The Forbidden Trilogy(147)

The lecture exhausted Lucy, but she wasn't going to let their only chance at food escape. She reached up into the trees and tried to catch it. It stared straight at her, as if it knew what she was thinking, and then fluttered away, stretching its long, beautiful wings as it flew. It was even bigger than she'd first thought, and its wings glittered in the sunlight.

Luke also watched as it flew away. "Weird. You're right, that's not like any moth I've ever seen. It kind of looks like an Attacus Atlas, but even those don't get that big. They have beautiful wings, but not in jewel tones—more maroon to tawny. Besides, they're only found in the tropical areas of Southeast Asia. I have no idea what that was, but it was amazing."

Hunger pangs made it hard to think, but a part of her was glad she'd failed at catching the creature. Something so beautiful should not be torn from the world. Then again, beauty wasn't the only criteria of worth. One of the most amazing beings she'd ever met would not be considered beautiful by any stretch, but he should never have been torn from this world, either.

Adam. A tear slid down her cheek as she thought of her friend. They'd only known each other briefly, but he'd died to save her. He'd been part of that horrible lab in Russia, where creatures that were part man, part beast spent their lives in locked rooms, stared at and poked and prodded by scientists. But Adam had been special. He'd been her friend.

Luke wrapped his arm around Lucy's shoulders. "You thinking about Adam?"

She nodded. "How'd you know?"

"Sam may be the only mind reader, but I know you like I know myself. Maybe better sometimes. Think our butterfly was a mutant?"

She sniffled and wiped a stray tear. "Don't know. Maybe. Or maybe you don't know bugs like you think you do."

Luke ruffled her already messy hair. "Them's fighting words, Sis."

The jungle creaked around them and Lucy stood and smiled, grateful for the distraction of her brother. "Sorry, I only fight guys who can give me a real challenge."

Luke stretched his long, lean body, like a panther, then pounced. Lucy shrieked and ran from his mock attack, leading them deeper into the jungle.

Their games were short lived, as neither had the stamina to keep up, but the dark mood that Luke had been carrying seem to have lifted, and Lucy relaxed and linked arms with him as they walked. No more doom and gloom—time to get serious about the food business.

The sun caught the glint of something metallic in the ground, and Lucy bent to examine it. She pulled a bit of metal from the mossy ground. Its jagged edges looked torn apart.

She handed it to Luke, who examined it and said, "Hmm... guess there are humans here somewhere. Or were. Wonder what it's from."

They kept walking over a small hill, and discovered the source—the plane they'd jumped from the night before.

Luke's breath hitched and his body turned hard and still. "Let's get out of here. I don't want to be here."

The plane had nearly broken in half, now sewn together by a few random bits of metal—like some kid's toy that got dropped and stepped on.

But it was real, and there would be dead bodies on it.

Lucy wanted to flee, to get away from everything the plane represented and all the memories it called to the surface. But pragmatism won out. Or hunger. She needed food, and the plane had food. She shoved down all memories and insecurities, and put up an emotional wall that allowed her to stay focused.

"I'm not leaving without food. Plus, there might be a way to contact someone, a radio or something. It could be our only chance to get help."

She walked toward the plane, slowly, waiting for Luke to catch up. For several long moments, he didn't move. When she was about to turn around and coax him, or drag him, with her, he finally took a step and broke the creepy statue stance he'd been sporting.

She relaxed once he walked beside her.

The center of the plane lay open like a gutted fish. They stepped over the debris, choosing each step with care, and entered. It was well past noon, probably close to two or three in the afternoon, and the bodies had been decomposing since the night before. The smell gagged them both and forced them to cover their noses. The humid heat of the jungle—the worst possible environment for preserving a body—accelerated the decomposition.

Lucy couldn't afford to vomit, not with an empty stomach and just a bit of water. She took small, shallow breaths and ignored the stench as best she could.

Agent Morrison's body lay crumbled up in a corner, as if he'd been a used piece of paper tossed aside. His severed hand lay several feet from him, his blood brown and flaking. Lucy pushed back the memories of that moment and silenced the guilt that threatened to overwhelm her. She wished she could have stopped it, could have saved him. She wished there'd been a better choice to make.