With that, Wager laughed hysterically. Then, holding, his side, he giggled. "Sorry. Always wanted to say that." Then his expression became blank. "Though it is true."
He disappeared—leaving Bobby and the others to silently make their escape.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Caitlin Fairchild was wounded. Her body would heal. She wasn't so sure about her mind—or her soul.
She had seen Wager do things, become things, that were impossible. Worse than that, he had seen inside her. He had known her every fear and desire. And he had laughed while he held her life in his hands.
The team had regrouped in their penthouse suite. No one had spoken since the battle. Their cuts had been cleaned and dressed, and most had showered and changed into street clothes. Only Caitlin remained in her shredded and bloody battle suit. Her ribs were taped, and an I.O. tissue regenerator was hard at work on the wound in her side. She had refused to go to the hospital. Too many questions. Too few answers.
She looked to the others. Grunge sat on the couch, flipping channels. Roxy and Sarah were in their rooms, sitting on their beds, their doors open. Bobby and Joe Monteleone stood near the window, looking out at the stars.
She brought her hands up to her face, staring at the flecks of blood dotting her flesh, the bits of skin beneath her nails.
It was over. They had faced Wager and had fallen before his power. He had let them live to act as heralds. To serve as living testaments of his authority.
Look at them. See how they are broken. This is what will happen to any who stand against me…
Caitlin shuddered, hugging herself.
Grunge turned off the television. Without looking up, he said, "Maybe we should call in Mr. Majestic. Or someone."
Bobby lowered his head. "Good idea."
They're giving up, Caitlin thought. They're gonna let Wager win!
"Hold up," she said. "All right, we were blind-sided, we didn't understand what we were up against, but that doesn't mean we can't still take this scumbag down!"
The room was silent.
Again, it was Grunge who spoke first. "How?"
It was a simple question. Not a bullet from a gun, not a bolt of incredible energies fired from the hands of a power-mad god. Yet it struck her with almost as much deadly force.
Caitlin looked away, crushed by the weight of the silence that had risen up around her—and within her.
She had no answer.
Then a voice, long forgotten, rose up in her mind. In science we find the answers. Through science, we can find the key to unlock any door…
She almost smiled. Joquile Robeson. Her eighth grade science teacher. The first teacher to really take her interest in science seriously.
Why was she thinking of him now?
And why was the very idea of changing out of her bloody clothes and showering off the filth that had been left on her after the battle such a disturbing notion?
"I need time," Caitlin said. She strode off for the clean room. Her lab.
"Yeah," Bobby said. "Take all the time you need."
"Good luck," Joe Monteleone said.
Caitlin nearly hesitated at the older man's words. It wasn't his tone. She could appreciate the anger and bitterness in his voice.
Luck…
Another part of the puzzle. Yes, she was sure of it now.
A mystery lay before her. One she was certain she could solve.
She went into the clean room, locking the door behind her. She walked over the decontamination chamber and stripped off her clothing, piling the rags neatly on a metal cart nearby. Standing below the aluminum shower head, she hesitated before turning on the steaming water. The moment the waters struck the grid at her bare feet, a cleansing chemical mist would rise from below and every physical reminder of the battle—except her wounds, of course—would dissolve away.
She stared at her hands. Examined her nails.
The gasp that had escaped Wager when her clawed hand struck his face, leaving five nasty gashes came to her.
True, his skin had healed almost instantly, but…
His blood and flecks of his skin remained under her nails. She stepped out of the chamber and went to work, scraping off samples, and mounting them for one test after another.
When she was certain that she would have enough material to work with, Caitlin took her shower, her excitement rising with the steam that enveloped her perfect form.
She was in a white robe, sitting at her analysis console, when the knock came at the door. She tapped a few keys on a nearby panel and unlocked the door.
Sarah stood in the doorway. "Caitlin, what are you doing?"
"I am the key," she whispered, practically entranced by the images revealed on her many screens. "And he is the lock."
"Oh."
Caitlin was only dimly aware when Sarah left.
Half an hour later, she was back in the living room, the entire group assembled around her. Her eyes blazed with excitement. She sat cross-legged on the floor, a pile of papers in her lap. Lab read outs.
"Mr. Monteleone, how long has it been since Wager took the serum?" Caitlin asked.
"He was normal when I left," Monteleone said. "I guess it's been about six hours."
"Then it all fits." She reached into the pocket of her robe and drew out a vial filled with shining golden fluid. "I needed time to think. And I needed a chance at getting my hands on some of the original Gen-Active solution. I got 'em both."
Grunge shook his head. "Huh? I thought Wager had the last of it."
"It's in his blood," Caitlin said. "And it's in ours, too."
"But you can't extract it," Sarah said. "You told me that. The serum is bonded to our DNA."
Caitlin dug through the papers in her lap then looked up, shaking the long red hair out of her face. "Right. But I've been doing research. Actually, it's been kind of a hobby of mine for a while now. I've been analyzing blood samples from each of us, collating data, and I've come up with a theory. A bunch of theories, actually. I'm blathering. Sorry. But this is exciting."
Sarah stepped forward. "Caitlin, now."
"Yeah," Roxy said. "You're making my head spin. What's the deal with all this, anyway?"
Caitlin grinned. "The deal is, we've come to accept that there's no going back. That we're stuck with these powers for the rest of our lives."
"Yeah, no kidding," Bobby said.
Caitlin shook the vial in her hand. "I think this is an antidote. I'm pretty sure it would work. That it would take us back. Any of us. All of us. Give us our lives back."
Joe Monteleone hung his head and looked away at those words. Caitlin immediately regretted them.
"It could make us human again," Caitlin said. "Get rid of our powers."
Sarah sat down next to Caitlin and took the vial from her hand. She held it up to the light and studied it. Within, strange energies appeared to swim about, like living things. "How is that possible?"
"Don't get our hopes up for nothing," Roxy said.
Caitlin shuffled the papers in her lap once more. "I keep checking and rechecking my data, and it always comes out the same. There seems to be a kind of incubation period when the solution is introduced into people who aren't born Gen-Active. Powers appear right away, but there's a twelve-hour window of opportunity during which the Gen-Active material can still be separated out from a subject's DNA. I took the blood and skin that I'd torn from Wager and worked it until I was able to pull the two apart. With the primary material, in combination with all the data and samples I had on hand, I've been able to synthesize an antidote."
"I don't believe it," Sarah whispered.
"I've run simulations on the computer and I've tried it on my own blood sample," Caitlin said. "It worked to neutralize the Gen-Active strands in the sample. In theory, it should work on any of us, with no harmful results."
Bobby came closer. "You really mean it. You honestly think it would work?"
Caitlin nodded. "I've seen it work."
The room fell silent. Roxy got up and looked out the window, at the magnificent view of the city. "We could be the same as everyone else."
Grunge nodded. "No more secrets. No more lies."
Sarah handed the solution back to Caitlin. "I don't know. Being one with nature, riding the air… That's a lot to give up."
Caitlin touched her perfect features. "Let me tell you something. Every morning, when I wake up, I go to the mirror, and I'm still expecting to see my old self. Small. Flat. Plain. Every day, I jump when I see this looking back at me. It's not me. It's not who and what I am. When I see people staring at me I feel like I'm some kind of freak, like I'm something that isn't even human."
"That's not why they stare," Sarah said. "You're beautiful."
Caitlin tapped the side of her head. "I know that. Up here, intellectually, I know that." She tapped her chest. "But in here, in my heart, it's wrong. It doesn't track. I don't think it ever will. I could be in Penthouse—"
"Please, God, yes, please, God," Grunge chanted until Roxy smacked him on the back of the head.
"You get my point."
"I do," Sarah said. "And I agree. It's… a burden. Yes, there are benefits to these powers. But there's a price, too. We could have died today. Wager could have killed us all. And we would have died for nothing. The crime continues. People still hate. What difference does it really make if Wager controls the underworld or if it's someone else? People don't change. Human beings don't—
"Sarah," Bobby said.
She looked to him in surprise.
"Wager killed Joe's family. Joe's going after Wager." He turned to the behemoth. "Aren't you?"
Joe Monteleone nodded slowly. "I have to."
Bobby put his hand on Joe's shoulder. "Then you're not going alone." He looked to the others. "I don't know about anyone else. But I met these people. I saw the future in their eyes. Wager took that away. I don't give a god damn about anything else."
Caitlin had never seen Bobby like this. Never. For a moment, he reminded her of his father.
Sarah looked approvingly at Bobby. "You're right. I'm in."
Grunge turned to Caitlin. "You think you can come up with a plan for dealin' with this guy?"
"Yes," Caitlin said. The word surprised even her. A moment ago, she had felt so close, so ready to take the antidote.
Of course, she could have done that before returning from the clean room…
"I'll do it," Grunge said.
Roxy eyed the solution in Caitlin's hands. "We take this guy down, then we make a decision about that stuff. Deal?"
Caitlin slipped the vial back into her pocket. "Deal."
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The men met in the back room of a bar and grill. Through the door they could hear the faint sounds of business as usual—glassware clinking, silver rattling, voices raised in mealtime conversation. The scents of grilling steak and baking bread and simmering sauces permeated the room.
They paid attention to none of it. They were here for business, not a meal. There was money at stake, and lots of it.
"I want a piece of midtown," Big Tony said. "I've always had a piece of midtown, and I don't see why that would change now."
"Everything's changed now," Andreas the Greek told him, running a hand through his silver hair. "It's like Europe after the war. None of the old lines on the map mean anything with Wager in town."
"I'm tired of hearing about Wager," Big Tony said.
The other men scooted their chairs away from the table, as if expecting a bolt of lightning to strike it.
Chuck E. Bones interrupted the sudden silence. "You gonna tell him that?"
"I just might," Big Tony said.
"Right," English Neil said. "You don't mind if I take over your midtown interests when he's burned you alive then, do you? I've always rather fancied that neighborhood."
They all turned when the door opened, hands reaching under jackets and into waistbands. Seven guns were pointed at the door when a fragile-looking, dark-haired girl in a tank top, leather jacket, and spandex shorts walked in. Behind her was a broad-shouldered but short Asian-American boy, shirt open to reveal a bizarre tattoo emblazoned across his chest.
"Big Tony's right," the girl said, flipping her magenta bangs from her eyes. "You should listen to him."
"These friends of yours, Tony?" Andreas the Greek asked.
"I never seen 'em before," Tony replied. "But they talk sense."
"They ain't under anybody's protection, they're dead," Chuck E. Bones growled. He pulled the trigger of his automatic.
The other men began firing, too—except for Big Tony.
Roxy simply increased the gravity between her and the bullets, and they all dropped to the ground as if strings had yanked them down. After a minute, the firing stopped.
"Man, people are tryin' to eat dinner out there," Grunge said. "Even I can hear that racket, and my ears are like, way shot. Don't you guys have silencers?"
Roxy made an "ignore him" wave. "What my friend means is, that creep Wager is finished in this town," she said. "You don't owe him anything. He's yesterday's Go-Gurt. You go about your 'business' and, well, we might have some problems with you down the line, but oh well. For now, don't worry about Wager."
"She's nuts," Andreas the Greek said. "Or she's with him, and she's just testing us."
"Are you absolutely certain you know what you're talking about, young lady?" English Neil asked. "Are you even in the right room?"
"Unless there's some other New York crime boss meeting going on in the neighborhood," Roxy said. "I think we got the right bunch."
"Man, I'm getting' hungry just smellin' that chow, Rox," Grunge said. "Can we grab a bite or somethin' before we go?"
"I think maybe we'll eat somewhere else, Grunge," she said. "Let's let these gentlemen—and I use the term so loosely it's not even connected to anything—finish their little Cub Scout meeting."
She closed the door and they walked out through the now-empty restaurant.
"That was kinda fun, wasn't it?" she said. Grunge didn't answer. "Grunge?"
She turned around. He was busy forking a slab of rare beef from an abandoned plate and stuffing it into his mouth.
"Mwhuf," Grunge said.
Willy liked the fact that they trusted him. He was important to the operation, they always said that. Wasn't for him watching the back door, anything could happen. They'd be out of business.
Sure, it got cold and lonely. But he just tugged his cap down over his ears and put his hand inside his pocket, touched that big old strap he carried in there. Man carried, he always had a friend.
Anyway, bad as the alley smelled, piled high with trash and the sewage that flowed from a broken pipe, it didn't smell as bad as inside. People went inside were people who were hurting, people hadn't so much as looked at a shower in weeks, people in pain. Inside smelled like a hospital ward, the kind where Willy's grandma had been, where no one who was in one of the beds was ever expected to come out except in a box.
When they came out they were smiling. But they always looked worse on their next visit.
Another hour, and someone would come outside and pay Willy. He'd take his twenty bucks home and hide it in the sock with the rest of what he'd been able to save. He'd be sixteen in three years, and he planned to be able to buy a Mercedes by then.
"Hey, kid!"
He drew the .38 as he spun to see who had called him.
It was a huge red-haired woman, tallest one he'd ever seen, with legs that reached almost skyscraper high, it seemed like. She wore a tight uniform that clung to every curve she had, and there were plenty.
"No, over here," another voice said. He turned to the other end of the alley, and there was a woman with a waterfall of straight black hair cascading down her shoulders, accompanied by a young man with a blonde goatee. Like the redhead, they were all dressed in skintight uniforms of some kind. He didn't recognize the colors as any gang's that he knew of.
"Put the gun down," the
redhead said. "We're not here to hurt you or anyone else. We just want to inconvenience the operation a little bit."
"What, you think I'm just gonna let you in?" Willy said. "I fire this thing once, you'll have a dozen straps aimed at your butts."
"Then don't even think about it," the man said. He was holding one hand out in front of him, and a tendril of smoke snaked from that hand into the air, as if he were holding a chunk of burning wood.
But the hand was empty.
Willy started to worry. Maybe whoever these people were, popping a cap in them wasn't going to be good enough.
Twenty bucks was twenty bucks. He hesitated.
"Look, you'll be fine," the dark-haired one said. "I promise." They had all advanced on him, hemming him in from both sides. But she had a look on her face that he couldn't quite read. It almost looked like she cared about what happened to him. That was a sensation he wasn't used to.
"Just tell us which door it is," she said. "Just point to it."
"I ain't pointin' to nothin'," Willy said.
"Not good enough, bro," the man said. "I'm gonna burn him."
The dark-haired one threw a hand up to stop him. "No, Bobby."
"He serious?" Willy asked. "He could do that?"
"You can't imagine the things he can do," she said in reply. "Me, too." She gave him a quick smile and then raised her hands into the air. Suddenly, there was a cloud—a real cloud, like you saw up in the sky between the buildings, only it was floating in the alley ten feet over Willy's head.
A raindrop hit him on the cheek.
He pointed at a door.
Then he ran.
When he was gone, Caitlin kicked it in.
The place was a shooting gallery. Junkies turned over cash they'd borrowed, stolen, or otherwise absconded with, and in exchange were given enough drugs to keep the world at bay for another few hours, and a place to use them.
Time and Chance Page 19
