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Amos glanced between the nymph and me, his expression perplexed, but he didn’t budge from his protective stance. “Show me how it works on one o’ dem bugs first.” He jerked his chin toward the doorway. “Bring back a live one, prove your cure, and I’ll consider it.”
Seriously? We didn’t have time for this. Would it always be this tedious, having to explain, negotiate, and plead for a nymph’s life? Too bad we couldn’t record the healing of one and let the footage do the explaining. But that would require a charged battery. Maybe we could raid a Best Buy.
Michio squatted, removed a dart gun from the bag, and passed it to Jesse. “The cure doesn’t work on aphids, Amos.”
I rested against Roark’s chest. “My blood is poisonous to an aphid. One drop and their heart explodes.” I spread out my fingers, imitating fireworks.
Michio’s brow arched.
“What?” I said too much?
Maybe he didn’t want Amos to know I could explode hearts.
I wished I could use blood-dipped bullets in fights. Not that I wanted to be blooded before battle, but exploding aphids would be wicked. I’d tested the idea on Jesse’s spears. It worked while the blood was fresh and wet. But bullets were a no go, because the blood burned off when the gun was fired.
Michio tossed Jesse a plastic-wrapped syringe and a hypodermic. Evidently, Jesse would be drawing my blood while Michio dealt with Amos.
Michio held out his hand to the cagey man. “You don’t need the rifle.”
Amos stared down at his gun, his eyes burning holes into it. Lines grooved his forehead, and his finger tapped on the trigger guard. Then he looked at Michio and handed it over.
Releasing a breath, I followed Roark into the room and sat on the edge of a steel table. Michio explained his medical degree and qualifications in molecular biology and genetics. He quickly brushed over what we knew of the Drone, the monster’s religious motivation for creating the virus, and how we killed him in Iceland.
Amos set his lips in a straight line, determined to distrust everything he said. “You’ve been overseas?” His tone was dry, mocking.
Michio dug through his bag, nodding. “None of us are from here. I was in Japan when the virus hit. Jesse and Georges were in France, though Jesse’s from the States. Tallis’ was in Australia. Father Molony’s from Ireland.” He gave me a sad smile. “Evie lived in Missouri.”
Amos narrowed his eyes. “I don’t believe you.”
Geez, weren’t our diverse accents proof enough? I glanced at Roark beside me, who simply shrugged.
“You don’t have to believe me.” Michio rested a forearm on one knee. “In fact, it’s good that you’re questioning us. Suspicion will keep your guard up. After we cure your nymph, it’ll be your responsibility to look after her, and part of that role is protecting her from men who might be hiding their intent.”
Maybe it was a bit highhanded of Michio to expect Amos to care for her. But we couldn’t bring the women with us. They wouldn’t just slow us down. We didn’t know what we’d face down the road. What if we were attacked and every woman we’d saved was killed? Separating them and tucking them away with good men was best way to ensure future generations.
Amos stared at his dusty loafers. Either he still didn’t believe we could cure the nymph or he was considering the ramifications of what Michio suggested.
Jesse twisted the needle onto the syringe barrel, his mouth sliding into a lazy grin as he stepped beside me.
I didn’t trust that grin, not when he was seconds away from sticking me. “Is this payback for saving your hide out there?”
Roark perched at my side, his attention darting between Amos, the now docile nymph, and the low hills beyond the doorway. His soft eyes and relaxed shoulders radiated calmness, but since he wasn’t talking—or swearing—I knew he was on high-alert. My guardians worked efficiently like that, one of them always on the lookout when the others were distracted. Made it easier to relax sometimes, knowing we had each other’s backs.
Jesse swiped the inside of my elbow with iodine, cleaning away the aphid guts. “You disobey me because you think it gives you control. But the only thing your hardheadedness will accomplish is getting yourself killed.”
Oh, we were back to that again? “Maybe I don’t listen because you use words like disobey.”
He tied a rubber hose around my bicep, tighter than necessary, and touched the hypodermic point against the crease of my arm.
Blood didn’t bother me, but I’d rather not see it drain from my body. So I closed my eyes. “I thought I was supposed to die on a cliff or at the end of your—”
He shoved the needle into my vein.
“—prick.” I flexed my hand against the sting and opened my eyes to find him steadily watching me.
