Vagabonds

Chapter Fifty-Six: The Merciful

Watching Amile and Aquila fight was like watching a clash of titans, a battle of gods. Their knuckles left craters in the floor, knocked cabinet doors askew, destroyed beakers and petri dishes and monitors and keyboards. Eliza had to lunge to one side to avoid their swinging mass, stumbling back to join Dr. Oleander and trace the violent dance, Eliza with dumbfounded awe, Dr. Oleander with a sly, self-satisfied grin.

But Eliza had never been good at just watching.

Twisting away from the man in the lab coat, she began to scour through this undisturbed corner of the research room. She had to help Aquila. He might be bigger than Amile, but she was faster. More vicious.

And Eliza had to help.

"You hurt... my... family," Aquila snarled, each word punctuated by a crash as Eliza rummaged through the contents of a drawer. "You shot... my... father!"

"Ah, but I told you. Old Ian Eckelson isn't your father."

There was a meaty thud accompanied by a pained gasp.

Aquila's.

Eliza began to throw things over her shoulder as she looked, casting a frantic look at Dr. Oleander.

"Help me!" she said, not bothering to pause in her search as the old man dropped his key and stepped back into the relative safety of the computer stand. He folded his arms, as if to say I'm just here for the show. Eliza snarled in frustration, glancing over her shoulder in time to see Aquila roar and launch himself over a lab table, hitting Amile's chest. They both disappeared between the neat rows of marble-top benches.

Eliza returned to her hunt.

"They're not... your family," Amile panted. There was a metallic crash. "Because you're not... people. You're. Just. Test. Subjects."

"No we're not." Eliza had never heard Aquila sound so dangerous, so deranged. Her heartbeat was almost loud enough to drown out the noise, the chaos roiling behind her.

"This is a military base!" Eliza snapped, heaving a box of empty text tubes over one shoulder. "Where the fuck are all the weapons?!"

Suddenly, a hand appeared. Old, withered, veined.

Holding a rope.

Dr. Oleander looked at Eliza, eyes glittering with mischief.

Eliza slapped her palm down across his, accepting the long piece of twine. It wasn't much, but she was done hanging back.

Swinging around, Eliza found Amile on Aquila's chest, her knees on his wings, her fist colliding with his face over and over and over. Blood spouted from Aquila's nose, leaked from a split lip. Amile herself had a swelling bruise that was beginning to close her left eye, but she grinned maniacally as she pounded down on Aquila, drunk on her own strength.

Eliza pulled the rope taut between her two hands, dug her toes into the shattered tile floor.

And lunged back into the fight.

The rope wrapped around Amile's neck, making her choke in surprise. As Eliza's weight shifted the woman's light body, Aquila managed to roll upright. His wings snapped, slapping Amile's face. She sputtered, rolled away, but Amile was now outnumbered. Eliza ducked in close, twisting the rope tighter. An arm came out of nowhere, hitting her in the head. Eliza saw stars, toppled to the side, but managed to keep hold of the twine.

Amile was choking, her limbs jerking in erratic, frantic bursts. But she wasn't done yet. Amile punched Aquila in the ribs, kicked out at Eliza, foot hitting knee. Eliza screamed as her leg protested the abuse, but leaned further away, tautening the rope. Aquila loomed over them, holding down Amile's jerking feet, and Eliza felt the world slow. Time became as thick as molasses, holding them there, sticking to her skin.