Winter's Storm: Retribution (Winter's Saga #2)

“Well, Mr. Young, it looks as though we have a lot to talk about,” Margo smiled graciously. “Please wait for us back in the living room. Okay?”


“Ma’am, yes, ma’am,” Creed nearly saluted. He turned and walked out the lab’s double doors with Alik and Evan on his heels. They removed their surgical scrubs and masks and continued walking toward the living room.

Margo turned to the others who were left standing still and stunned in the room. “I don’t know if we can trust him, but I’m going to have to go with my gut feeling this time. Meg needs help, desperately. This meta soldier could be an unexpected answer to our prayers.”

“Her stats are definitely getting scarier by the hour. Nothing we’ve tried has helped or even stabilized her. We need to think outside the box, and that kid is definitely outside the box,” Theo said with worried tone.

“You know, he’s been following us for a while now,” Margo said aloud what she’d been thinking since the moment she saw Creed’s eyes.

“How do you know?” Theo asked.

“How about I let him tell you,” Margo began taking off her scrubs. “Are you okay staying here to keep watch over Meg, Paulie?”

“As much as I’m anxious to know what’s going on, I’m sure I’ll get the abridged version later. Meg can’t be left unattended. You go on, and I’ll be right here,” he said affectionately looking over at his patient like a grandfather would his own granddaughter.

“Thanks, Paulie. Please call us if there’s a change in her condition,” Margo said pulling her cell phone out of her pocket and checking the battery.

“Will do,” the old scientist said and returned to his microscope and note taking.

Cole fell into step behind Theo and Margo as they exited the lab, still believing in his heart that Creed was beyond dangerous and not to be trusted. This was his family and he was going to do whatever it took to protect them any way he could.

He scowled to himself as he realized even with all his protective bravado, he was just a normal human and the meta soldier could squish him as easily as squeezing the creamy, jelly-like guts out of a cockroach. He crammed his hands deep into the pockets of his jeans and let his hair fall into his eyes as he watched his feet walk. If he were in a cartoon, he thought to himself, he would have a huge sign hanging around his neck that read, “Useless Wimp” and a cone-shaped “Dunce” hat on his head.





26 Creed’s Confessions





“I appreciate your willingness to talk, Creed. I can only imagine the conflict you must feel to have taken this step,” Margo began. She was praying for the right words to say to this young man so she could determine his motives and possibly even sway him to becoming an ally.

“Yes, ma’am,” Creed, for the first time in his life, felt very unsure. Here was this tiny framed woman, a woman who he was moments away from killing with his own huge hands five months before, talking to him about his feelings. This was way too much.

“Are you hungry?” Margo asked with a smile.

“Hungry, ma’am?”

“Yes, Creed. You do eat, don’t you?” she stood and waited for her guest to do the same.

“Yes, ma’am,” Creed said with a half smile.

“Well, I’m starved. We’ve been keeping watch over Meg all night and haven’t had time to stop and eat,” Margo kept talking even as she led the bunch of men into the kitchen. “I know we have some sandwich meat and baby carrots with ranch dip,” she said rummaging through the open fridge. “Everyone wash up and let’s just start ‘piecing’ as my mother used to say.”

Creed walked to the sink to wash his hands as he’d been told. “What does she mean by ‘piecing’?” he asked Evan as they dried their hands with soft paper towels.

“Oh, that’s mom’s way of saying everyone grabs a bunch of food and comes to the table and we all kind of eat whatever we want to put on our plates; it’s all very informal,” Evan explained.

“Oh.” Creed didn’t know what to think of all this. It was all so unfamiliar. Growing up at the Facility, chow time was informal, but not like this. Food was scooped onto the treys and the soldiers sat at long tables. Dinner conversations were usually about someone fighting someone else, who won and how. No one worried about napkins or even utensils. There were no manners. It was fend for yourself. Sharing food or pleasantries was—well it was unheard of at the Facility.

Creed watched what the other men did and tried to follow their lead.

“Anyone else want some left over pizza?” Dr. Andrews asked the room, appreciating the break and truly just wanting to help the atmosphere stay relaxed.

“Sounds great,” Margo responded. “Could you grab the parmesan cheese while you’re in there?” she asked him.

“Yep, gotta love stinky cheese,” he said to her making a face.

“You’re not supposed to smell it; just eat it!” she teased back.