The Forbidden Trilogy (56 page)

The man pulled out the money and gestured for Drake to take
it back, but Drake ignored him and ran down the street and around a corner.

He pushed his body to run as fast and as hard as he could.
Lack of food and too much alcohol had made him slow—weak—but he didn't stop.
His lungs burned, his muscles weakened to the point of collapse, but still he
ran.

He turned down an alley and stopped. Three men beat a
scrawny blond-haired boy to the ground.

The biggest man, inked up like a gangsta and wearing pants
too big for him, punched the kid in the face and screamed, "You better
give me those vials, you piss-ant little shit, or I'll beat you until you can't
walk. That drug is worth more than your life, so hand it over."

His two lackeys circled the boy, kicking him and egging on
their leader.

The boy cried and curled into a ball. He couldn’t have been
older than twelve. "I don't know what you're talking about. I don't have
anything."

Another punch. "Yo, my homey here saw you. So don't be
lying to us. We got to account for all those vials, and you don't even know
what you got messed up in. Those drugs, they seriously mess people up—like,
superpowers and shit. I'm not letting some piece of shit like you stop me from
doing my job. Hand 'em over."

The boy couldn't take it much longer, but Drake wasn't a
superhero anymore. Still, this drug had him curious. Could there be a drug that
brought out para-powers?

He charged in, pushing back the three gangsters and pulling
the kid out of the way. "Run!"

The fight was a blur. Drake had neither super strength nor
mind control. His basic skill and strength bought him a few minutes, but in the
end the street thugs overwhelmed him.

After too many blows to count, they left him lying in the
alley, bleeding and aching with broken ribs. Drake coughed, and blood spewed
out of his mouth.
Maybe worse than just broken ribs.

He pulled himself to the wall and tried to sit up, but the
pain stopped him. Every move seemed to cause a new break or tear in his
now-fragile body. Before he could make it to the wall, a new kind of darkness
wrapped around him, and he faded into nothing.

I'd expected labor to be different. I knew it would hurt,
but the length and boredom surprised me.

The contractions came like clockwork—each more painful than
the last—but I didn't know what to do with myself in between. Sketchpad in
hand, I'd already drawn everyone who walked into the room. I drew every day to
prepare for the art program at the University of Washington, if they accepted
me—and if they gave me a scholarship, since I'd lost all the money Rent-A-Kid
had promised me.

Robyn arrived as promised and read to me from some book,
though I couldn't concentrate at all. She gave up after a while and turned on
the television.

Is this what women did during labor? Watch
Friends
reruns?
Click. Click. Click.
Something decent had to be....

My hand froze. An image of Drake filled the screen.

What is Drake doing on television?
Here I was, trying
not
to think of him, and the Universe shoved him in my face.

A man and woman sat in overstuffed chairs and argued about a
video playing in the background. Brad's video blog. The woman scoffed.
"Clearly this has been doctored. Our government would not allow people
with powers like this to run around making home movies."

The man frowned. "You really think a government that
can't even rein in normal criminals has any control over this? You're more
naive than you look."

They continued to argue, and all I could do was stare at
Drake's bulging muscles as he lifted a car over his head. Did Brad know his
vlog had made the news and talk show circuit?

The man held up newspaper clippings and shoved them at the
woman. The camera zoomed in on the headlines. "Angry ten-year-old sets
fire to entire class.... Overactive toddler freezes teacher to death....
Three-year-old throws temper tantrum and destroys apartment complex."

The pretty woman sneered. "Those are sensationalized
headlines from tabloids. There's absolutely nothing newsworthy there. That
stuff isn't even possible. You've been watching too much
X-Men
."

Drake's body stood suspended in time while they argued, his
smile secretive and intimate. He'd been smiling at me when Brad had shot this
moment. I remembered what I'd been thinking, the way Drake had kissed me....

I clicked off the television and slumped into bed, fighting
tears. I tried not to think of Drake, but couldn't push him out of my mind. He should
have been here. I hated the thought of our daughter being born without him.

My thoughts wandered, and for a moment, I could have sworn
that he really sat there beside me. My throat clogged with tears.
"Drake?"

His form solidified, and confusion passed over his features.
I reached for him, my tears finally forcing themselves free. "Drake."

But, no. Just Robyn.

"I'm sorry, Sam. I didn't mean to. Your projections of
him were so strong, and I'm still getting control of my powers."

Oh my God.
Robyn had turned into Drake for a split
second. She was a shapeshifter and chameleon, but new to the para-power game.

The urge to ask her to turn into Drake again all but
overpowered me. But it wouldn't really be him, and it would only tear apart my
heart even more. I had to move on and accept my life as a single mother, and
not cling to the illusion of what could have been.

"It's okay, Robyn. I understand. How are things going
with your studies and para-powers?" Maybe talking about someone else would
take my mind off of my own problems.

She smiled. "Thanks for understanding. They're going
well. I'm obviously still learning to control it, but I'm able to shift more
easily."

Our new school had settled into a routine fairly quickly. We
all needed something that felt normal, and classes and assignments seemed to
help. Still, the loss of many students and teachers—those who had died during
the rebellion and escape—lingered over our days like a fine mist, settling on
us all from time to time.

At least Robyn seemed happy with her new boyfriend, Norm.
Being around them, or around Greg and Gary—or pretty much any couple—made me
crumble. But I didn't begrudge them their joy, glad that
someone
had it.

My contractions increased in duration and frequency, and all
talking ceased. I could only focus on my body and the birth. When the cycle of
pain drove me to tears over and over, Susie joined us in the room, called for
support, and prepped me for full-on labor.

"Haven't I been in labor the whole time?" It sure
as hell felt like it.

Her cool hand rested on my forehead for a moment. "Yes,
but now we're at the end. The baby's ready. This is when we get serious."

If what I'd been feeling wasn't serious, I didn't want to
know what serious was.

Another contraction burned in me and ripped away all
thoughts. The pain gripped me and rode me hard. How did women ever do this more
than once?

I linked minds with my baby. She didn't have words, but I
sensed her nonetheless.
"Ana, baby, it's not time yet. Please, wait a
little longer."

Ana didn't listen. She pushed her way through my body as if
she were clawing her way out.

Oh my God, what if she really does have claws?
The
thought made me nauseous, but surely Susie would have caught that in the
ultrasound. It struck me as ironic that the evil nurse from the Rent-A-Kid
clinic that had imprisoned me shared a name with the amazing woman who helped
me now.

"Susie, this hurts so bad! I can't push again. I just
can't."

"You have to, Sam. We have to get her out. Just breathe
and... push!"

I pushed through the contraction, struggling to breathe.

Then another consciousness settled into me. I felt him
there.

"Drake."

When consciousness finally came, it took its time and
wrapped Drake in a gauzy, white cocoon. Pain moved in next, slowly, bringing an
awareness of each part of his beaten body. Nothing made sense. Images and
memories and thoughts jumbled together in his mind.

Where am I? What happened?

He cracked his eyes open and found another set of eyes
staring at him—brown eyes in a small, swollen face. The boy. He'd tried to save
the boy, and had gotten his ass kicked.

So much for being a superhero.

The boy scooted back when he saw Drake's eyes flutter open.
"Are you crazy, mister? They could'a killed you."

For some reason, Drake found that funny, but when he tried
to laugh, sharp spikes pierced his lungs. All humor vanished. "They looked
like they were killing
you
. What did you take from them?"

The kid's eyes jerked back and forth like a hunted animal.
"I didn't take nothing, yo. I swear it."

Each breath, each word, felt like it was stealing another
moment of life, but Drake had to know about the drug. "Well, they sure
think you did. Look, kid, I'm not going to hurt you. Do you think I'd get
myself nearly killed just to pick up where they left off?"

The boy tugged on his torn, dirty shirt. "Guess
not."

"Okay, then. So we agree. I'm not going to hurt you.
Why don't you try telling me the truth?" Years of living with the
knowledge that people would do whatever he wanted had given Drake a certain
confidence. Even if the loss of his powers had shaken that confidence, his
charisma still encouraged people to answer him. "If you're in some kind of
trouble, I might be able to help you. But you have to trust me."

The boy's eyes swelled with tears as he moved closer.
"It's my mom. She's, like, real sick. And I heard this drug might give
her, or me, some extra... I don't know... powers. Maybe it would help her. I
didn't know what else to do."

Could it be? "Do you have the drugs with you?"

The kid shook his head. "I hid 'em. You know, in case
they came after me."

Drake sighed in relief. "Good job. Very clever. Now,
listen carefully. I do have certain powers. And if you can get me some of those
drugs, I can heal myself and help you and your mom, okay?"

The boy frowned. "You ever done 'em before?"

"No."

"Then how do you know? You playin' me, man? Trying to
steal from me?"

"Kid, what would have happened to you if I hadn't
fought those guys?"

He looked down. "Dunno. Probably be dead."

"Right, so maybe I
am
trying to help? What's
your name?"

"Toby."

"Toby, I'm Drake, and I really can help you. But you've
got to get me that drug, okay?"

Toby nodded and took off down the alley. Drake tried to
stand, but his legs wouldn't hold. He desperately hoped this drug would bring
back his powers. It seemed unbelievable, but he would grab at any straw to
protect his family again.

Pockets of time blurred together as Drake faded in and out
of consciousness. The pain, so sharp at first, ebbed—still there, but not such
a big deal. He wondered if he was dying, but had a hard time caring either way.
The only things that kept him tethered to the pain—to life—were Sam and their
baby. If he died, he would never be able to help them, and Sam would forever
think him the worst kind of human being for abandoning them.

Toby finally returned, and Drake fought through the numb
lure of death's call, despite how desperately he wanted his miserable life to
end.

The kid handed him a vial full of blue fluid. "I only
got three. You try one and we'll see what happens."

"Do I just drink it?"

"Man, I don't know. Maybe. I ain't never seen no one
take it, just heard about it."

What do I have to lose?
Drake emptied the vial into
his mouth and swallowed.

Nothing happened. He slumped down in disappointment.
Too
good to be true.

Just as he was about to tell Toby that the drug was
worthless, something buzzed in his gut. The rotten emptiness in his chest
tingled with life, as if worms were crawling through him. He groaned and rolled
onto his side.

Toby's voice came at him like radio waves that he could see,
feel and taste. "What's happening, man?"

Drake opened his mouth, and tiny fairies with glittery wings
flew out, giggling. He giggled with them, caught up in their merriment. Had the
worms in his heart turned to fairies?
Very cool.

Fire and ice burned through his veins, so hot it was cold,
or so cold it was hot. He couldn't tell. He looked down at his arm and saw a
green glow pulsing through him, leaking out of his skin. Everything came alive
and the world exploded with color.

Motes of dust in the air danced and shined and waved and
winked. Toby's exhaled breath lapped on his lips like blue waves on the ocean,
and Drake found himself surfing on each gust, hanging ten on the iridescent
waters.

His power hit, full and hard, making his body jerk and spasm
as it knitted itself back together. He saw how close he'd come to Death's door,
and waved. Death hid, spying through his peephole, then flipped Drake the bird
and stalked off, sickle in hand, leaving him to heal alone.

When his body gleamed with new skin and tissue, and his
bones and organs were good as new, he felt the presence of another—one so
familiar, yet so far apart.

Sam.

Her fear and pain tore at him. She needed him, but he was
too far away, too lost in his own living hell.

"Drake, our baby's coming. Drake!"

'Sam, I'm here. I'm sorry, Baby. I'm here.'

"How? How's that possible? Drake, wait, I need to
tell you something—"

She screamed out, and he felt the pain, felt the baby
pushing out of her. Felt the fear and joy and fear again.