They're letters from Anne Orien, my aunt, to her twin brother, my dad. Most of them are about their kids. The last one, though, it's not to my dad, and it's not a letter, not a traditional one anyway. It's an email that's been printed off, and it's short.
Michelle:
I will mail you the amount of your final paycheck as promised, but I need something from you first. The police will lock the home and office down in the next few hours. I need the financials, all the journals from my brother, and any other documents you can find. A lot of them are probably in Don’s briefcase. Send me everything to this PO Box. I'll arrange to have it collected in a way that won't lead anyone to us. Delete this as soon as you receive it and empty your cache.
Best,
Anne Orien
I sit up and gasp. “We're trying to use my blood to do something my dad never intended. He knew it would only work as a preventative, not a cure. But he had a cure, and it wasn't my antibodies. His cure was the hacker virus. Only, that was a dead end.”
“I know,” Sam says.
“But what if it's not a dead end? What if we could identify the partner of my dad's, the one who might have set him on fire, the one who must have stolen the final two strains of the hacker virus?”
Sam tilts his head.
“My Aunt has the financial files, like the partnership agreement. She must have them because this email says so. I've read the journals, but I wasn't sure where the hacker virus went until I saw my dad's last journal, the one from his safe. It said the last two samples were in his lab, which means his partner stole them after killing him.”
“We need to go and get it,” Sam says. “Rafe will have to agree. We need to get to Port Gibson right away.”
“If we can find this partner and locate the hacker virus,” I say. “Then—“
Sam interrupts. “We could finally cure every single Marked kid on the planet, including Rafe.”
Yes we could. We could even save Sam's horrible little brother.
10
Sam uses the handcuffs on his wrists to bang on the bars. After Sean runs through the door, his eyes widen. “Why are your cuffs off? What's going on?”
Sam's dealing with Sean, which gives me time to watch Job. He doesn't move a hair, not even an involuntary flinch in response to the banging Sam’s doing and Sean's reactionary yelling. I'm going to insist on medical treatment when Amir shows up.
“Technically, my cuffs aren't off.” Sam shakes his hands, and the cuffs spin around his wrists. He only snapped the chain connecting them.
“It's not what you think, okay?” I hold up a letter. “I read some old correspondence and discovered something Rafe's going to want to hear.”
Amir shakes his head and leaves. Sean presses his lips together before exhaling heavily and ducking back out of our holding room.
A few moments later, Rafe's signature Mohawk bobs through the door. “What's so important that you need to see me?” he asks.
“First, Job is not alright. After murdering his sister, you could at least take precautionary measures to ensure that he doesn't die too.” I point at where he's still as a statue, arms no longer bound behind him but still held together near his lower back. His head's down and no part of him moves. “He's in shock and I'm worried about him. His blood flow is bad. Look how pale he is. If he dies of grief I'll kill myself, I swear I will. I'll find some way to do it, and every last one of your people will die.”
Rafe snorts. “Stupid melodrama. I should've known.” He shakes his head. “I'm leaving.”
Sam speaks softly. “We called for you because we know where to find the hacker virus. It's an actual cure, not a shot in the dark. Not kids trying to conduct science experiments that are way over their heads.”
Rafe snorts. “How stupid do you think I am? You've found a pie in the sky and you want me to what? Let you chase after it? Oh I know, the information you need is back home in Port Gibson? The very place you recently asked me to let you go?”
Sam frowns. “I don't think you want me to answer that question.”
“You aren't going anywhere to search for some miracle cure I hadn't heard of before I threw you into a cell,” Rafe says.
“I told you about it before,” I say, “or if you read through the journal you stole from me, you'll read where my dad talks about it. It's a virus that consumes other viruses, but isn't harmful to the human body. My father had been testing it with no negative side effects on animals, and was requesting human trials. He was confident enough in it that he injected himself with it when he caught the virus he called Triptych. We now call that virus Tercera. And the hacker virus ate Triptych up and spit it out. It healed him.”
“It took you two forty-five minutes to come up with that story?” Rafe rolls his eyes. “Or was that just how long it took for my pathetic big brother to forgive you?”
I slam one hand into the bar on my cage. “You deserve to die Rafe, but your people don't. I'm trying to help them and I'm not lying about this. Read the journal. We're not making it up.”
Rafe grins. “Let's say this is true and there may be evidence of some other cure somewhere. What are the odds it survived ten years without anyone realizing it? If it's a virus, it's long since dead. I'm not going to sit back and watch as the best lead we've found in ten years walks away from our camp.”
“I am your best bet,” I say. “But not because of my blood or my plasma. I'm your best bet because for the first time in a decade, I'm digging up answers to what really happened back then. Answers that explain how we can fix the nightmare that started when my dad's greedy partner killed him. Sticking me in a cell is like anchoring Christopher Columbus to the ocean floor a hundred miles from the Americas. Or not letting him sail beyond Puerto Rico.”
“What exactly do you want me to do, your royal whatsnot?”
“First and foremost, I want a medical kit for Job and the chance to treat him. Sean cut the ties on his hands and he didn't even move. He's not a threat to anyone but himself right now, and you know it.”
“Correction,” Rafe says. “He wasn't a threat before you told him about Rhonda. Now he's a wild card who, for all I know you concocted this plan with as a way to attempt to break out.”
“You are so bad at reading people,” I say. “But in any case, Job's no good to you dead. He's also your head scientist unless my uncle frees my aunt and they're crazy enough to come back and try to help you after what you've done.”
“You want me to take care of Job? That's it?”
“It's a start,” I say. “We also need something to eat and maybe some blankets. Potty breaks would be nice, too.”
“Potty? Like the training of a two year old?” Rafe leans against the doorway. “And if I give you food, and potty breaks, and take care of Job, you'll sit here contently and let my people draw blood whenever they want?”
I nod. “Yes, I will. But you're moronic if you don't follow this lead.” I hold the letter up so he can see it. “This is an electronic message from my aunt to the lady who managed my dad's business affairs. Aunt Anne asked her to send every piece of information from my dad's office and computer to her home. The woman wanted to be paid, so she did it.”
“So what?” Rafe asks.
“That paperwork must be with Ruby's aunt in Port Gibson,” Sam says. “Donovan's journals make it clear his partner stole Tercera, but we're virtually certain he also stole the hacker virus. If we can find paperwork saying who he is, we can track down where it went.”
“What are the odds the partner’s even alive?” Rafe asks.
“Good,” I say. “If he stole the cure. I don't know why he didn't sell it, but I want to find out.”
Rafe sighs. “I was young when Mom died and I hadn't gone to much school, but she taught me things in her final year, as much as she could. And she made me read. Just last week I read this phrase: a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush. It means if you caught a bird, you shouldn't trade it for two that are loose, because they'll probably
just fly away and leave you with nothing. This magical virus you're talking about, even if what you're saying is true, could be gone. Or it could not be effective against Tercera, or it could have been initially but not in the long run. The partner could be dead already, and any cure he had long lost. Who knows whether this will amount to anything at all, even if you follow it to the end of the line.”
“You'd rather not know?” I ask.
Rafe grins. “I think I'll hang on to my two swallows, thanks. You aren't going anywhere, not for a very long time.” He walks toward the door, but turns back with a smile. “I'll think about those potty breaks, but I imagine things will get pretty uncomfortable for you two if I refuse. And with the way I feel about you, Ruby, I like that idea.”
I want to slap the grin off his face.
Food shows up an hour later. Job doesn't touch his because he still isn't moving. An hour after that, Sean brings a bucket and drops it in front of our cell.
“It finally stopped raining,” Sean says. “Boss said to take you outside.”
“What's the bucket for?” I ask.
Sean opens the door and waves me out. He tosses the bucket inside the cell. “Bucket's for the one we think might break free. You get that potty break you wanted.” Sean walks me outside to squat in the bushes in front of a crumbly apartment building, but at least he turns away while I go. The sun's setting on the horizon, and between that and the rain, the temperature’s dropping. I wish he'd stand more than five feet away, but it's better than a bucket twelve inches from Sam.
“This sucks,” I say.
Sean frowns. “I know and I'm sorry.”
“Help me,” I say. “We've got a chance to find an actual cure, but Rafe's too blinded by anger to listen.”
Sean shakes his head. “I think the way he's treating you is unfair. My guess is that he's jealous of how much his brother cares about you and that's clouding his judgment. Even so, I don't disagree with him about the virus. We've got something right now that's treating Tercera. Why chase after some unicorn?”
WHOMP.
Sean and I both turn toward the noise like a muted explosion that came from far west of the city. We run under a tree to take cover. Whomp, whomp, whomp. Objects slam into the ground around us, the closest only a few feet away. Hundreds of tiny objects fly across the sky in front of us, illuminated by the setting rays of the sun.
“What's going on?” I ask.
Sean shrugs. “I have no idea, but it looks like we're under some kind of attack.”
The tin can looking object that landed on the ground nearby hisses, and orange gas seeps out alarmingly fast, spilling out around us and mushrooming to fill the space around our ankles in a twenty-foot radius. Sean drags me toward the pawnshop and pulls me inside. Neither of us talks and I assume that like me, he's holding his breath. Of course, with a broken window in the front room and a cracked door, being indoors doesn't help much. Orange smoke slowly filters into the interior of the building. Sean unlocks the cell and shoves me inside.
Sam pulls his shirt up over his face, and reaches over to pull mine up, too. “Don't breathe any more than absolutely necessary.” He steps up on a shelf. “Get up as high as you can. The gas is sinking down toward the floor.”
I nod and do as he says. Sean does the same, climbing up on a stool outside the bars. I notice Job still hasn't moved.
“Sean, open his cell. I'll bring him into ours, but we've got to get him off the floor!”
I hop down from the chair and walk toward the door.
Sam lifts me from behind and sets my feet back up on the shelf. He shakes his head at me and then turns to Sean. “Move.”
Sean's eyes bulge with fear, but he hops down and unlocks Sam's door. Sam slams Sean in the face with his elbow and Sean crumples.
I scamper to follow Sam, orange smoke swirling around my legs. Sam lifts Sean up as easily as I'd lift a sack of potatoes, and sets him on the top shelf of the large built in bookcase in our cell. He lifts the hunting knife out of Sean's belt sheath and closes the door, locking Sean inside.
Sam opens Job's cell and tosses him over his shoulder. Sam inclines his head toward the back of the room. I grab my duffel in case I need that email or anything else, and throw it over my shoulder.
I shake my head. “We can't get out there. There's not even a door.”
Sam grins, and when we reach the back of the room, he kicks the wall repeatedly until it crumbles away amid a chorus of chirps and squeaks. “Rat nest. I could smell it and I knew they'd weaken the wall.”
I shudder, but I shove my duffel through first, widening the gap. Then I hunker down and climb through the hole Sam kicked out. The smoke's actually clearing already outside, and I hope we didn't doom Sean to a miserable death by locking him inside. Sam pushes Job's arms toward me, and I drag him through slowly, a few inches at a time, heaving and yanking.
Once I finally get him through, I prop him up against the wall of the building and pat his cheeks. “You've got to snap out of it Job. I need you.”
Job's eyes rise to mine. “What do you need?”
“We need to go now. Rafe's trapped us here, but we need to help your mom. She's in trouble. Do you understand?”
Job nods and stands up.
Sam crawls through, tossing a squirming rat aside when he stands.
I gag. “Let's hope that orange gas isn't toxic and that we don't catch leprosy or something from those rats.”
“Any idea what it is?” Sam asks Job.
Job inhales deeply, and I thump his chest. “Don't try to breathe it, idiot!”
He shakes his head. “It doesn't smell. That's a good sign. Mustard gas is sweet and spicy, according to victims of World War One. They smelled it when it evaporated. That's where it got its name. Most blister agents smell good.” He stands up. “Other gases, blood agents, almost all smell bad like rotten eggs, apples or garlic.”
“Carbon monoxide doesn't have a smell,” I say.
“It wouldn't hurt anyone like this, where it can quickly diffuse.” Job shakes his head. “No, the real risk here is a nerve agent. Most of them are odorless, but we'd also have started twitching already with all the ones I've heard of. I don't know what it is.”
“I do.” Rafe steps out around the front of the building. “It's an air-borne accelerant. Looks like Ruby's extra days didn't stop WPN after all. We've all got about a week left, I'd say.”
“How could you possibly know it's accelerant?” I ask.
Rafe walks around the corner, and I follow. He picks up the can Sean and I fled from. He tosses it at me.
I miss, but Sam's fast. He reaches down low and snags it. Sam rotates the can to show me the side of it, which reads: Dying slowly is a curse the accelerant will free you from.
“You got what you wanted,” Rafe says. “You can leave. Look for the hacker virus, or don't. We're dead either way.”
I shake my head. “This is not what I wanted, none of this is. But we will find my dad's partner, and once we do, I'm hoping we'll find that virus. If we do, we'll race back with it. Not to save you, but for your people. That's a promise.”
“Who do you think did this?” Sam asks.
Rafe shrugs, his eyes lifeless, his countenance devoid of any emotion. My heart orders me to hug or comfort him in some way, but my mind refuses. He killed Rhonda. He deserves this and more.
I shouldn't say it, but I can't help myself. “I might have left WPN too soon.”
Rafe meets my eye and nods. “Maybe you did, and if so that's on me. Either way this is my fault.”
The admission doesn't satisfy me. Actually, it feels like I imagine it would feel to kick a baby goat.
“I hope this didn't come from WPN,” Sam says.
Because if it did, it means Adam and Josephine aren't managing very well. I only just met my brother and mom. “I hope everyone is okay back in Galveston.”
Sam nods. “Me, too. Losing family sucks.” He may mourn the loss of family and Rafe’s impending doom,
but he doesn't extend comfort to Rafe either. After a long, awkward pause, Rafe turns around and walks away.
11
Not everyone in camp takes the news as calmly or quietly as Rafe. The shouts and crying don't drive me out of town, but if I weren't already leaving they might. One person we pass isn't crying. She isn't shouting, or pulling her hair out, either.
“Ruby,” Libby says.
My heart expands. Libby's holding baby Rose, the first baby my blood ever cured. Her sweet face is unmarked, clear. Her tiny pink hand is in her mouth, drool covering her fingers and running down her arm. It sounds disgusting, but the rightness of it fills a hole in my chest.
“Libby and Rose. I'm so sorry about all this.” I reach out and touch Rose's strawberry blonde head, stroking her tiny curls.
Libby shakes her head. “It's not your fault. In fact, I didn't think I'd last a week after Rose's birth. I'd been off the suppressants a long time and here I am, a few sores but otherwise okay. Your blood might not have cured me, but it saved my baby, and it knocked Tercera back on its butt. I'm forever grateful.” A tear runs down her cheek. “You gave me the one thing I had lost any hope for. Time with my daughter.”
“May I?” I ask.
Libby passes Rose to me and I worry she'll cry. Rose squirms a little and her face turns red, but then she toots and her face returns to newborn pink. I laugh. “She seems to be doing well.”
“I've been able to nurse her, even,” Libby says. “I was worried at first, but she loves it and so do I.”
I thought holding her would feel like holding a football, or a bag of beans. She weighs about the same, but the difference is indescribable. Rose is warm and she coos, and holding her wraps a bandage around my battered heart. This is the reason I waited, for Rose. I need to help her and her mother and the other Marked kids. Rafe was wrong to shoot Rhonda, but I’m right to keep helping the Marked anyway. My biological father and his minions wanted to wipe them all out, but we still need to give them the best shot we can at a good life. Even now, reeling from Rhonda’s loss, I’ll race after any chance we have at a cure as fast as I can.
Sins of Our Ancestors Boxed Set Page 61
