taylor's ghost, I'd dragged my friends into danger.
Stupid. Weak.
I had to morph! Morph and get out before . . .
But no. I couldn't morph in front of the vets. And there were video cameras, mounted up in the corners of the lab, recording everything.
Who'd get to me first?
"What's he doing? Flapping his wing? Hey, he's gonna get hurt. Chloe, quick! We need to sedate him."
Sedate me?
I fell back to the floor of the cage and lay motionless.
No way would I be sedated.
Not with two groups looking for me. Two groups I knew would take that headline very seriously.
Group One: my friends.
Group Two: my enemies.
"Wait," the vet said. "Forget it. He calmed down. He's fine. I don't know what that was about."
"Okay, Superbird. Stay out of trouble. We'll see you in the morning."
They were going away? They were leaving me here!
Why did everyone leave? Why . . .
They walked to the door, switched off the main fluorescent overheads, deadbolted the door behind them.
They were going home. They had homes to goto.
They were leaving me to face my fate alone.
The room was cold and sterile. Sick and injured birds squawked and cooed in the partial darkness.
Alone.
And all I could do was wait.

S ccreeeeech!
The sound jarred me from a restless halfsleep. I looked at the clock: 1:12 A.M. Scanned for the source of the sound.

For a moment, glowing metal blinded my sensitive hawk vision. When my sight returned, the lock on the door was sizzling. Evaporating . . .

Behind the door, heavy, punishing footsteps slammed down the hallway. A sound that meant only one thing.

Hork-Bajir.
The door burst open.
Tseew! Tseew!
Seven-foot-tall bladed bodies charged into the room! Video cameras disintegrated in flashes of Dracon fire.

No time to morph!
I pressed myself to the back of the cage. Tried to cover my reddish tail, tried to pretend I wasn't there.
They were on me instantly, scowling with fiery eyes. Holding weapons to my head.
"You mine, Andalite!" asserted the Hork-Bajir with the worst breath. "Visser Three will give praise."
This guy obviously hadn't been on Earth very long. Getting praise from Visser Three would be like trying to stop a brushfire with a glass of water. But I wasn't about to burst his bubble.
He hefted my cage into the air and ran for the door, banging me roughly. His henchmen, two in front, two behind, surrounded him. Their weapons were drawn, their eyes were searching. They were tense as we moved into the hall. On guard. Almost as though they expected . . .
Tseew. Tseew.
Three humans appeared twenty feet down the corridor. Their Dracon rounds ricocheted off the walls.
What was going on?
Humans firing Dracons at Hork-Bajir!
Controller versus Controller?
"Drop the bird," a man with a mustache ordered. "Now!" The Hork-Bajir snorted a laugh at the wiry man. "Bird is visser's. You rebel make mistake." Quick as lightning, he raised his arm and opened fire on the humans.
The human-Controllers were agile and dove for cover. They just weren't agile enough. An abbreviated scream echoed down the hall. The mustached man vanished in a flash of light and heat, a silhouette scorched against the whitewashed wall. The other humans didn't seem to notice the loss of their comrade. Or else, they didn't care.
Only Yeerks can lose a teammate and not bat an eye.
BLAAAAM!
Four more humans coming up from behind! Slamming the Hork-Bajir before they knew what hit them.
I didn't know who to root for. Hork-Bajir or human? Visser Three or. . . who? Who were these people?
A long, sharp, Hork-Bajir blade caught my cage and lifted it. He ran swiftly toward the exit. This guy could move! Smashed over a stainless steel medical cart. Crashed into empty cages stacked against the wall.
Blocked!
Three more people! Large ones, dressed in dark leather, with straps and metal clasps covering their bodies. Bodies that blocked the exit.
My captor halted, claws screeching across the polished floor.
He turned back and moved toward a window. Three new Dracon-packing people moved in to block his path.
Surrounded!
My cage dangled precariously from the HorkBajir's blade. Aliens and humans froze in a grim, momentary standoff.
Suddenly, my captor leaped at the smallest person. A woman. It was a low move, a desperate attempt at escape. Foolish, too. The others were on him instantly.
We crashed to the floor, my cage caving beneath the Hork-Bajir's weight until the cold steel bars pressed tight against my feathers. Around me swirled a sea of hands and claws, clutching wildly. For me. The prize.
I couldn't keep track of what happened next. I just know that someone sent the cage careening across the floor. My frail, injured body tumbled like a rag in the dryer. The cage lodged under the large sink of a utility closet, my hawk body even more bruised and damaged.
I heard frantic shuffling from the fight beyond, but from my position, I could see very littie. Deafening Dracon fire was followed by a momentary stillness. Heavy footsteps marched my way. Four Hork-Bajir feet came to a halt before my cage.
"Gafrash!" one roared. A hideous appendage reached for me. I cringed, waiting to be taken again, waiting to be seized.
The Hork-Bajir arm jerked back.
The feet tensed and turned to run, but there was nowhere to go.
Because four more feet, twice as large, gigantic and familiar, landed with a thunder-thud. Rachel!
One Hork-Bajir was down. The other snatched up my cage.
<Oh, no you don't!> Rachel cried, baring her massive, flesh-tearing teeth. Her wild grizzly bear claws flashed like giant steel rigatoni and lashed my captor's arm.
<The cavalry's here, Tobias,> she huffed. <Hangon!>