Vagabonds

Chapter Thirty-Seven: Offers and Promises

Eliza could, and the thought was terrifying. Perhaps super-strength would be useful in war against the country's enemies, but she could also imagine how wrong it could go. Her mind drifted to that man with the dragon tattoo who had grabbed her. What if he had been stronger, faster, more aggressive?

That night could have ended very differently.

What would the world look like if more people had the kind of powers that the Vagabonds had? Or even simple things like elevated smell or speed? Would people use those newfound powers for good?

Would the Government?

Tori's head was still jerking back and forth, her lips mouthing no over and over. But Eliza only had eyes for Joe. Her friend, her loyal partner who had endured so much already. She thought about the pain in his eyes when he'd seen her with Aquila, the crash of Old Betty hitting the lab.

His choice to dive back into the fight and help Aquila.

Eliza owed him the world, even if she had to burn it down to give it to him.

"Okay," Eliza said, revulsion rising in her throat like bile.

"Wonderful. I'll give you however long you need to gather the samples. But remember, Joe is running out of time. You have a few days, maybe a week, but soon the neurological effects of the virus will be irreversible."

Eliza's blood felt like sludge in her veins as she thought of trying to trick the Vagabonds, or worse, convince them to help Amile. But she had to try. For Joe.

"I'll get them to you by tomorrow," Eliza said.

"I await your call."

And then the line went dead.

"Are you crazy?" Tori whisper-shouted the moment Eliza dropped the phone from her ear. "You think she can be trusted?"

"I'm not trusting her," Eliza snapped, moving over to put an arm around Joe.

"She's got something up her sleeve, Eliza, and you're a fucking idiot if you think she doesn't."

Eliza's eyes snapped up, but she was distracted by Joe lifting his head with a murmur.

"Hey, you okay?" she asked, detesting her soft, sickbed voice, unable to help it.

Joe's eyes were haunted, layered in shadows, as if he was fighting through hell just to look at her.

"I'm scared," he whispered. "Can't you hear it? All those things, all the lights." He squinted. "It's like the world got turned up."

"It's okay, Joe, it's gonna be okay."

"I think I should go to the hospital," Joe said, putting his head back on his knees.

"Ok, we'll go to the hospital," Eliza said, ignoring Tori's incredulous expression. "We'll get you some help."

But of course, she wasn't going to take him to Scottstown Medical, because what could they do? The Joe she knew and loved would be long gone by the time they figured out what was wrong with him. No, she was going to take him to the forest and meet with Aquila. And she was going to figure out a way to deal with this, even if it meant convincing the Vagabonds to help.

Or tricking them.

Pulling Joe's arm over her shoulder, Eliza tugged him off the bed.

"Come on, let's go," she said in a soothing voice. And then to Tori, "Are you gonna help or what?"

Tori groaned before stepping forward to take Joe's other arm.

"I just want to go on record that I don't think he'd want you to do this."

"If he doesn't get cured, neither does your brother."

That was enough to make Tori shut up.

~~~

Amile hung up the phone with a slide of her finger, quietly longing for the days when cellphones snapped shut. There used to be a satisfying snick to shutting down a call that made her feel powerful.

Well, she supposed there were other reasons for her to feel powerful nowadays.

"She'll cooperate," Amile said, moving around to watch Dr. Oleander fiddle with his instruments.

"I can do it myself; I don't need that girl's help."

Amile rolled her eyes. It was so odious working with the tufted, gray-haired old misogynist. Sometimes she marveled at how much his brain had decayed after the blaze that had destroyed all his research, including the test subjects, or so they'd thought until recently. Some of the older privates shared stories of Dr. Oleander in his prime, when he was powerful and decisive and angry and brilliant. But that man was gone, diluted by the weight of failure and loss. Amile had once thought that Fitzgerald Base was as dry and dusty as the doctor's mind, a stifling place to suffocate what should have been a bright and dangerous career. Until she'd stumbled upon a YouTube video outside Howl, posted by a drunk teenager who hadn't even noticed the wingspan silhouetted against the clouds.

Even now, Dr. Oleander refused to admit that she'd done well.

Well, this woman is going to solve your mess, Doctor, Amile thought with vitriol, but she didn't say it aloud. Instead, she peered over Oleander's shoulder at the enormous monitor, upon which rotated a twisting, globular shape.

"That's the latest model?" she asked.

"This one will work, I'm sure of it," Dr. Oleander muttered. "We don't need those samples."

"Think of them as my insurance policy," Amile said, straightening.

"I don't know why you're wasting your time." There was a petulance in his voice that made Amile grit her teeth.

You're almost done with him. Almost done with all this. And then you'll move on to bigger and better things.

Amile plastered a smile on her face as she responded.

"I'm wasting my time, Doctor, because we can't have your failed experiments running amok. I'm wasting my time because if the public found out about this, we'd be shut down before you could say gene splicer." She leaned closer, gratified when he took a nervous step back. "I'm wasting my time because those five boys need to be destroyed, or else everything we're doing now will be for nothing."

"They're harmless," Dr. Oleander whined, his white hair quivering.

Amile snorted, shaking her head.

"They are quite the opposite. And I intend to make sure they stay... contained."

Dr. Oleander mumbled something unintelligible, but Amile chose not to hear it. Instead she checked her watch.

"If you'll excuse me, I have an important phone call. Carry on, Doctor, although I doubt it will do you much good."

Smirking as Dr. Oleander's eyes widened in impotent rage, Amile turned on her heel and marched out of the lab, back to her office.

In truth, she had no important call, but she dreamed of the day she would. It was easy, intoxicating even, to imagine herself on the phone with generals and media personalities, maybe even the President himself. It had been an embarrassment to be sent to Scottstown. A snub, to oversee a lab long gone derelict after the tragedy that had struck it down in its prime.

Well, look how she'd risen from the ashes.

However, no matter how big Amile's dreams were, they would never work if the boys who called themselves the Vagabonds were allowed to roam free. It was true she needed their DNA to speed up Dr. Oleander's meandering process.

But really, she needed them gone.

Clarity of mission, as her business school advisor had once said, and Amile planned to take that to heart. No mistakes. No imperfections.

And no complications.

Amile's heels clicked as she marched down the hall, accompanied by the cheerful sound of her whistling.