Winter's Wrath: Sacrifice (Winter's Saga #3) (16 page)

“What if your gift takes awhile to evolve and it’s not ready to be used yet?” Cole offered her a box of tissues.

Meg hadn’t realized she was still crying she was so intent on listening to the boys’ assessment of her condition.

“I agree with Evan.  At this point, it’s too hazardous to your health.” Alik’s sky-blue eyes watched her carefully.

“I have to try to find out what happened to Creed.”  Meg muttered, softly—hoping that wouldn’t hurt Cole’s feelings, but knowing it still would.

“I am
not
letting you dive back into the mind of that serial killer!” Alik’s voice was raspy with bar
e
ly contained protective anger.

“Meg, oh dear God, no!” Evan’s eyes were wide with fear.

Cole was shaking his head, not out of anger, but dread.  “Meg, no.  You can’t do that to yourself.”

She frowned and chewed her already swollen lip.  Feeling cornered, she stood, stepped over Maze, who had joined them at the start of the conversation, passed Cole’s long legs and moved into the aisle.  Hands on her hips, Meg paced three steps back and forth, still feeling like a trapped animal. 

She knew she needed off this plane.

“Listen to me Meg Winter, what would Creed want?  If he were sitting right here, what would he say to you?” Alik grabbed Meg by the shoulders and locked eyes with her.

“He would tell me to move on.  He would tell me to finish what we started.”  She took a deep breath before finishing, “He would tell me to cut the head off the snake.”

“What did you say?” Williams snarled.  He was angry his thoughts were being disturbed, yet again, by this weasel.

“Creed, sir.  His injuries are too severe.  He’s lost too much blood,
h
is blood pressure has fallen dramatically, lips are turning blue—”

“Are you telling me he’s dying?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Well, revive him!  I have a lot more pain I’m looking forward to gifting that traitor.”

“Yes, sir.  I understand.  However, I regret to say I can only do so much with my limited resources on this aircraft.  If you were to order the plane to land, we could get him to a proper facility— ”

“Let me put it to you this way, Dr. Chaunders; if that meta dies before I allow it, you die, too.  Are we clear?”  Williams enunciated the last sentence slowly, and though missing teeth caused his speech to slur slightly, his meaning was crisp.  Chaunders began to shake, visibly.

“Yes, sir.”  The sniveling sell-out of a scientist was trying not to urinate in his pants from abject fear. 

Williams smiled, the movement causing fresh cracks on his ruined facial skin to break open, and begin to ooze.  “On your way, then,” he shooed the terrified doctor as though he were a cat on a countertop.

Moments later, Williams resumed his thoughts; this time with a distinct feeling: his daughter, strawberries and lilies, was near him again. 
If only she were the real thing.
  He could feel some peace if he knew his daughter was still with him.  Greedily, he tried to snag the haunting memory of her, willing it to stay, to nourish him with its innocence.  Everything about the child was beauty, perfection—he craved her.

Dr. Chaunders was muttering nervously to himself, trying desperately to devise a plan to save Creed, and by proxy, himself.  His hands shook as he worked to put on latex gloves.

“Okay, well, let’s play this by the book.  I’ll set up an I.V. and start his blood transfusion immediately,” he shuffled through the packages in one of the drawers of his cart looking for the right syringe while he mumbled to himself.  Hurriedly, he secured a tourniquet on the right arm of the male, located an engorged vein, cleansed the area with rubbing alcohol wipes and held the needle, poised and ready to puncture the vein. 

“Come on, Chaunders—just play this by the book,” he reminded himself, trying to calm his shaking hands.

Just as he was about to pierce the male’s skin, a knife flew passed his ear.  The doctor whipped his head around to find Gavil Young snickering with the remaining six mutant soldiers.

“Heads-up,” Gavil sneered.

“Please, let me be.”  Chaunders’ hands were shaking violently.  He tried to wipe the foggy steam forming inside his glasses, leaving only smudges.  He yanked the useless specs off his greasy face and tried to glare menacingly at the metahumans.

“I’ll make you a deal, Mr. Young,” Chaunders offered.  “You let me work uninterrupted, when we return to the Facility I will provide you with your choice of medicinal entertainment.”

Gavil raised an eyebrow and licked his lips.

“Any medicinal entertainment?”

“You just name it.”

“How much?” he squinted.

Chaunders sighed heavily.  “As much as I can order without raising flags.”

Gavil exchanged glances with his snickering cohorts.  “It’s a deal, asshole.   You better not try to back out—I know where to find you.”  Gavil’s eyes lingered on his dying brother, and though the real reason he came to bother the doctor was to see Creed’s condition with his own eyes, he didn’t mind the promise of drugs once they’d arrived back at the compound. 

Lately, Gavil was desperate to get his mind off the shit hole he found himself in living as a pawn in Williams’ games.  And if he were honest with himself, he didn’t know how to feel about seeing his brother so close to dying.  He hadn’t been lying to Creed back at the
St. Paul
house.  A lot of things had changed since their Retribution Match last October.

“Fine.  Now if you’ll excuse me?” Chaunders knew every minute counted.  Creed was already on death’s door.  Gavil led his surviving soldiers away from them, deep in thought but trying exude confidence. 

It was sloppy, but Chaunders punctured the vein and positioned the angio catheter, released the tourniquet and collapsed the vein before slipping the stylet out.  He attached the I.V. tubing to the catheter and grabbed the syringe of saline he previously laid nearby to check for a smooth I.V. flush.  Satisfied he had a good connection, he carefully laid tape strips over the tubing, gauze over the puncture site, then more tape to secure everything from being jostled.

He reached into his shirt and pulled out a bag of metahuman whole blood.  He had been trying to warm it with his own body heat over the last fifteen minutes, but it still felt cool.  Chaunders shook his head to himself, “Sorry, young man.  This is the best I can do.  Just stay with me, okay?  For both our sakes?” 

With deft hands that seemed to remember how to perform such normal medical tasks, he spiked the blood bag with tubing and hung it from an I.V. pole attached to his medical cart.  He primed the tubing, forcing the blood down to the tip of the port and adjusted the flow before attaching the end to one of the two I.V. ports.  He set the transfusion drip at a rapid pace.  Next, he hung a bag of saline to provide hydration.  Into the saline’s tubing, he injected a full spectrum antibiotic
.

The doctor monitored the flow of both bags, adjusting periodically as he hovered.  “That’s all I have to give you, young man.  I don’t have a sonogram or x-ray so I can only guess about the extent of your internal injuries.  I know there are many.  Even if I did know what was happening inside you, I can’t perform surgery until we’re back at the Facility.  I have two more units of metahuman blood I’ll give you, and the antibiotic should help you fight off infection,” he said, glancing up at the first bag of blood already half empty.

“The fluids should help, too.”  He sighed and rubbed his eyes before locating his previously discarded glasses.  He used his tie to wipe the lenses and replaced them onto his squat face.  “You’re going to have to fight to stay alive, Creed Young.  Something tells me you’ve a lot of unfinished business to attend to.” 

The shady doctor leaned down and spoke directly in Creed’s ear.  “I’ll make you a deal, too.  You survive, and I’ll help you kill the director.”  He sat back in his chair and smiled at the prospect of coming out of this not just alive, but free of Williams. 
 

Part 2

Seven weeks after the Winter Clan’s escape from the
Big
Island

Location

A sprawling
Texas
ranch two hours south of
Dallas

Chapter 2
0
M
eg’s
Malaise

The gravel crunched under her feet rhythmically.  Meg was drenched with sweat.  Though it was only May, the
Texas
heat and humidity were already stifling.  Trying to take advantage of the coolest part of the day, she had begun running in the predawn darkness. 

In all honesty, Meg ran in the middle of the night because it was better than lying in her nightmare sweat-soaked bed shuddering against the violent echoes compliments of Williams’ macabre memories.   After talking with her family at length about the effects of her evolved gift, she agreed not to use it until they could better control its effects on her. 
Whatever the heck that meant.

Seven weeks passed and they were no closer to figuring out her skill than they were back on the plane.  Meg knew in her heart the only way to learn the gift was to use it, but her brothers made her promise not to.  They were all worried about Meg.

The family basically adopted Farrow, too.  She had settled into domestic life as well as c
ould
be expected of a trained assassin who grew up in a military compound.  Sometimes, Meg would pick up some strange emotions from her, but Farrow wasn’t dangerous.  Like Creed, the only danger she posed was to herself in her efforts to assimilate—to earn her way into their hearts.  If Meg was in a better place, she would work with her some more on healing her hidden traumas. 

But that’s just the problem, isn’t it?  I can’t help her or anyone now.  I can’t help pull them out of the mire because I’m drowning in it myself. 

No one’s coming to help me
,
Meg thought—hating the self-pity working around her broken heart.

She can help others…she can heal other broken hearts, but there’s nothing anyone can do to mend her own.

She shook her head angrily. 

Stupid self-pity, Meg.  It’s not going to get you anywhere
,
she berated herself.

Maze was keeping perfect pace beside her.  Sometimes he would dart into the brush to chase something furry and unsuspecting, but he’d only be gone for a few minutes before running up beside her with an innocent look in his clever eyes. 

Running in the darkness blanketing the flat land around her gave Meg a sense of peace.  With no one around, she had no empath readings to filter through or shut out.  Her gift had always been a part of her, even before the double-edged sword of its evolution.  She had grown pretty adept at protecting herself from the unintended onslaught of emotions bombarding her.
However, it did take some of Meg’s energy and her concentration got blow
i
nto heck if she happened to feel any pain.

Even if she was walking along and suddenly whacked her elbow on door frame, as the shooting pain traveled up her arm she would also suddenly get a blast of emotions from everyone around her. For now, she was just trying not to be too clumsy

She liked to think that her runs kept her sane, kept her in control.

The moments of solitude when it was just her and the wind, made her feel normal. Most people didn’t have to worry about picking up on the innermost emotions of those around them. Most people didn’t have to worry about what it felt like to let down their guard accidentally and feel everyone’s emotions crash over them like a tsunami.

Stupid empathy.

She didn’t let herself do it very often anymore, but sometimes she couldn’t help but think what life would have been like if she’d grown up without the Infinite serum. Evan had told them, after his research at their new in-home lab, that they were probably already gifted humans before the serum.

  Each of their bodies reacted differently to the serum by enhancing their natural predispositions.  Evan was always going to be a problem solver, Alik was always going to have had an excellent memory and Meg was always destined to be hypersensitive. 

That doesn’t seem like a very useful natural “gift
,”
does it?
  As metas, Meg’s brothers had these cool nearly superpowers.  However, she had always just been a “stupid emotional superconductor.” 

Watch out bad guys, or else I’ll cry you into submission!
Give up your wicke
d
ways before I subject you to my tears of torture!  Surrender before I psychobabble you into a blubbering fool!

Meg shook her head angrily as she sprinted the last mile back to the ranch’s barn that she and Alik retrofitted into a gym.  Without missing a step, Maze panted into the room at her heels and headed to the faucet and the water dish beneath.