Luke caught up with her as he looked through the backpack, but he didn't say anything.
The grumbling in Lucy's stomach forced her to stop and sit somewhere so she could eat. She pulled the pack away from him and rummaged through it. "Found some sandwiches and drinks." She tossed the sandwich and a coke at him and looked for her own.
Luke turned the sandwich over in his hand, then sniffed it and tossed it aside. "It's rotten. Egg salad doesn't keep well without refrigeration."
Right, the fridge lost power. Damn it.
She set down her own sandwich and pulled out some cans of stew. "These should be fine. They even have a pull lid. At least something went right."
Luke didn't reach for the can she offered him. He kept his arms crossed over his shoulders. "How long's this going to last us? A day? Two if we nibble?"
Great, grumpy Luke is back. "What the hell, Bro? Where's the logic here? You're not going to eat the food we have, because we don't have enough to last some unspecified period of time? We need food now. We'll eat a bit to gain our strength back, and save some for later. We need to survive while we look for a way to escape. Unless you have a better idea!"
Frustration mounted as her normally cheerful brother scowled at her. He didn't budge, or eat, or respond to her questions. Her hand clenched the rotten sandwich next to her and she threw it at his face. Bits of rotten egg salad squished through the plastic wrap and splattered onto his face.
"What's your problem?" His muscles tensed in anger as he used his shirt to wipe his face.
Her suppressed anger at Luke's behavior bubbled up to the surface. She stood and paced in front of him, jabbing her finger at him to make her point. "You're my problem. Ever since we got stranded here, you've been moody and depressed—no help at all. I'm the one who found us water, and food, and all you do is mope around and complain. No, I don't have all the answers. I don't know where we're going to sleep tonight or what we'll eat in two days, but I'm doing my best to make sure we survive."
“Survive?” Luke's voice shook with disdain. “You know who didn’t survive? Those people in that plane. You killed a man yesterday, and you’re acting like nothing happened.”
A sob choked in her throat. Was he seriously mad at her for killing Robert? "He was torturing you. I saved your ungrateful life."
"I wasn't dead yet. There were other choices."
Lucy sunk to the ground, despair clawing at her. She couldn't erase from her mind the way Robert's eyes had looked as he lay dying, but she also couldn't get over the way her brother had screamed as Robert tore his body apart with his powers.
She hadn't known a better way to handle it.
Luke pawed through her backpack and pulled out a bottle of Rum. "I'm outta here. Meet you back at the beach later."
And with that, he took off, leaving her alone in the middle of the jungle so he could go drown his sorrows in alcohol.
Nice, Luke. Real classy.
They'd fought lots of times—all of their lives, really—but never like this. Disbelief fought a war in her mind with memories of her brother. This wasn't like him, but she couldn't do anything to fix Luke right now.
She had bigger problems—like making sure they survived, finding a way out, and finishing their mission.
After all, they still had some kids to save.
Chapter 69 – Drake
Drake slugged another mouthful of cheap vodka and waited for the burn to dull his pain. The abandoned apartment building he'd holed-up in stank like shit and piss and vomit, but he didn't care. He sat on an old mattress with his back against the wall and watched the void where a door had once hung.
Every second of existence tore at him until even alcohol couldn't bury the feelings. The place in his chest where his powers had once lived now felt empty, like the core of a rotten apple. Even when Dr. Pana had tied him to a hospital bed and drained him of his powers, he hadn't felt this helpless. There, he'd known it would end. His powers hadn't been destroyed, just blocked. He hadn't felt empty, just useless.
He'd been so naive to think it couldn't have gotten any worse.
Sam was out there somewhere, fighting to keep their baby safe while her father still hunted her. And what am I doing, loser that I am? Running away. What good am I without my powers? I couldn't keep them safe, so they were better off without me.
The lies he told himself did nothing to silence the guilt.
When he'd drained the last drop of vodka from his bottle, he smashed it against the wall, and left his hiding spot to search for more. He counted the money he had left: five dollars and some change. What the hell could he buy with five bucks? Nothing strong enough to get the job done, that was for sure.
The moon hung heavy in the sky as Drake walked the empty streets. He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen the sun. It seemed a lifetime ago. Memories of warm rays and the splash of cold salt water haunted him. Vampires lived like this for centuries, outcasts relegated to the shadows of life. Drake finally understood why these beings fascinated so many people. Their plight gave form to the empty death that lived inside him.
A homeless man's cough brought him back to the present. The man sat against a garbage dumpster, tucked under a newspaper blanket. Drake didn't care about the smell or the trash; he only noticed the paper bag-wrapped bottle in the man's hands.
He mustered as much authority as he could now that he'd lost his powers of mind control. "I'll give you five bucks for that bottle."
The man looked up at Drake and back down at the bottle. His face looked like an ancient map that had been written on so many times the lines all blurred together. He smacked his lips, took another swig and then held the bottle out with a cackle.
Before Drake could take it, the man yanked it back and rubbed his fingers together in the universal sign for money.
Drake sighed and pulled out the last of his cash.
They traded at the same time, and the man cackled again as he stuck the money into some hidden compartment in his clothes.
The bottle felt light. Too light. Drake tilted it to his lips, but only a drop of amber liquid fell into his mouth. Rage fed him as he threw the bottle to the right of the man's head.
The man cried out as jagged bits of glass flew into his face. Drake lifted his fist to punch him, but the man held up his arms and squealed. Fear filled his eyes, and his lips smacked together. When his mouth opened, Drake saw why the man didn't speak.
He had no tongue.
Drake's anger drained out of him in a flash, and he slumped against the trash bin. Could he really beat a helpless man because he'd stolen five dollars?
The man pulled out the money and gestured for Drake to take it back, but Drake ignored him and ran down the street and around a corner.
He pushed his body to run as fast and as hard as he could. Lack of food and too much alcohol had made him slow—weak—but he didn't stop. His lungs burned, his muscles weakened to the point of collapse, but still he ran.
He turned down an alley and stopped. Three men beat a scrawny blond-haired boy to the ground.
The biggest man, inked up like a gangsta and wearing pants too big for him, punched the kid in the face and screamed, "You better give me those vials, you piss-ant little shit, or I'll beat you until you can't walk. That drug is worth more than your life, so hand it over."
His two lackeys circled the boy, kicking him and egging on their leader.
The boy cried and curled into a ball. He couldn’t have been older than twelve. "I don't know what you're talking about. I don't have anything."
Another punch. "Yo, my homey here saw you. So don't be lying to us. We got to account for all those vials, and you don't even know what you got messed up in. Those drugs, they seriously mess people up—like, superpowers and shit. I'm not letting some piece of shit like you stop me from doing my job. Hand 'em over."
The boy couldn't take it much longer, but Drake wasn't a superhero anymore. Still, this drug had him curious. Could there be a drug that brought o
ut para-powers?
He charged in, pushing back the three gangsters and pulling the kid out of the way. "Run!"
The fight was a blur. Drake had neither super strength nor mind control. His basic skill and strength bought him a few minutes, but in the end the street thugs overwhelmed him.
After too many blows to count, they left him lying in the alley, bleeding and aching with broken ribs. Drake coughed, and blood spewed out of his mouth. Maybe worse than just broken ribs.
He pulled himself to the wall and tried to sit up, but the pain stopped him. Every move seemed to cause a new break or tear in his now-fragile body. Before he could make it to the wall, a new kind of darkness wrapped around him, and he faded into nothing.
Chapter 70 – Sam
I'd expected labor to be different. I knew it would hurt, but the length and boredom surprised me.
The contractions came like clockwork—each more painful than the last—but I didn't know what to do with myself in between. Sketchpad in hand, I'd already drawn everyone who walked into the room. I drew every day to prepare for the art program at the University of Washington, if they accepted me—and if they gave me a scholarship, since I'd lost all the money Rent-A-Kid had promised me.
Robyn arrived as promised and read to me from some book, though I couldn't concentrate at all. She gave up after a while and turned on the television.
Is this what women did during labor? Watch Friends reruns? Click. Click. Click. Something decent had to be....
My hand froze. An image of Drake filled the screen.
What is Drake doing on television? Here I was, trying not to think of him, and the Universe shoved him in my face.
A man and woman sat in overstuffed chairs and argued about a video playing in the background. Brad's video blog. The woman scoffed. "Clearly this has been doctored. Our government would not allow people with powers like this to run around making home movies."
The man frowned. "You really think a government that can't even rein in normal criminals has any control over this? You're more naive than you look."
They continued to argue, and all I could do was stare at Drake's bulging muscles as he lifted a car over his head. Did Brad know his vlog had made the news and talk show circuit?
The man held up newspaper clippings and shoved them at the woman. The camera zoomed in on the headlines. "Angry ten-year-old sets fire to entire class.... Overactive toddler freezes teacher to death.... Three-year-old throws temper tantrum and destroys apartment complex."
The pretty woman sneered. "Those are sensationalized headlines from tabloids. There's absolutely nothing newsworthy there. That stuff isn't even possible. You've been watching too much X-Men."
Drake's body stood suspended in time while they argued, his smile secretive and intimate. He'd been smiling at me when Brad had shot this moment. I remembered what I'd been thinking, the way Drake had kissed me....
I clicked off the television and slumped into bed, fighting tears. I tried not to think of Drake, but couldn't push him out of my mind. He should have been here. I hated the thought of our daughter being born without him.
My thoughts wandered, and for a moment, I could have sworn that he really sat there beside me. My throat clogged with tears. "Drake?"
His form solidified, and confusion passed over his features. I reached for him, my tears finally forcing themselves free. "Drake."
But, no. Just Robyn.
"I'm sorry, Sam. I didn't mean to. Your projections of him were so strong, and I'm still getting control of my powers."
Oh my God. Robyn had turned into Drake for a split second. She was a shapeshifter and chameleon, but new to the para-power game.
The urge to ask her to turn into Drake again all but overpowered me. But it wouldn't really be him, and it would only tear apart my heart even more. I had to move on and accept my life as a single mother, and not cling to the illusion of what could have been.
"It's okay, Robyn. I understand. How are things going with your studies and para-powers?" Maybe talking about someone else would take my mind off of my own problems.
She smiled. "Thanks for understanding. They're going well. I'm obviously still learning to control it, but I'm able to shift more easily."
Our new school had settled into a routine fairly quickly. We all needed something that felt normal, and classes and assignments seemed to help. Still, the loss of many students and teachers—those who had died during the rebellion and escape—lingered over our days like a fine mist, settling on us all from time to time.
At least Robyn seemed happy with her new boyfriend, Norm. Being around them, or around Greg and Gary—or pretty much any couple—made me crumble. But I didn't begrudge them their joy, glad that someone had it.
My contractions increased in duration and frequency, and all talking ceased. I could only focus on my body and the birth. When the cycle of pain drove me to tears over and over, Susie joined us in the room, called for support, and prepped me for full-on labor.
"Haven't I been in labor the whole time?" It sure as hell felt like it.
Her cool hand rested on my forehead for a moment. "Yes, but now we're at the end. The baby's ready. This is when we get serious."
If what I'd been feeling wasn't serious, I didn't want to know what serious was.
Another contraction burned in me and ripped away all thoughts. The pain gripped me and rode me hard. How did women ever do this more than once?
I linked minds with my baby. She didn't have words, but I sensed her nonetheless. "Ana, baby, it's not time yet. Please, wait a little longer."
Ana didn't listen. She pushed her way through my body as if she were clawing her way out.
Oh my God, what if she really does have claws? The thought made me nauseous, but surely Susie would have caught that in the ultrasound. It struck me as ironic that the evil nurse from the Rent-A-Kid clinic that had imprisoned me shared a name with the amazing woman who helped me now.
"Susie, this hurts so bad! I can't push again. I just can't."
"You have to, Sam. We have to get her out. Just breathe and... push!"
I pushed through the contraction, struggling to breathe.
Then another consciousness settled into me. I felt him there.
"Drake."
Chapter 71 – Drake
When consciousness finally came, it took its time and wrapped Drake in a gauzy, white cocoon. Pain moved in next, slowly, bringing an awareness of each part of his beaten body. Nothing made sense. Images and memories and thoughts jumbled together in his mind.
Where am I? What happened?
He cracked his eyes open and found another set of eyes staring at him—brown eyes in a small, swollen face. The boy. He'd tried to save the boy, and had gotten his ass kicked.
So much for being a superhero.
The boy scooted back when he saw Drake's eyes flutter open. "Are you crazy, mister? They could'a killed you."
For some reason, Drake found that funny, but when he tried to laugh, sharp spikes pierced his lungs. All humor vanished. "They looked like they were killing you. What did you take from them?"
The kid's eyes jerked back and forth like a hunted animal. "I didn't take nothing, yo. I swear it."
Each breath, each word, felt like it was stealing another moment of life, but Drake had to know about the drug. "Well, they sure think you did. Look, kid, I'm not going to hurt you. Do you think I'd get myself nearly killed just to pick up where they left off?"
The boy tugged on his torn, dirty shirt. "Guess not."
"Okay, then. So we agree. I'm not going to hurt you. Why don't you try telling me the truth?" Years of living with the knowledge that people would do whatever he wanted had given Drake a certain confidence. Even if the loss of his powers had shaken that confidence, his charisma still encouraged people to answer him. "If you're in some kind of trouble, I might be able to help you. But you have to trust me."
The boy's eyes swelled with tears as he moved closer. "It's my mom. She's, like, real
sick. And I heard this drug might give her, or me, some extra... I don't know... powers. Maybe it would help her. I didn't know what else to do."
Could it be? "Do you have the drugs with you?"
The kid shook his head. "I hid 'em. You know, in case they came after me."
Drake sighed in relief. "Good job. Very clever. Now, listen carefully. I do have certain powers. And if you can get me some of those drugs, I can heal myself and help you and your mom, okay?"
The boy frowned. "You ever done 'em before?"
"No."
"Then how do you know? You playin' me, man? Trying to steal from me?"
"Kid, what would have happened to you if I hadn't fought those guys?"
He looked down. "Dunno. Probably be dead."
"Right, so maybe I am trying to help? What's your name?"
"Toby."
"Toby, I'm Drake, and I really can help you. But you've got to get me that drug, okay?"
Toby nodded and took off down the alley. Drake tried to stand, but his legs wouldn't hold. He desperately hoped this drug would bring back his powers. It seemed unbelievable, but he would grab at any straw to protect his family again.
Pockets of time blurred together as Drake faded in and out of consciousness. The pain, so sharp at first, ebbed—still there, but not such a big deal. He wondered if he was dying, but had a hard time caring either way. The only things that kept him tethered to the pain—to life—were Sam and their baby. If he died, he would never be able to help them, and Sam would forever think him the worst kind of human being for abandoning them.
Toby finally returned, and Drake fought through the numb lure of death's call, despite how desperately he wanted his miserable life to end.
The kid handed him a vial full of blue fluid. "I only got three. You try one and we'll see what happens."
"Do I just drink it?"
"Man, I don't know. Maybe. I ain't never seen no one take it, just heard about it."
What do I have to lose? Drake emptied the vial into his mouth and swallowed.
Nothing happened. He slumped down in disappointment. Too good to be true.
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