“Hand it over,” Gavil hissed, his breathing ragged.
Creed didn’t move. He didn’t know what he was waiting for, but he thought he’d know it when he saw it.
“Give me the serum, damn it!” Gavil growled reaching down to snatch the vials from his younger brother’s broken hands.
That’s when Creed saw it: The detonator. It was in Gavil’s breast pocket. The outline was distinct and the tip of its silver antenna peeked out—glinting light like a jewel in a wasteland.
With speed Gavil didn’t see coming, Creed yanked the remote out of Gavil’s pocket, ripping the shirt in the process.
A slow smile spread across Creed’s face. In one hand he still clutched the glass serum bottles, in the other, the means to blow them all sky-high.
Gavil backed up two steps, aware he just lost the upper hand, hate dripping in the form of saliva off his snarling lips.
“What are you going to do, Creed? Blow yourself up? Then who’s going to protect your precious Winter family?
Creed wasn’t listening to his brother’s words; instead he was watching his every move as he used his elbows to pull himself to a standing position.
“Look at you, you piece of wasted crap! You always were a useless shit! You have no idea what you’re doing. Things are different, Creed. Williams is different. A lot of shit has gone down since you left Germany, asshole, and I don’t have time to explain it to you. Just give me the damn serum—then you can blow yourself to hell, for all I care!” Gavil screamed.
Only a fraction of Creed’s brain was registering the venom Gavil’s demented mouth spewed. He was more focused on what he knew he had to do. As his brother ranted, Creed calmly typed the six–digit code into the detonator. Then, even as he swayed, maintaining his stance out of sheer will, he raised his hand holding the vials and with all the anger and determination of a man who knew he was going to die, slammed them against the cement countertop. The vials shattered, spraying their contents with thin shards of glass.
For a moment Gavil stared, jaw agape. Then his face contorted with rage. Knowing what he was thinking, with Creed’s last ounce of strength, he pushed the detonator’s “enter” button.
Chapter 11 Little Black Boxes in the Sky
“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen—Captain Bob Jacobi with copilot Vince Trainer, here. Just wanted to let you know we’re flying 39,000 feet above sea level, the skies are clear and we’re on schedule to arrive in LAX in three hours, twenty minutes. That will be just before 8pm California time. Brenda, our flight attendant will be serving dinner momentarily. If there is anything Mr. Trainer or I can do to make your flight more comfortable, please do not hesitate to let us know. It is always a—well, an adventure—to serve you,” the captain chuckled good-naturedly before turning off his intercom.
Meg had been sitting next to Cole, reading a book aloud to him. Though she was tired, and her voice was starting to get scratchy from the dryness in the cabin, Cole was her friend and he needed to know he wasn’t alone. Periodically she would stop and close her eyes, not to rest, but to focus on Cole. She tried desperately to find him through the unconscious blackness of his emotions. So far, nothing.
She wasn’t giving up hope, though. Cole had to be in there somewhere. If only he could find his way out of the darkness.
Dr. Andrews sat with Cole for the first four hours of their flight before Margo insisted he go rest in one of the plush passenger seats up front. Meg offered to keep vigil at Cole’s side, so Dr. Andrews reluctantly agreed.
As Meg was about get back to the book, she stopped and forced herself to look at her friend. His usual handsomeness was hidden behind a mask of illness. His mischievous, laughing green eyes were closed and sunken in shadowed bruises. She cringed at the thought of never seeing his adorable dimple again. Without thinking, she reached out and ran her fingers lightly through his sun-kissed brown hair, and sighed.
She prayed for him over the last few hours, but now felt a surge of anger at his thoughtless decision.
“How could you do this, you idiot?” She scolded softly. “Do you have any idea how worried we were? That serum Evan made was never tested!” Once she started her whispered tirade, she couldn’t stop. “Evan doesn’t even know what consequences there will be for you! Do you realize what I’m saying to you? Probably the brightest mind to ever study metahumans has no idea what will happen to a sixteen-year-old who dosed himself with a serum derived from Evan’s own blood!