Oh no! Don't drag us away from Antartica and take us to the playground of the rich and famous! Not that briar patch! -Max

Fang: When do I get out of here? Max: They say a week. Fang: So, like, tomorrow? Max: That's what I'm thinking.

For example, you go to Fuji, and there are no animal attacks. Why? And I think that gets you into the world of "The Walking Dead" or "Lost." Humans start doing some weird stuff.

There was something I needed to say. “Sorry. About before.” Fang shot a sideways glance at me, his eyes dark and inscrutable, as always. He looked back out at the water. I didn’t expect any more acknowledgment than that. Fang never- “You almost gave me a heart attack,” he said quietly. “When I saw you, and all that blood . . .” He threw a small rock as hard as he could down the beach. “I’m sorry.” “Don’t do it again,” he said. I swallowed hard. “I won’t.” Something changed right then, but I didn’t know what.

And Flock Rule Number Two is, Don't argue with Max or you'll live to regret it." I spun and stomped out to the clearing, turning back for one last jab at Dylan. "And by the way, you clearly DON'T know me better than Fang does. Do you see Fang arguing with me? No, you do not." Fang rolled his eyes.

Please, I begged silently, please do not let my last moments on earth be me crammed into a tiny boat in the dark, surrounded by mechanical singing pirates.

Honesty is always good, except when it's better to lie.