Edge of Instinct: Rabids Book 1 (49 page)

“What now?” Amiel asked, looking around for answers. Pell held up a hand, as though asking permission to speak. Harley had forgotten his hand was still on the guy’s face and quickly released it, wiping his hand on his pants. Pell’s glasses were all fogged up and he squinted against them before taking them off and rubbing them on his shirt. Once they were clean, he turned his attention back to Amiel.

“Hellooooo. I’m Peeeeell,” he sing-songed, holding out a hand for her to shake. His hair was short and messy, spiking up at odd angles. Harley had seen the guy working several times, and the tufted hair was due to the fact that the dude grabbed his hair in both fists, clutching it as he thought. Kinda goofy lookin’, but it fit his personality. Amiel smiled cautiously, shaking his hand.

“Do I know you? You look kind of familiar.” She bit her lip slightly in thought.

“Nope, can’t say as we’ve ever met before,” Pell disagreed. Amiel startled slightly as the geek slapped his hands together, rubbing them in anticipation.

“I am
so
excited about this, you have
no
idea! I mean, I really don’t know what’s going on or anything, but gobstoppers and holly hawks, I’ve wanted to do a covert mission since I started working there! I kept thinking ‘Be patient, Pell, do your work, Pell, they’ll notice you eventually, Pell. You’ll get to move up and do the fun stuff.’ Evvvvveryone kept saying I was a fool, that Foundation would never pick me for an important mission. Well! Who’s laughing now, eh?” He grinned at Amiel. “It’s me,” he whispered conspiratorially. Amiel humored him with a slightly confused but gentle giggle. Harley looked at Cajun, not entertained in the least. Cajun just shot him a crooked smirk.

“Ace! Let’s move this rage inside then, yeah?” Cajun suggested. Pell eagerly nodded, grasped Amiel’s hand, wrapped it around his forearm and dragged her along as he hot-footed for the warehouse door. Instantly he was chatting her ear off about promotions and how he was an undercover ninja or some dumb bunk. Amiel listened politely, sending Harley a small smile as they walked. Charleen approached then and leaned over to sniff Cajun’s shoulder, eyebrow rising. Cajun shrugged, offering an apologetic smile.

“Sorry, love. The bird’s like an aromatherapy candle.” He winked, sending her a mischievous grin. “But that just gives us an excuse to work extra hard on getting
your
scent back. All. Over. Me.” Charleen rolled her eyes, but the smile she gave in return left no doubt in Harley’s mind what would be happening later. He made a mental note to stay far away from Cajun and their room for the rest of the day. Amiel and Pell disappeared inside the warehouse leaving Harley buzzing with nervous energy. He moved to follow, calling over his shoulder. 

“Y’all better know what you’re doin, Caj.” Cajun ran to catch up with him, Charleen in tow.

“It’ll be fine, Harl.” Slapping Harley on the back reassuringly he leaned closer. “I told Pell that this is a top secret black ops mission for Foundation. One that doesn’t exist outside the top ring leaders, and isn’t to be discussed in any aspect, even under duress. And that’s because there’s at least two moles inside Foundation, and it could be anyone. Amiel is a high priority agent that was captured and tested on in some sort of freakishly devious way. In Antarctica. She doesn’t remember a thing, or know what is happening to her now.” He leaned back with a proud grin. “That’s our story, and we’re sticking to it.” 

“Antarctica?” Harley asked doubtfully. Cajun shrugged.

“It was the first thing that came to my mind.”

“He actually fell for that?” Harley grumbled.

“Of course he did! This is me we’re talking about here mate. Give your brother a little faith.” Harley rolled his eyes, but he had to admit he was a little impressed that Cajun had managed to charm such a ridiculous story onto someone. “Plus I promised him if he ever caved and told anyone, I would personally deliver his immense collection of granny porn to his mum, and tell her that he was under investigation for some sort of heinous crime.” Harley’s face scrunched in disgust.

“Granny porn? That’s disgusting. And how exactly do
you
know this.”

“Trust me brother, you don’t even want to know.” Harley was sure that was true. They walked inside to see Amiel leaning against the edge of a long folding table. Pell was sitting on a folding chair, tapping away on a laptop and spreading out a bunch of medical and technical instruments.

“So then I told her, ‘What? It’s a cow, and I’m a man with needs. And then she said-” He jumped as Harley’s large hand slapped down on his shoulder. Looking up at him, he pushed up his glasses, scrunching his nose. “Oh, hello. We were just talking about my time backpacking in Europe. I’d been mugged along the way, so I had no money. As such I had to steal a place to sleep in a farmer’s barn, and his wife caught me trying to milk their cow. It was late, I was tired and really thirsty. Backpacking is hard work you know. And something else that’s hard work? Milking a cow! You would not
believe
how hard it is to actually milk a cow! There’s a special way you’ve got to do it.” He held up his hands to demonstrate, then trailed off under Harley’s stern expression. “You don’t care, do you?” Harley shook his head. “Well! We need to get started anyways. Can’t be sitting around listening to me jabber all day, now can we?” He moved to stand, but Harley’s firm grip kept him plastered to his seat.

“Listen, powder puff. We are going to have a very serious conversation now, so listen carefully.” Pell nodded eagerly, pressing his glasses up again. “I’ve been put specifically in charge of her protection. And you and I both know just how seriously I take my obligations. Yes?” Pell nodded again.

“Oh yes! Your portfolio is most impressive! I especially enjoyed the time-” Harley interrupted, neither eager to hear more of Pell’s babbling, or for him to tell Amiel about some of his more gruesome jobs.

“We are here for answers only. Y’all hurt her, I hurt you. Got it?”

“Oh, yes, of course. Gotcha.” Harley released him and the nerd quickly bounded to his feet. Rubbing his hands together again, he walked back and forth. “Now, Miss Amiel, I understand you had a situation last night?”

“Yes.”

“I am going to need to know everything that happened.”

“I can’t remember,” she reminded him.

“Oh! Yes, of course, where is my brain. More importantly, where is yours! But that’s what we are here for after all, isn’t it.”

“Focus,” Harley growled a low reminder.

“Yes, yes! Focus! Cajun, you were there?”

“Yep. There had been concern about her protection, so I was following her home to ensure she arrived safely.” Cajun fudged over the truth to fit both stories. He held up his hands, moving into full storyteller mode. “Out of nowhere Rabids zone in on us! The little bird flipped around with her motorcycle, facing the oncoming pack. I tried to get her to leave, but she refused. She kept shouting at me to go, that she’d give me a head start. She was trying to protect
me
, the little nutcase.” He laughed at Amiel, who was turning a lovely shade of pink under their combined scrutiny. “That’s about the time her eyes went all wonka.”

“Wonka
how
exactly? Cross-eyed?” Pell asked, hand on his chin in thought.

“No, no, nothing like that. You know how our eyes get really dilated when we rely heavily on our instincts? Her eyes dilated too, but the edges shot out in all these wonky complicated patterns. Like crosshatching in embroidery, I guess.”

“You’re such a girl,” Harley snickered. Cajun shrugged innocently.

“Mum liked to embroider. It’s not
my
fault I picked up some of the lingo along the way.” Cajun ignored Harley’s humorous sneer, continuing with his story.

“So, her eyes go all wonka, yeah? She’s sweating, bent over like she’s in a lot of pain. And then she takes off flying down the road like a bunyip from hell.”

“A what?” Amiel asked, clearly unsure how she felt about that description.

“Bunyips- mythological creatures from Australia. I swear I saw one when I was fifteen. Me mum used to scare me with stories about them when I was a kid, but I never believed it until I saw it with me own eyes.”

“It was his own reflection,” Harley quipped. Again Cajun ignored him.

“So I jump out of the car, yeah? A few feet away from the Rabids, she jumps off the bike, sending it skidding sideways into the lot of them.” Harley partially tuned Cajun out when Amiel grabbed his hand. She winced, mouthing a ‘sorry’ to him. He squeezed her hand back letting her know he wasn’t worried about it. Paint jobs weren’t an issue.

“She yanks off the helmet, plops down right there on the ground, arms wide, screaming like a banshee. It was all very dramatic, like something you’d see in a movie. A creepy movie,” he amended. “Sorry, bird, but it’s true. Anyways, she jumps up, yanks a gun out and starts mowing down the Rabids with only a .45 and a helmet. Never seen a thing like it! Not an ounce of fear in her. It was really quite fanfreakintastic to watch.” His grin was so large it was in danger of splitting his face. “Oh, and then after that she kind of had a little standoff with me.” Charleen tensed, eyes shifting to land on Amiel with intensity. Cajun didn’t seem to notice, but Harley did. He kept a wary eye on Charleen, ready to intervene if her darkness decided to come out to play.

“She didn’t try to attack me, just sat there ready for a fight. When I didn’t attack her, she just dropped her weapons and collapsed. Out cold.” Cajun finished on a big breath.

“Crosshatching. Screaming. Killing. Unconsciousness. Intriguing. Quite intriguing,” Pell muttered, pacing up and down, grabbing at his hair in that weird two handed fist thing he liked to do. He stopped in front of Amiel.

“Tell me about the tags.”

“They were my brother’s. He was a soldier in the Rabid wars. He died of some weird sort of poison that destroyed all of his muscles.” Harley looked to Cajun, knowing that with that one sentence Amiel had just blown their cover story. Pell, however, gave absolutely no reaction, his emotions staying steady and strong. Not even a blip of surprise.

“Alphurinise, I believe. No idea how they got a hold of it, but the Cutthroats seem to be very fond of its usage. More and more instances of its use are popping up lately.” Pell stated matter-of-factly. Harley felt sympathy for Amiel’s brother. It was the one thing that could really knock a Hybrid down. If one got too much of a dosing, it could even kill. For a Clean…well, it would have had to be excruciating.

“I think that’s what it was called. The doctors mentioned it when Jaron was first transported in, but I was too dazed to pay attention to the name.” she swallowed hard, and Harley could feel her pain fighting to claw its way to the surface. It was a pain he had only sensed tinges of in the past, but never felt the brunt. She’d buried it well.

“Just before he died he gave me his dog tags. He said they would protect me the way he no longer could. I spoke to a soldier friend of his on the way here and he said he had no idea where the tags came from, but that they affected Jaron in the same way that they did me. And, Jaron left me some journals when he…” Her throat seemed to rebel, closing off on her words.

“When he died. He said they might come in handy. As gruesome and heart wrenching as some of the entries are, I’ve been reading them all, trying to find answers. He didn’t leave me a single one. He never wrote about the tags in his journals. There were a few times he alluded to his temper, or his newfound strengths, but he never once directly mentioned the tags. He kept their secrets and took them with him.” She wiped at her eyes

“Intriguing. Do you ever take them off?”

“No. Never. I promised him I wouldn’t.”

“Tell me more. Why do you think they are connected, these episodes of violence and the tags.”

“I never had one of these episodes before I started wearing them.” She hesitated. “And when there are Rabids nearby, I can feel them.”

“Feel them? How?” Harley asked.

“The tags react to them somehow. They warm against my skin, the closer the rabid, the warmer they get. And it messes with my emotions. I can feel myself growing angry; furious really. It makes me want to fight, and I’ve never thrown a punch in my life. Until my blackouts began, at least. But it’s not just throwing punches, it’s killing.” She shivered miserably.

“Do the tags do anything in particular when you are around normal humans?”

“Well…” She thought hard, face scrunching. “I was pretty off balance with my temper when I first put them on, especially around certain people. But I had just lost my brother, and I was in shock and pain. So I don’t know if that had anything to do with the tags, or if it was just me.” Her little shoulders lifted in a helpless shrug. “Otherwise? No. They don’t do a thing,” Amiel lamented. Harley’s brow lifted.

“So that’s why you didn’t fight back with them thugs that night?”

“I
tried
to fight back,” she argued halfheartedly. Harley grunted.

“If that’s what we are callin’
fightin’ back
, it’s definitely time to get you in the gym.” She scrunched her nose at him, but didn’t bother arguing the facts. They’d both agreed that night that she sucked at fighting. Only,
then
he’d thought she was faking it.