Luke stared at it as if it was poison, but then his hunger and thirst kicked in and he snatched the coconut and sucked it dry.
She showed him how to open it up so he could get to the meat. "I have more back at camp. Plus I saved your stew. But for now, drink my water. You need it."
He took the bottle and drank greedily.
"So, I know where we can get more food and water. Now we can focus on our mission. We still have all of our supplies. The base camp can't be far from here. It could even be on this island. It's huge and we've barely scaled the surface of it. We should at least try."
Luke shrugged. "Maybe."
Lucy's temper flared despite her resolve. "Maybe? What's that supposed to mean?" She stood up and faced him. "If we don't do anything, Rent-A-Kid's going to do the same thing to those kids that they did to us. Is that what you want?"
Luke threw the empty coconut against the plane, where it thudded loudly. "Well, our life wasn't so bad, was it? We had our own rooms, a bunch of cool shit. I had a sixty-inch television screen. Sixty inch! How am I supposed to get something like that now? Hmm? Maybe what we had wasn't the best, but it was pretty good. Better than getting killed." His voice broke and he stopped talking.
Lucy heard the tears in his voice. She knew he didn't really prefer their life at Rent-A-Kid over this, not after they'd killed their friends and teachers, impregnated Sam, and experimented on them. No, something else bothered her brother. "It's not your fault. What happened on that plane, what happened to those people—Rent-A-Kid did that, Beleth and his team. Not you! You can't blame yourself." She sat and put her arm around him, but he shrugged her off.
"It is my fault. Morrison died because of us. Because of me. If I'd held that shield, I could have saved him. I could've stopped those freaks from shooting everyone."
Lucy grabbed his hand, refusing to let him push her away again. "They knew the risks when they accepted this mission. Even if you hadn't been on that airplane, Rent-A-Kid would've still attacked it, and everyone would still have died. Except then, there'd be no one left to complete the mission."
Didn't he see? They had to finish what they started. They owed it to those kids and to the agents who died for this mission.
Luke's breathing calmed, and he shook his head. "But I was on the plane." He stood and walked away. "I'll see you back at camp, Sis."
She stood to follow him, but sat back down. He needed space, for now. She regretted dragging him into the plane. He hadn't been ready for that.
She dropped her head. I should've been more understanding, but still, he has to get his shit together. I can't do all of this alone.
Those kids needed them, and she needed her confident brother back.
So she'd give him his space for a bit. Then she'd sit him down and tell him that it was time to move forward. He had no choice. Neither of them did.
Chapter 73 – Drake
Drake opened his eyes, and Toby was once again staring at him, this time in awe. "You did it, man. You healed yourself. I have to get this to my mom!"
Drake shook his head to clear his mind as the kid ran off. Sam. My baby. I have to get to them.
Then another thought jolted him: the boy believed the drug would heal his mom. "Toby, wait!"
But it was too late. Toby had already reached the street and turned right, presumably toward his house.
Drake needed more of the drug. For that brief moment while the drug worked in him, he'd been whole again, and he'd heard Sam.
First, he had to stop Toby. The drug wouldn't work the same way for his mother, and Drake didn't know what damage it could cause a person who didn't have para-powers.
With full strength back, he ran after Toby. He turned right and searched the street. The boy turned left a few blocks down, so Drake sprinted to catch up. He skidded around the corner just as Toby entered a beaten-down shack a few houses up.
He hollered again, "Toby!"
Either the boy couldn't hear him or didn't care. Probably both. Toby thought he held a magic cure for his mom, but dread gripped Drake's heart. Only one person could create a drug like this and distribute it to the streets in hopes of finding other paranormals: Sam's father. And he wouldn't care about the casualties.
Drake ran harder, nearly out of breath by the time he reached the house.
The door hung open, so he stepped in. "Toby, where are you?"
No sound.
"Toby?"
The house looked as if it had been ransacked by gangs. Graffiti stained the walls, the furniture lay toppled over and cut apart, and the smell of vomit and mold permeated his senses. He dashed into what he assumed was either the bedroom or bathroom, and found Toby and his mom on a stained mattress on the floor.