Wild Sky 2 (33 page)

“You just expended a lot of energy,” Dana told him. “Literally.”

“I’m sorry,” he told her. “I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s okay,” Dana interrupted. “Nobody’s angry. I’d just like to understand what triggered this, so we can make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

“You said you felt jittery,” I chimed in. “You were pacing—you didn’t seem to want to sit.”

“Jittery and irritable,” Cal said and then shivered. “I’m still feeling…” His voice trailed off.

“Like what?” Dana pressed him.

“Okay. I’m going to sound crazy here,” Cal told us. “But…you know when you’re really
really
jonesin’ for chocolate peanut butter ice cream? Like, it’s the only thing you can think of, and everything else is kind of just a blur until you go have that big huge bowl of chocolaty awesomeness?”

I nodded. “I get cravings like that for s’mores sometimes.”

“Yeah!” Cal exclaimed fervently. “Perfect example. Skylar and her s’mores. She craves s’mores like nobody’s business. Well…that’s how I feel right now.”

Garrett raised one eyebrow. “Dude. You can’t stop thinking about chocolate peanut butter ice cream, so you almost tore my head off?”

Cal shook his head, clearly frustrated.

Morgan’s face was grim as he said, “It’s not ice cream he wants.”

Calvin nodded. “I don’t want ice cream,” he said, “but…I really
really
wish I had more…Destiny.”

Dana let out a little sound that was one part sigh and two parts pained moan. “This is the start of withdrawal.”

My stomach did a somersault.

“Wait. What?” Garrett said.

Cal frowned, too. “No. I mean, I can’t be. Not yet. It’s supposed to take at least a week for that to happen.” A pause. “Isn’t it?”

With the exception of Garrett, we had all done a fair amount of homework learning about Destiny. Cal and I had spent hours online, poring over D statistics, facts, and even myths. We’d wanted to know everything we could—even before Calvin had been injected. The more informed we were, the more we stood a chance at helping other people. People like Sasha and Jilly and Lacey. And, as silly as it sounded, I felt that I stood a greater chance of being able to keep
myself
safe, too.

One thing I knew for sure was that most people didn’t begin to withdraw from Destiny for at least seven days. But that was a rough number. Everyone was different. Plus…

“Your injuries,” Dana said, the realization hitting her at the same time it occurred to me. “Cal, maybe your body’s absorbing the D at a much faster rate because of the extent of your injuries.”

Morgan was the closest thing we had to a doctor, and he pursed his lips as Dana glanced at him for confirmation of her theory. “That’s entirely possible,” he said.

“So…what does that mean?” Cal barked out a laugh, but the sound was laced with fear. “I know it means that if I don’t get more Destiny, I’ll die, but…once it starts, does it happen fast? How worried should I be?”

“The symptoms become severe,” Morgan said. “The jittery feeling will intensify. You’ll start to shake…”

“And puke,” Dana said. “Once you start with the puking,
then
we worry.”

“Yay?” Cal said.

“Why don’t we just buy more?” I blurted. I knew it was wrong. I knew that injecting Calvin with another dose of Destiny was just increasing the chances that we would all get hurt. Cal could joker at any moment, but odds of it happening would increase dramatically if—when—he shot up.

And as hopeful as I was that Morgan’s detox procedure would work, Cal’s words from last night echoed in my head.
Assisted suicide
.
I agree to do it, knowing that I’mma die, but that at least I won’t die ugly, all jokering and nasty-ass sociopathic—killing you guys, too.

Was that really what it was—simply a way to control when and how Calvin died? Was that why Morgan had suggested it, so that no one else would get hurt when Cal inevitably jokered?

Two survivors out of thousands
were
terrible odds.

And right now, all I could think was that I wasn’t ready to lose Calvin. Not yet. “How much money do we have?” I asked. “Maybe if we pool what we’ve got…?”

“I’ve got fifty bucks on me,” Garrett spoke up first.

Dana reached into the pocket of her bomber jacket and pulled out a wad of bills. “I’ve got another forty.”

Morgan shook his head as he lit a few more matches to keep the room from going dark. He’d been doing that regularly while we talked. “I don’t carry cash. And I pretty much live hand-to-mouth.”

Also? We already owed him two grand, although this time he didn’t bring it up, and I knew from the way he refused to meet my gaze that I was right about him. Like it or not, he cared about us and was unwilling just to walk away from us now. I also knew to keep my mouth tightly shut and not let any words of thanks escape. It was better to just pretend he was in this for the money.

I dug in my own pockets and pulled out an old tube of lip balm, along with two grubby-looking quarters. I’d made absolutely zero money since I’d stopped babysitting Sasha. And while Mom allowed me access to a debit card, she rarely placed more than the equivalent of a few school lunches on it at a time. “Gee. I’m a
huge
help.”

“I have access to maybe a few hundred,” Cal said. “More, if I tell my parents what’s going on.”

“If you do that,” Dana said, “we should all say good-bye to you first, because we won’t ever see you again. They won’t have a clue how to help you, but they sure as hell won’t listen to us. I guarantee it.” Her expression was dark. “No. We need to handle this ourselves.”

“But you said that Destiny costs five grand a hit,” Garrett pointed out. “And we have, what? Three hundred bucks?”

For a moment, as Dana looked at him, there was so much grim determination in her face that I wouldn’t have been at all surprised if she announced that she was going to go rob a bank to get the money Cal needed.

Instead, she stood up, and one sleeve at a time, she removed her bomber jacket and tossed it onto the floor. Then, with one swift movement, she reached into her waistband and pulled out a knife. And she sliced the inside of her forearm, just above her wrist—just enough to draw a thin line of blood.

“What’d you do
that
for?” Garrett all but shrieked.

Dana didn’t flinch. Instead, she turned to Cal and held out her arm. “I have what you need,” she told him. “It’s inside of me.”

Cal’s eyes filled with tears as he gazed up at her. “I can’t make you do that,” he whispered.

“You can’t stop me either, Scoot,” Dana replied. “I’m done losing the people in my life who mean something to me. I’m through with that. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

Cal shook his head as he gazed up into her eyes, but she didn’t back down so he finally nodded.

Morgan broke the silence. “Good luck with that.”

Dana knew he was being sarcastic, but she chose to pretend his words were sincere. “We’ll need all the luck we can get, thanks. And we won’t turn down help, if it’s offered. So…are you offering?”

“Noooo!” Morgan laughed as he said the word. “I’m outta here.”

I laughed, too, because he was a terrible liar. “No, you’re not,” I said. It was the wrong approach, because he immediately bristled.

“Oh yes, I am,” he said.

“Well, I appreciate the help you’ve given us so far,” Dana said. “We’ll pay you what we owe when we can. Have a safe trip back to Adventure City.” Just like that, she dismissed him, turning to me and Garrett. “You two head over to Garrett’s dad’s office. I think it’s a good idea for Calvin to have a medical scan. I’m pretty sure we can figure out the equipment on our own.”

She turned to tell Cal directly, “It’s smart to get a baseline at the very least.” Back to Garrett and me. I was watching Morgan and he was just shaking his head. “But I also want you to do as much research as you can on the Destiny detox process, see if we have access to the rest of the equipment we’ll need. If we’re going to do this—”

Cal made a noise.

“I said
if
, Cal,” Dana repeated. “It’s only an
if
, but
if
we’re going to do it, we’re going to do it right. Oh, and while you’re at it, Sky, see if you can’t use Dr. Dick’s computer to track down Jilly’s family—give ’em a call to find out WTF.”

“Got it,” I said, gesturing for Garrett to follow me.

But Morgan blocked our path. “Oh, gods, yes,” he said. “All right. I’m offering my assistance, sweet baby Jesus help me.”

Dana smiled, and it was beautiful. “Thank you,” she said graciously. “Go with Garrett and Skylar then. Cal and I will be in touch as soon as we can.”

“Wait, where are you guys going?” Garrett asked. It was kind of amazing that he didn’t know—that he hadn’t figured it out. But then again, this crazy world was still new to him.

So Dana spelled it out. “Harrisburg,” she said. “We need to pick up some lab supplies—things that Garrett’s dad probably won’t have in his office.” She looked down at the cut on her arm, and I watched it disappear as she swiftly used her G-T healing powers to mend herself. “If Rochelle can cook her own Destiny in a closet, then so can I. I had a look at her setup. Remember back when people were cooking meth at home, in soda bottles?”

I didn’t, but Cal and Milo both nodded. “That was seriously a thing?” I asked.

“Yep,” Dana said. “Cooking D is easier and way less dangerous. For the cook, that is—but not for the blood ‘donor.’” She made air quotes. “There’s a big difference between Rochelle’s lab and mine. I’m not stealing some innocent’s blood to cook Destiny.” She lifted her chin in defiance. “I’m going to use my own.”

————

Garrett had been shaking his head back and forth since we’d gotten back into his car. Fifteen minutes later, as we turned onto the private road that led to his dad’s castle-like beach house, he was
still
shaking his head.

“A Destiny lab. In the trunk of Calvin’s car,” he mumbled. “Un-friggin-real.”

“It’s not at all like a meth lab,” Morgan tried to reassure him from his seat up front. I’d let him ride shotgun. “The ingredients aren’t combustible.”

I leaned forward. “It won’t blow up,” I translated.

“I know what combustible means,” Garrett said, glancing at me in his rearview mirror. “But the main ingredient is blood. One, gross. And (B) doesn’t that make Destiny addicts kinda like vampires? Feeding off innocent little girls?”

Clearly, Garrett had paid attention when Cal had spouted some of his theories. I sighed as he continued, “Also, I read that D-addicts are hard to kill, because not only does the drug heal their injuries, but they don’t feel the damage, so you have to go big. Cut off their heads. Sound familiar? I wonder if a wooden stake through the heart would do the trick.”

“Probably,” Morgan said. “Because the splinters would get in the way of the addict’s ability to close up the hole in the organ. But a double pop to the head with a nine millimeter would also cause irreparable and immediate damage to the brain—and that’s really what you want to aim for. The head. I’ve seen jokering addicts take bullets to the chest and keep wreaking havoc right up to the nanosecond that they bleed out. But crush their skulls…?”

“Good to know,” Garrett said.

“I can’t believe we’re talking about this seriously,” I said. “
Crush
their
skulls
?”

“As a Greater-Than,” Morgan told me, “with a known bounty hunter on your trail, you should be aware that in order to incapacitate you, your John Doe will go for your head. A solid blow to knock you out, so you can’t use your powers against him.
And
if he accidentally hits you too hard and kills you, no biggie. You’ve still got all that blood inside you. A quick exsanguination, dump your body in a landfill…”

“Gee, thanks for that image,” I said.

“Always protect your head,” he told me as Garrett pulled into the long driveway that led to the house.

Lately, Garrett had been managing to drive like a responsible human being—but when we reached the circular end to the drive, he sped up and peeled into his parking space with a squeal of tires. No matter how many improvements he made on the real-human-boy front, there was always a little bit of douche-ness lingering in the background.

“Wow,” Morgan said, and I wasn’t sure if the G-T was reacting to Garrett’s abrupt and ridiculous impression of a stunt driver or the gargantuan mansion.

“We just renovated,” Garrett said as he led us not to the front door, but to a second entrance back around the garage. A sign said: “Dr. Richard Hathaway.” “Dad moved his medical office out here to lower overhead, because why not, right? That’s why we painted the parking space lines on this part of the driveway—because now his patients come here to get nipped and tucked.”

There was a keypad lock on that door, and he quickly typed in a code, then flipped on the lights as he led the way into a small waiting room decorated in classic Florida seashore—blues and aquas and whites, with tail-walking dolphins aplenty. Instead of a receptionist’s desk, there was an in-wall computer, complete with keyboard, with a sign saying “Virtual Check-In” beneath it. There was another door, also with a keypad lock, and Garrett quickly opened that for us, too.

“Dad’s genius-smart, but sometimes he can really pull a dumb move. His password is my name, all caps. Might as well have made the password
password
.”

He turned on more lights as we followed him into a pristinely empty hallway. There were two open doorways, and a third door that was closed with another of those keypad locks. Garrett pointed to the open door on the right.

“Dad’s office,” Garrett said, and Morgan and I looked in to see a room paneled in rich, dark wood. Windows looking out onto the ocean lined one wall. Bookcases covered two other walls, extending from floor to cathedral ceiling. A library ladder on wheels leaned against the edge of one of the bookcases.

A huge desk that held an expensive-looking computer was in the middle of the room, and I recognized it from the first—and last—time I’d been in Garrett’s house, a few months back when he’d thrown a huge party. I’d attended with Calvin and Dana and Milo, hoping to literally sniff out a connection between Garrett’s dad and the local Destiny drug ring. Of course, we’d come up cold, because although the douche was strong in both Hathaways, neither was involved with the bad guys.