Edge of Instinct: Rabids Book 1 (33 page)

“I was tryin’ to do what y’all said. Ya know. Be friends. I fixed her bike up some, figured she might like that.” He shrugged. “Anyway, she seemed pretty happy ‘bout it I guess. Fed me pancakes as thanks.”

“Was it good?” his brother interrupted.

“What?” Harley’s eyes narrowed.

“The breakfast,” Cajun replied innocently.

“Oh. Yeah. Good food.”

“Cool.” Harley waited to see if Cajun was going to pull out any more of his lame jokes, but he sat quietly and didn’t say a word. Shaking his head, Harley continued.

“She had huge bruises on her neck from last night.” Cajun’s lips pursed.

“Ooh. Did you go ballistic and hunt down the troll humper?” Harley’s brow creased. His brother said the weirdest things sometimes. It was usually best to just ignore it and move on.

“No. Wanted to, but didn’t. Turns out I had a bigger test ahead of me.” Cajun waved his hand in the air, eagerly waiting. “Darbis.”

“Darbis?” Caj sat for a minute rubbing a hand over his chin thinking. His eyes lit up. “Oh! The drongo from here at Foundation? The one you can never get his name right!”

“Don’t feel the need to remember stupid people’s names.” Harley shrugged. Cajun leaned closer, looking around before speaking.

“So the dill showed up there? What for, did Foundation send him?”

“Nope. He
lives
there. Her neighbor.” Cajun stared at him for a moment, clearly waiting for the punch line. When it didn’t come, he let out a huge laugh, eyes watering. Several pairs of eyes from those nearby shifted to land on them, and Harley shifted uncomfortably. Cajun couldn’t have cared less.

“Dad was right! She’s like a magnet for bad luck!”

“Y’all don’t know the half of it.”

“So, what happened then.”

“Idiot challenged me.”

“Bloody hell!” Cajun’s face was a mixture of disbelief and rage.

“Yep. All but the official words.”

“The no-hoper actually challenged you. I always thought he was Wonka, but I didn’t know just how far gone!”

“He’s apparently got it in his head that she’s his next conquest.”

“Well. That’s that then. Need help digging the grave?” Cajun stated factually.

“He’s still around.”

“Clangers of steel, Harl, clangers of steel. I’d like to think I’m in control, but if I’d been charged with looking out for Charleen, and anyone had the gall to call me out…” 

“I was on the verge,” Harley admitted grudgingly.

“So what stopped you?” Cajun had that curious look in his eyes that always led to trouble. Harley simply shrugged, not ready to admit out loud his real reasoning.

“Look, I came here for advice.” He hesitated. “I told her I’d train her.” Cajun’s eyes widened, understanding the full implications. Harley ran a hand through his hair, not meeting his brother’s eyes.

“Well then.” For once Cajun seemed to be at a loss of words.

“What do I do, Caj? I have to protect her, but I can’t be there all the time. She’s gotta know how to protect herself. But I can’t teach her neither. It’s too dangerous.” He paused, rubbing his eyes tiredly. “But I still don’t understand the need to teach her. Pop seemed sure she don’t know how she does what she does, and that it only happened around Rabids. But I’ve seen her fight, and I can’t believe a girl could kick rabid ass the way she does, but not have an ounce of sense on how to kick a Cleans.”

“Do you think she’s lying?”

“Any other time I’d say hell yeah. But I seen the look in her eyes that night with the Cuts, Caj. Either the kid’s a perfect liar, or she was terrified outta her wits. Which means Pop was right about her not havin’ control over it.” He ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “The pieces just don’t add up, Caj. I’m missin’ somethin’.”

“Well we know one thing for sure. She’s not one of us.”

“No,” Harley agreed.

“Do you think there’s any truth to what that Digger said?”

“Digger? How many times do I gotta tell ya Caj, speak English,” Harley grumbled in annoyance.

“The soldier, dummy. The one that said the tags have something to do with her turning into a super ninja. Think there’s any truth to that?”

“Seems like a real impossible notion, don’t ya think?”

“Yeah,” Cajun shrugged “but so does a bitty Clean chick with a split personality beating down Rabids for a hobby.” Harley couldn’t argue that. Nor could he argue against what his Aviators told him every time he looked at the girl. Something was all screwed up in the kid’s chemical makeup, a matter that had been causing him no small amount of confusion.

The glasses were somewhat of a secret project of his. They were a prototype he’d been working on for a few years now; only Charleen and Cajun knew them to be more than a pair of shades. But even they didn’t know the full depth of their purpose or usefulness. Harley had learned the importance of keeping his inventions quiet. He’d come to Foundation with a head full of ideas, inventions meant to better society, to protect it. He’d thought Foundation was just the place to get those inventions mass produced and out to the everyday person living in fear on the streets. Instead, Foundation had swooped in and taken control of every detail, right down to the napkins he’d jotted ideas on. They took them and pawned them off through the government channels, sharing only with people rich enough to fill their pockets in exchange. Harley hadn’t breathed a word of invention since then. They’d tried forcing the ideas from him, but he’d held strong, feigning ineptitude. Eventually they gave up, tossing him into another position where they deemed him more useful. But he knew they still watched him, and everything would change if they ever found out about his little undercover hobby.

He still invented; a lot, actually. But now he was smarter about it, making all inventions at a secret location and keeping everything on the hush hush. If Foundation knew he’d created glasses capable of seeing the chemical makeup of every individual, he’d never see light of day again. They came in handy when weeding out the infected from the everyday Joe. He could even catch the telltale signs of someone with a cold, and their current emotional disposition. The glasses weren’t necessary for someone in Harley’s line of work, though he’d found himself becoming rather attached to them, if for nothing but providing a shield between him and other people. Certain ones in particular. They came in handy, and if he could find a way to mass produce them, one day maybe they could help the regular people out there without his particular advantages.

They worked based off of heat patterns, stress signals, the chemical readings of the genetic makeup, as well as the pheromones emanating from the skin. It all came down to the colors. Some shouted danger, some a quietly approaching death from disease or old age, others told whether the person was just plain having a crappy day. But Amiel? Her colors didn’t match any of the colors he’d come across in the time since he’d created the aviators. Granted, the glasses were still in the test phases, and that meant they were filled with their own glitches and hadn’t come across all of the available genetic make-ups in the world. It could be Amiel was perfectly normal. Or it could be like Caj had said, and she had a split personality that brought about the different colors. Maybe, just maybe, the pieces of metal around her neck could have something to do with the alterations. Whatever it was, his instincts were torn on the matter. They didn’t sense any sort of danger from her, yet they didn’t trust her either. He probably should have shared this information with his brother and Charleen, but his inner darkness felt a sort of territorial duty toward the kid. Until he found out one way or another, he would quietly sit back, watching and waiting. Harley’s attention snapped back to the present conversation when Cajun flicked him in the nose.

“It’s a rather valid point, don’t you think? Maybe you should find out if she’s lying or not,
before
you go any further with this promise of yours. Just saying, brother.”

“Yeah,” Harley agreed, rubbing his neck.

“And if you decide to train the girl in the end, I’ve every confidence you can handle it. It’s going to be hard, there’s no denying that. But if anyone can do it, it’d be you, Harl.”

“What if my instincts kick in and I hurt her?” Cajun looked at him carefully, all too aware of the uncharacteristic worry in Harley’s tone.

“You train new recruits all the time. Just treat her like one of them.”

“Her head ain’t as hard as theirs,” Harley reminded him.

“So don’t aim at her head, and it won’t go cactus.” Cajun winked, slapping Harley on the back. Harley’s gaze narrowed, but he couldn’t help returning a small reflection of Cajun’s smile. His dweeb of a brother tended to have that effect on everyone around him, especially when he used his completely off the wall Aussie lingo. He didn’t bother asking for a translation this time.

“That’s better. Chin up, mate. We’ve got a real hullabaloo ahead of us tonight, can’t afford to have you moping around. First night of Blood Moon Mania.” His grin broadened, and Harley followed him back toward the barracks. Despite the cheery show his brother put on for blood moon hunts, Harley knew how much it worried him. His mate was in danger all week long, and there was nothing Cajun could do about it, except try to be at her side through the whole ordeal. Harley pushed thoughts of Amiel from his head, intent on being there to back up his brother and his mate in every way possible.

Amiel

Amiel cleared away the dishes on the counter, looking at the clock for the hundredth time that night. She didn’t know why she kept looking at it, it wouldn’t have the answers she needed. With a sigh she grabbed a cloth and set to cleaning off the countertops. Tonight was slow, and she had little to keep her mind preoccupied. It had been two weeks since Harley had promised to train her. Two weeks since she’d seen or heard from him. She was trying to be patient, but she was finding there was little of that on hand.

She covertly pulled the cell phone from her apron pocket. Tandy had informed her during one of their phone chats that he’d given Harley her number before he’d left for home. She’d hoped that he would call her, or text her at least. But the phone had no more answers for her than the clock did. For the millionth time she wondered if maybe she should be the one to contact him. But maybe she’d already scared him off with forcing him to have breakfast with her. If that was the case, pestering him on the phone would make matters worse. Crinkling her nose at the phone she shoved it back into the pocket. Maybe he hadn’t gotten a hold of her because he’d changed his mind, but didn’t know how to tell her, so he simply ignored her. Or maybe he’d just been busy.

“Penny for your thoughts, suga.” Joyce flounced against the counter top at her side, happily popping away at the gum in her mouth. Her bubbly demeanor never failed to bring a smile to Amiel’s face and heart alike. Joyce made everything fun, and every day brighter. Amiel counted herself lucky to have found her as a friend. Amiel bit her lip, debating on whether to confide her problems on the matter or keep it hush hush. She didn’t know why she should keep it quiet. Harley hadn’t exactly told her not to tell anyone about him. Yet the topic of Harley seemed to be a sensitive one for Amiel. Given his size and dangerous capabilities he was clearly able to take care of himself, but Amiel couldn’t help feeling protective of him. It didn’t help that everyone he met seemed to have it out for him. She glanced at her redheaded friend, who wiggled her eyebrows, waiting for the goods. Finally breaking, Amiel tossed down the rag and leaned closer to speak more privately.

“Joyce…what does it mean when a guy promises to call you, but then he never does.” Joyce pursed her lips, thinking.

“How long’s it been?”

“Two weeks.”

“Hmm…who is this guy exactly? A friend, new acquaintance, boyfriend?”

“Um…friend, and fairly new acquaintance,” Amiel said hesitantly, trying to put to words their unique relationship.

“It means he ditched you, biznitch,” Sunshine snarked as she walked by them with a bucket full of dirty dishes. Joyce grabbed the dirty rag from the counter and chucked it at the retreating teen. It hit her full on in the back of the head, and stuck. The girl turned around with stark rage and disgust on her face.

“What the hell, Joyce! That’s disgusting!” Joyce made shooing motions with her hands.

“So is y’all’s face. Boo, hiss, get thee back to thine lair, devil! And watch your dirty tongue.” Sunshine scowled as she tried to shake the rag from where it stayed lodged atop her head. Arms full of dishes as they were, she couldn’t yank it off until she put them down somewhere. She scurried off into the kitchen, cursing Joyce the whole way.

“Don’t worry about that lil bottom feeder, Amiel. She obviously ain’t never had a boyfriend that weren’t fed by batteries.” Amiel’s face reddened, but she couldn’t contain the laughter. Joyce had a rowdy sense of humor. Sunshine shouted something else entirely unladylike, obviously knowing their laughter was directed at her.

“Seriously though, darlin’, I wouldn’t worry overly much. I know it’s an awful long time to wait, but men don’t seem to run on the same clocks we women do. He probably don’t even realize it’s been a week, much less two.”

“You think so?”

“Sure do. Looky here, honey bunch, I been married for twelve years. You’d think the man would know a woman’s birthday by now, right? Nope, that man don’t remember a cotton pickin’ thing. Then, just when I think he gone done and forgot again, he shows up with a buncha roses, and a goofy poem that he thinks is romantic. It may be a few weeks late, but it’s the thought that counts.” Amiel smiled at the warm glow of love that reflected on Joyce’s face. “Man’s a forgetful thing honey. Be understandin’ and flexible, and they’ll rarely disappoint ya. If he’s a good man to begin with, that is. And if he ain’t, he ain’t worth the time of stewin’ for him.”

“He is a good man,” Amiel noted firmly. Joyce winked, pinching Amiel’s cheek.

“Then I reckon he’ll be ‘round again before long.”

“Thanks, Joyce.”

“Anytime, suga. Just call me the love doctor. I can fix anythin’ in the love department.” She glanced toward the kitchen. “Except maybe for that one in there. Could probably find her a man, but I wouldn’t do somethin’ like that to
any
man. Even Stint.” Joyce walked toward the cash register with an exaggerated roll in her hips, winking at a customer as he walked up to pay.
Pouring on her sugar
, as she liked to call it. Joyce got amazing tips. When the costumer had left, Amiel decided to try asking one more question.

“Joyce, have you heard of a gang with tattoos on their necks?” Joyce dropped the roll of quarters she’d been breaking open to put in the register, her eyes wide.

“Now why would you go askin’ somethin like that, darlin’?” Amiel watched her reaction carefully.

“I just heard a rumor, that’s all. I know I haven’t been here very long, but I sure haven’t seen anyone like that. The person who told me isn’t very reliable, but I was curious.” Joyce slowly bent to pick up the roll of quarters, taking her time.

“Well, I can’t rightly say I’ve heard ‘em called a gang before,” Joyce mused. Amiel waited impatiently, wanting to know anything she could. She hadn’t expected to actually find anyone else that would confirm Darvey’s ramblings.

“But…?”

“But I have heard of ‘em, the ones with the tattoos on the neck. I try to keep my nose outta stuff like this, and if you’re smart y’all will, too,” Joyce cautioned sternly. “But…I’ve seen one of ‘em myself.” Her confession was grudgingly given, but Amiel eagerly prodded for more information.

“Really? Where? When?”

“It was a girl, ‘bout a year back. She had short blonde hair and blue eyes. Pretty as all get out. Only saw her for a few minutes though. I was ridin’ the bus home back then, cause I didn’t have no rough bike ridin’ bestie to tote me ‘round at night.” She winked at Amiel. “But I knew she was one of them, cause I saw the tattoo. Didn’t much believe in the rumors before that night. She was standin’ by the road starin’ at us in the bus as we went by. She was all covered in blood with eyes cold as ice.” Joyce shivered.

“She was…covered in blood?” Amiel asked, feeling her stomach bottom out. Somehow when she pictured Joyce’s story, an image of Amiel herself filled the space of the blonde haired woman. Covered in blood, just the way she had been so many times coming out of a blackout. Joyce shrugged, waving a hand in the air, breaking Amiel from her frightening thoughts.

“Said I don’t know much about ‘em, darlin’. But I’d say if y’all ever see one of ‘em, you’d best high tail it outta there. Better to be safe than sorry, right?” Amiel nodded, letting Joyce quietly go back to sorting the cash register while her thoughts shifted.

She didn’t know any more about Harley’s tattoo than before the conversation took place. She couldn’t help but feel a small amount of guilt for her snooping further into the matter, too. Clearly the best way to find her answers would be to ask Harley about the rumors herself. But was her curiosity really worth risking their delicate new friendship? And maybe it should have, but Joyce’s story hadn’t made her any more afraid of the meaning behind Harley’s tattoo than she had been before. Her loyalty to their friendship was still just as strong as before she’d asked. The story would have been scarier to Amiel, she supposed, if she didn’t know the darkness that lay within herself. If she hadn’t found herself pulled from that darkness, covered in blood far too often in her own life.

Nothing was black and white in Amiel’s world anymore. So who was to say the lives of the owners of the tattoos were black and white either? She had a feeling that there was more grey to the story than she or anyone else knew. Turning her back to Joyce she covertly peeked into her pocket, only to be left with a feeling of dissatisfaction. She’d ask Harley about all of this herself, face to face. But first she had to hear back from the guy.