Killshot (Icarus Series Book 1) (9 page)

             
Thwap…thwap.

              “You are confused and angry,” I said, “but at the same time, you feel numb. Like maybe none of this is real?”

             
Thwap…thwap…thwap.
She sniffled, once again glaring from the corner of her eye.

              “The worst part is, no one else seems to get it,” I said turning to face her. “Time keeps moving like you didn’t just lose a piece of you. Like it doesn’t fucking matter. Like
they
didn’t matter.”

              She flattened her feet to the floor and shifted her weight forward, resting her elbows on her knees. For a moment, I thought she was going to walk away. When she didn’t, I continued, though I could not seem to hide the bitterness in my own voice. There was no easy way to say what I needed to say, but sugarcoating the truth wouldn’t help.

              “I am sorry that your friends died, Falisha, and it’s just plain
messed up
that they had to suffer like that,” I rose to my feet and crossed my arms over my chest, trying to contain my own demons before they could escape the tomb I had buried them in months ago. “I wish we had gotten to them sooner and I wish I could bring them back. But we didn’t, and I can’t.”

              Falisha sniffled again and sat up, her lip quivering as she wrapped her arms tightly around herself.

              “I dunno, maybe you just need someone to hold your hand and tell you that Sara and Blake are in a better place. I’m sorry, but I’m not that person and I can’t do that for you,” I squared my shoulders. “I’d love nothing more than to be able to tell you that everything is going to be fine, but I can’t do that either.”

              “What the hell
can
you do then, huh?” Falisha finally snapped, turning toward me.

              “I can make you a promise,” I said, “and where I come from that’s worth a hell of a lot more than pretty words and bullshit prayers.”

              “What could you possibly promise me that will make the slightest bit of difference at this point?” Falisha said, seething at me. Her tears finally broke free. She swiped angrily at them as if they burned her skin, and looked like she wanted nothing more than to hit me in the face. I didn’t blame her. “My friends are dead, and your stupid promises can’t bring them back.”

              “Maybe not, but I can promise you that your friends—that
Sara and Blake
will always matter,” I said. “I promise that no matter what happens today, tomorrow, or a year from now, I will remember. I will never ask you to get over it, to move on, or to forget. You do what you gotta do to get there, and I will have your back, okay?”

              I barely knew Falisha. We had been classmates since the fifth grade when she and her family moved here, but even then, she and I ran in very different circles. She had always seemed so high maintenance to me. To her, I suppose, I seemed plain and boring. At face value, the two of us had very little in common, but in this we were alike. I knew what it felt like to lose someone, and in my heart, there was no expiration date on personal grief. Falisha deserved to process the loss however she saw fit, and her friends deserved to always be remembered.

              She glared at me through glassy eyes, and there was something fierce behind their deep brown surface. Tension rolled off of her in waves. She fisted her hands at her sides. The muscle in her jaw clenched, and she stepped toward me. I stood there; shoulders back and head up, waiting for a punch that never came.

              “Okay,” she said softly, her eyes drilling fiercely into mine.

              “Okay?” I met her gaze with equal determination, as she struggled to swallow back the last of her tears.

              “Yeah,” Falisha took a deep breath and let it out quickly. “Okay.”

              She nodded at me, smoothed her pleated skirt down, and walked away. Even in the wake of a well-earned breakdown, the girl carried herself with pride. The hushed conversations taking place on Tara’s side of the weight room stopped as Falisha approached. She made her way over to Zack, slid her arm around his waist and kissed him on the cheek. He wrapped his arms around her and smiled at me over her shoulder.

              “Wonder-twins,” Falisha said, pulling away from Zack. “Where are the clothes you guys dragged down here earlier? I think it’s time for a wardrobe change.”

              Falisha was much stronger than I had given her credit for and I had a feeling she was going to need to be. She sifted through the pile of clothing, nodding resolutely at me as I walked past her.

              “Hey guys, any luck?” I asked, weaving my way through the mess of cables and wires Zander and Jake had strung all over the place.

              “Ugh,” grunted Jake. He was fully engrossed in trying to connect us with the outside world.

              “This kid is a freaking genius, Liv,” Zander said, smiling up at me. He sat cross-legged on the floor, with wires draped across his lap. “He’ll get it.”

              “Need a hand?” I asked, leaning down to help as he struggled to free himself from the cables that entangled his feet.

              “That’d be great.” He smiled, unashamed, and eagerly reached for my hand. As soon as he did, I realized his dirty shirt was still wrapped around his palm.

              “Oh, God, Zander. Your hand,” I shrieked, horrified.

              “It’s fine, Liv, really,” he said, dusting himself off.

              “It’s not fine,” I said. “I can’t believe you didn’t say something sooner.”

              “It doesn’t hurt that bad, I swear,” Zander said, his crooked smile threatening my resolve.

              “No way,” I said, crossing my arms over my chest. “I was there, remember? I saw your hand. It must be killing you.”

              “Okay, seriously,” Jake barked, over his shoulder. “Would it be possible for you guys to take your lover’s spat somewhere else please? You are kinda harshing my genius, here.”

              “Storage room. Now.” I said, dragging Zander behind me.

Chapter 10

First Do No Harm

               The atmosphere in the basement had quieted dramatically since we first made our way into its murky depths. We were all on edge and unsure of what lay ahead. The group had reverted to their original social pairings, distancing themselves from those they were not close to. Everyone struggled, in their own way, to process what was happening to us.

              The twins were side by side on their bench talking quietly amongst themselves. The two of them radiated a nervous energy that was nearly tangible. Tara had finally stalled her aggressions toward me and sat with her back against the wall near Mike’s feet. Her head hung low, her blond hair strangely illuminated by the glow of her cell phone. I looked over my shoulder at Zander, held my finger to my lips and nodded toward the door to the storage room. He smiled and shook his head, but said nothing.

              It was getting warmer by the minute and sweat dripped into my eyes as I fumbled clumsily with the keys. The flickering lights behind me were not doing me any favors, either. I tried nearly every key on the ring before I finally found one that fit. Then I stumbled around in the dark, trying to find the ratty old pull string for the light.

              “Damn it,” I muttered, quickly getting frustrated as I swiped in front of me for the elusive string.

              “Liv, I think—” Zander said.

              “Just a sec,” I said, grabbing at emptiness.

              “Umm, Liv?” Zander sounded amused.

              “Hang on, Zander,” I growled. “Where is the damn…?”

              The lights flicked on, blinding me temporarily. Zander stood by the door grinning at me, his hand resting on a shiny new light switch.

              “Um, thanks,” I forced a smile and then turned quickly so he could not see my face turning red.

              The shelves in the storage room were lined with all kinds of supplies and tools, but it didn’t take me long to find what I needed to take care of Zander’s hand. I folded the bottom of my tank up into a makeshift pouch and plucked what I needed from the shelves; a couple of stretchy ace bandages, cotton balls, athletic tape, a large bottle of hydrogen peroxide and a can of Bactine spray.

              “Have a seat over there, okay?” I jerked my head in the direction of an old metal desk that rested along the wall and slid a tube of antibiotic ointment into my pocket.

              Stalling so I could steady myself, I kept my eyes fixed on shelf in front of me. It was lined with a random assortment of sporting equipment, toiletries, and cleaning supplies. I took a mental inventory and reminded myself to come back later. For now, I needed to get Zander’s hand cleaned up and bandaged. He was probably in a lot of pain and I had neglected his injury long enough.

              “I’m really sorry I didn’t take care of this sooner for you,” I said, dropping my supplies on the desk next to him. “You really should have said something, though.”

              “It’s fine, Liv, really,” he said, sliding back until his feet dangled. His warm copper eyes tracked my every movement as I neatly lined up the makeshift medic kit on the desk. “To be fair, we were all a little distracted.”

              “Still,” I said, briefly meeting his eyes.

              I looked away quickly, feeling my face heat under his gaze as I walked back over to the shelf. I bit my lip, silently berating myself for losing my cool so easily around this boy. I grabbed a clean towel from the shelf, folded it in half and laid it on the desk near his hip.

              “Okay, let’s get this over with,” I said, feeling my stomach flip as he held his hand out to me. “I will do my best to make this as quick and painless as possible.”

              “I trust you,” Zander smiled, shrugging.

              I carefully lowered his elbow to the towel so his hand was upright. His warm smooth skin stretched tightly over the lean muscles of his arm. I bit my lip again, trying to ignore the flutter in my chest which that simple touch had created.

              “Hmm, weird angle.” Zander slid off the desk, shifted around the end of it, and leaned over. He placed his elbow back on the towel and held his hand out for me. Oblivious to my increasing heart rate, he asked, “Is that better, doc?”

              “Uh-huh.” The new position made it easier for me to work on his hand, but much more difficult to concentrate on it.

             
Stop staring!

              I really needed to get a grip on myself. I couldn’t allow Zander to see the effect he had on me. I didn’t want to encourage him, or give him the wrong idea. I had known this boy less than ten hours and the pull I felt for him made absolutely no sense to me. Aside from his obvious love of motorcycles, I knew nearly nothing about him. He knew even less about me, but that was probably for the best. Getting attached, now, would only complicate things for both of us.

              “I want to take your shirt off—” I nearly choked on my own words. “That is…I mean, I need to unwrap your shirt from your hand. So I can, umm, treat your burn.”

             
Jesus, get it together, Liv
.

              “No problem,” Zander said, laughing softly. “Like I said, I trust you. Do what you gotta do.”

              I took a deep breath and bit my lip as I carefully unwrapped the shirt from his hand. After a few laps around his palm, the fabric finally resisted. The edge of it had bonded to the open wound on his hand. Zander hissed through clenched teeth when the thin cotton did not release from his seared skin.

              “Shit,” Zander grunted under his breath, biting down on his bottom lip. His face had gone pale and he was sweating profusely.

              “Breathe, Zander,” I said, gently holding his arm against the towel.

              I reached for a bottle of water, removed the cap with my teeth, and let the water drizzle slowly onto the fabric. When it was fully saturated, I began gently tugging the cloth. The muscles in Zander’s jaw clenched tight and his brows knit, but he was stoic in his silence. After what felt like an eternity, the corner of the shirt finally freed itself from his hand with a sickening pop. Zander finally released the breath he had been holding. He looked relieved even though sweat continued to pour down his face.

              “That wasn’t so bad, was it?” I asked, forcing an awkward smile.

              “Not at all,” Zander laughed. “Barely felt a thing.”

              I couldn’t help but smile at him. Even when he was in pain, the guy was effortlessly charming. I shook my head and dumped a generous amount of peroxide into the palm of his hand. It fizzled and foamed, erupting a slew of pinkish brown bubbles as it rinsed away the smattering of dried blood and grime in his palm. I scrunched up my nose and tilted his hand sideways to let the festering liquid run off into the towel.

              “That’s pretty gross,” Zander chuckled, staring down at his hand.

              “For sure,” I said, not looking up. “We can’t take any chances of this getting infected, though, so it needs to be done.”

              I took my time cleaning the wound. I kept flushing it out until the towel was dripping onto the floor and I had emptied the entire contents of the bottle. Each time it foamed up a bit less, which I hoped was a good sign.

              I knew basic CPR and first aid and I could administer a breathing treatment in my sleep thanks to my little brother’s condition, but I was certainly not a doctor. Mom and dad had only taught me what they called “basic field medicine” on our rough-its. I was doing the best I could, but secretly hoped I was not doing more harm than good.

              Once I had I rinsed away the last of the peroxide and particulates from his hand, I pulled it closer to survey the damage. Now that his hand was clean, I could see his injuries clearly and I was grateful for my iron stomach. A strip of burned flesh, about an inch wide, stretched from the outer edge of his palm to the inner fold near his thumb. The side closest to his little finger was most likely a first-degree burn. It was shiny and pink but the skin was not broken and I saw no blistering. It was undoubtedly painful, but from experience, I knew that portion of the burn would heal fairly quickly.

              The other side of his palm, however, had me very concerned. The skin at the center was a waxy-white, but the edges were blackened and stiff. At the crease near his thumb, there was a large open blister that was oozing a yellowish liquid. A raw patch glistened with fresh blood where the fabric of his shirt had torn away his flesh. I dabbed lightly at it with a moist cotton ball to soak up the rest of the water so I could spray his hand down with Bactine. The medicine in the spray would rid his wound of any latent bacteria and dull the pain, but it was also going to hurt like hell.

              “So, that thing you did, hacking into the key pad in the gym was really cool,” I said, dabbing needlessly at the skin around his injury. “Your dad taught you that?”

              “Yeah,” Zander said, looking away. He hesitated a moment before continuing. “He was kind of a genius when it came to that kind of stuff.”

              “Was he a bank robber or something?” I asked, trying to lighten the mood and distract him.

              “I wish,” Zander snorted, shaking his head. “He was in the Marines, special-forces— served three tours in the Middle East.”

              “Whoa, really?” I asked, my eyes searching his face. “Three tours? That’s kind of a lot isn’t it?”

              “Yep,” Zander said, his eyes locking on mine. “I don’t know much. He never talked about it, but it changed him.”

              “I can only imagine,” I said, laying his hand back onto the towel.

              “He was good to me, don’t get me wrong,” Zander shrugged, “but every time he came home, it was like a little piece of him was missing. He was just
different
.”

              “That sucks,” I said peeling open the package for the ace bandage and setting it back on the desk.

              “I guess,” Zander cocked his head to the side, watching me intently. “I think I was like seven, when his first tour ended, so I was pretty oblivious, but I do remember that he and my mom fought a lot. When all the yelling was over, my dad would hop on his bike and hit the road for a few hours. Mom would just hit the bottle; vodka, if memory serves.”

              “Zander, I—” I froze and let my silence speak for me.

              “Don’t worry about it, Liv. It was a long time ago. She left when I was nine or ten— met some guy online willing to keep her company while she drank herself into oblivion,” Zander said, raking his hair back with his free hand. “I’m not really sure where she ended up, but I know I was better off.”

              “Still, that had to be hard,” I said, picturing a young Zander watching his mother drive away into the sunset and never looked back.

              “At first, yeah, but as soon as school was out we hit the road and left it all behind. Dad and I spent that whole summer together. We drove all over the country on his bike, never staying in any one place for very long. For a few months, I felt like things were getting back to normal, or at least our version of it anyway,” he laughed, shaking his head.

              “That sounds awesome,” I said, reaching for the Bactine spray.

              “It was, but it didn’t last. Two weeks before school started, he got orders and was deployed to Afghanistan. That’s how I ended up with Micah and—
son of a bitch
!” Zander flinched as I sprayed his hand.

              I lowered my head and blew lightly into the palm of his hand. It was something I had seen my mom do a million times when I was a kid. This felt very different than that; it was intimate, somehow. I was suddenly very aware of how close my lips were to his skin.

              “Sorry about that,” I said, scrunching up my nose. “I probably should have warned you or something.”

              “It’s okay,” he said, smirking as he shook his hand. “Sorry about the language.”

             
Damn that crooked smile.

              “Don’t worry about it. I am a potty mouth too,” I said proudly. “Besides, that stuff stings like a
bitch
.”

              “That it does,” Zander laughed, slowly extending his hand back out to me.

              “So you actually
lived
with Micah,” I said, fanning his hand to ease the sting.

              “Yep,” he smiled at me.

              Zander and Micah were so different and I was having a hard time picturing them running together, even as kids. Micah was an attractive guy, but he was thin and awkward, like a baby giraffe learning to walk. He was also over-sensitive, anxious, and quick to react. Zander was, well,
none
of those things.

              “That must have been interesting
,
” I said, blowing a loose strand of hair from my face as I reached into my pocket.