Chapter 3: "Silence"
Quiet. It was so quiet. All around him.
Normally, Iggy loved the quiet. When it was silent and still, he could function, could tell where things and people were, what was happening. He felt more normal, less…blind.
But this silence, as he sat vigil beside the beds of most of his family, was terrifying.
His sensitive ears clung to the hushed sounds of their ragged breathing, picking out their individual patterns, petrified that at any moment, some of those precious sounds might disappear, might actually…stop.
A little, fevered sigh escaped Angel and he reached out, taking her tiny, limp hand in his and squeezing gently, wishing she would wake up. Wishing all of them would wake up.
Because he had no idea what he would do if they didn't. He just knew he would be lost – totally and completely lost.
He squeezed Angel's hand one more time, then let it drop, rising carefully to unsteady feet. He was so tired, and the pounding in his head had been unrelenting for what felt like days, to the point it was starting to throw off his hearing. But he couldn't sleep. Couldn't give up the watch. There was no one else to hand it off to.
Gently, he brushed his fingers across Angel's skin, hope crushed when there was no change from the hour before. He moved around to the other side of the bed, doing the same for Fang, pausing to count his brother's thready pulse. Some hours before, shortly after the woman – Sarah he reminded himself – had helped him settle them into the two big beds of this old farmhouse bedroom, Fang had slipped into unconsciousness, just like the others. Again, just like with Angel, there was no change.
He turned, grabbing for the bedframe for a moment when vertigo and exhaustion made his dark world spin, then shuffled on tired feet across the room to the other bed where Max and Nudge were.
Could it only have been the early hours of that same morning that he'd made four draining trips back and forth from the barn to this house, carrying his family one at a time? That he'd stripped Fang of his sweat soaked clothes and stuffed his unresponsive limbs into a borrowed t-shirt and pair of sweats while Sarah did the same for the girls? That he'd lifted them one by one into these beds? Crammed enough medicine down their throats to alarm Sarah despite his assurances that they could handle it?
Wearily, he trailed his fingers up Nudge's too still form, his hands hoovering for just a moment in front of her lips to feel the miniscule movement of breath across them. How many times had he slapped a hand over those lips to stop her prattling, and how much would he give to hear it now.
Max lay boneless on the other side of the bed, breathing raggedly. Some of her hair was plastered to the moisture across her face and he smoothed it back, tucking it behind her ear, reading the steady burn of her fever through his fingertips.
No change, no improvement, no evidence of the superfast healing they'd all come to take for granted kicking in. If anything, they were getting worse. The only thing that gave him even a little spark of hope was that so far, Gazzy seemed to have been spared. Not that he'd seen the kid since he came in this room all those hours ago. He'd ordered his ever-present little shadow as far from this sick room as possible, and he prayed Sarah had found him some form of entertainment. Before he started blowing things up.
He sighed and picked up one of Max's hands, feeling callouses and rough nails. They practically screamed World's Toughest Leader.
"This was a dumb idea, Max, falling out of the sky and leaving the blind kid calling the shots," he said softly, trying to keep the tears out of his voice. "You gotta come back, beat this stuff, whatever it is, because I'm lousy at being in charge. And…and I don't know that to do," his voice dropped to a whisper. "I'm scared, Max. What do I do?"
There was no reply, no sarcastic answer or Max-style chewing out for not believing in himself. Just more silence.
Iggy decided that he didn't like silence – he hated it.
"Hey," a voice called from the doorway of the room accompanied by the sound of knuckles rapping softly on wood. It was Sarah. "I brought food up. Some soup for you and broth for them." She walked into the room and Iggy heard her setting a tray down on the small table in the corner of the room. "Come sit down for a minute and eat – if your appetite is anything like your brother's you've got to be starving. Then, when you finish, we can work on getting them to swallow some broth."
Food didn't sound at all appealing right now, but he couldn't deny that his body did need it. He'd barely eaten in the last two days.
"Thanks," he said quietly. He squeezed Max's hand one more time and then set it back down on the sheets, finding his way to the table and an old wooden chair. He reached forward and his fingers encountered a bowl and a spoon. A big bowl – Sarah was a fast learner.
"Gazzy explained that you guys need eat a lot," she confirmed, her voice sounding as tired as he felt.
"Thanks," he muttered again, picking up the spoon.
The soup was warm and creamy, full of cheese and broccoli. His inner chef recognized that it was really good, but mostly he just forced it down because he knew he needed it. While he ate, Sarah moved quietly between the beds, checking on everyone just as he had moments before, smoothing cold clothes across foreheads and fixing covers. Finally she sighed and sank down into the chair he'd vacated by Angel's side.
"How long have you guys been living like this, on the run?" she spoke quietly.
Iggy's gut clenched, his natural instincts to not tell, keep the secret, protect everyone flaring up. And then he reminded himself that they were way past that point by now.
"Off and on, for about five months."
"So you were…were prisoners for all the time before that?" Her voice was shaky and appalled.
Iggy shook his head. "No. We were kept at the lab until right before I turned ten, then one of the scientists helped us escape." He clenched his jaw, Jeb's betrayal still raw and hurtful, but forced himself to keep going. "We lived with him until he disappeared two years later. Then we kept living in the house, pretending everything was fine for another couple years, until it all went to heck when the Whitecoats found us and kidnapped Angel."
He heard Sarah suck her breath in and turn, probably glancing at Angel's small form lying so still on the bed. "They took her back?"
"Yeah, but we managed to get her out again. Then we took off, wandering around."
"And you've been on your own and homeless since then?"
"Mostly," Iggy answered tiredly, reminding himself to keep eating even though the headache was making him wonder if the food was going to stage a reappearance in a less appealing form. "Fang had an…accident, and we ended up in the hospital to get him all patched up, which brought the FBI onto us. One of the agents had us come live with her for a month or so, but we left when we realized she was working with the Whitecoats and it was all a stupid ruse. Max hasn't dared stay in one place for too long since then, or trust anyone."
"I don't blame her. No wonder you wouldn't let me call for an ambulance," Sarah replied gently. "Iggy, how old are you?"
He thought about lying. They were tall for their ages, easily able to pass as older than they really were, but he also figured Sarah wasn't stupid. He'd spilled enough of their story that she could easily do the math; she was probably just asking for confirmation anyway. Heck, he'd been too stressed when he first met her to even remember to use fake names, so now she even knew their real ones.
"Fourteen," he answered, hanging his head.
"And the others?"
"Max and Fang are also fourteen; Max is the oldest. Nudge is eleven. Gazzy eight and Angel six."
Sarah didn't answer for a while, processing everything he'd just told her. Iggy pushed the bowl back. It wasn't empty, but he just couldn't force anymore food down and just waited, listening again to the labored breathing and heartbeats of his family.
"What did they do to you, a bunch of kids, in this lab?" she finally asked, very softly.
Iggy turned to her, aiming his eyes where he hoped she was sitting, his face drawn and serious. "Do you really want to know?"
"No," she answered sadly, "but I need to. You are all proof that there are very evil things happening out there. The least I can do is not hide from the ugly truths when I find them, so yes, I want to know."
So he told her.
Everything.
About growing up beaten, starved, and tortured. About spending the first ten years of his life in a freaking cage. About scientists who thought they had the right to play god with little babies and children. About being a number, an experiment, a thing. About being chased, hunted, never safe.
And when he was finished, the shocked silence that filled the room was almost tangible. He could actually feel it sitting around and between them, as Sarah tried to find words, any words, to reply with, broken only by the jagged sound of three bird-kids still struggling to breathe.
Finally, she sucked in a breath and started to speak, but before she could, Iggy realized what was wrong with the thought he'd just had.
Three bird-kids?
"Nudge!" he shrieked, jumping to his feet before Sarah got more than a shaky "Iggy, I'm –" out. "NUDGE!" he screamed again, leaping to her side as all his insides froze with terror.
Nudge wasn't breathing.
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