Project Aquarius (The Sensitives Series Book 1) (18 page)

“Shut up. Stop laughing,” Rat Face demanded.

As his eyes came into full focus, Darnell observed that Rat Face was a pinch-nosed kid with oily hair and some bad acne. He looked like he hadn’t showered in a week. And he did, in fact, kind of look like a rodent.

“Well a’ight then, I’m Little Man,” Darnell offered. A street name for a street name.

“This is the Applewood Gang.”

As soon as the rodent leader uttered the group’s ridiculous name, all his peeps echoed, “Hey-yo!”

“Uh… okay.”

Darnell was dumbfounded. This had to be a joke. This wasn’t a gang. It was a gardening club or a Cub Scout troop or something. Darnell had seen gang fights. He knew about being jumped in, flashing signs, tagging up. At best, these kids were an elementary school production of
Peter Pan
.

Despite his skepticism, Darnell decided it was best to play along. “Uh… what colors you flyin’? Who you reppin’? Crips? Bloods? West Side Boyz? East Side Playas?”

“What’s he talking about?” whispered a middle-school aged girl who looked pretty rough. Her face was covered in streaks of dirt and her clothes were torn in several places. But, Darnell noted, she was unusually pretty underneath the dirt and tall for her age.

“Yeah, and what’s your name?” Darnell baited. “Swan Neck?” He snickered and the girl took two steps back.

“That’s Kitty Killer and you better watch what you say to her,” Rat Face asserted.

Darnell couldn’t help but laugh. These peeps had ridiculous street names. “You wanna try to tell me your home girl kills cats?”

More uncontrollable laughing.

“STOP. Stop laughing.” Rat Face blushed scarlet, revealing to Darnell that he had the upper hand.

“How about you untie me and I just pretend I never saw your little Applewood Club.”

“GANG!” Rat Face corrected. A vein in his neck looked like it was about to burst.

Kitty Killer stepped forward and grabbed the leader’s arm. “What if he’s one of them?” she whispered.

“One of who?” Darnell interjected.

“Shut up,” Rat Face purred.

Darnell decided to use their fear to his advantage. “You meet someone else? One of my homies with guns? Nah. Couldn’t be. You’d be dead if they seen you,” he bluffed.

“See? This kid is one of them, I know it,” Kitty insisted.

“But he doesn’t have a van,” whispered Rat Face to Kitty. After a beat he turned to Darnell and asked, “You don’t have a van, do you?”

“Do it look like I can drive? Why don’t you just let me go?” Darnell suggested.

“We won’t be letting you go until we’re done with you,” growled Rat Face.

“But we don’t know if he’s dangerous…” warned Kitty Killer.

The leader and the alleged animal butcher squabbled back and forth in strained whispers. Now was Darnell’s chance. He wriggled his pocket free, creating just enough space for Droid to climb out and the rat wasted no time squeezing through the hole. It ran directly toward the Applewood kids, squeaking wildly.

“Hey Rat Face!” Darnell called out.

“Yeah?”

“One of your kind is comin’ to get you!”

On cue, Droid zigzagged back and forth across the yard, a stark white blur. Rat Face spotted the rodent immediately and swung his pitchfork into action. He smashed the ground indiscriminately, stabbing the prongs into the earth, causing chunks of dirt to fly everywhere. Droid ran in circles looking for cover, squealing in terror.

KABLAM! The fork hit Droid squarely on the head. The tiny rat screeched as some blood squirted out sideways.

“Got him!” Rat Face sneered, as he slammed the prongs into Droid’s head five more times to make a point.

For one long second, Darnell was safe behind a wall of numbness. But the sight of the red streaks on the end of the pitchfork made fury bubble in his chest. Then Rat Face picked up the limp carcass and tossed it toward him. Droid landed with a thump near Darnell’s right leg.

“There you go. You two can hang out.”

Rat Face smirked.

Darnell could see bits of brain matter stuck to his pet’s stark white fur. Instantly, he wanted to destroy everything that had destroyed him. He tugged senselessly on the ropes that bound him to the tree, screaming a string of primal sounds. Darnell’s face flushed red-hot and the burning in his chest intensified. He didn’t think the rodent kid had it in him to murder an animal. He had lost a friend on a bad bet. Rat Face was going to pay for this.

“Soon as I get free I’m gonna come over there and pound your—”

CLANG! A loud noise came from the front of the house. All heads rotated toward the sound.

“I got one! I got one!” called a voice.

Moments later a petite Asian boy emerged holding a quivering Sammy by the arm.

“Let me go. Let me go. Let me go. Let me go,” Sammy repeated endlessly. “Let me go. Let me go. Let me go.”

The boy startled and released his arm. Sammy dropped to the ground and covered his ears.

“Good job Dweezil,” Rat Face complimented.

Dweezil? This place was too much.

“Let me go. Let me go. Let me go,” Sammy chanted despite his arms being free.

“Sammy, you a’ight buddy? Don’t worry, I got you,” Darnell called out to help soothe his friend.

“Is he mental or something?” Rat Face asked Darnell.

“Mental? Nope. He ain’t mental like you.”

“You know what I mean. Is he special ed?”

“He has autism,” Darnell said proudly using the correct term.

“Oh, the retard is a friend of yours,” Rat Face toyed.

“Hey, don’t call him a retard!” Darnell lurched forward, the ropes cutting angry purple marks into his wrists. “He’s smarter than you’ll ever be. Sammy, show him how smart you are bro!”

Sammy did not respond. He was fully in panic mode on the ground.

“Sammy, show him your birthday trick!”

“Let me go. Let me go. Let me go,” Sammy continued.

“Shut the retard up,” Rat Face commanded his gang.

Kitty Killer moved toward Sammy, but a voice from up in the tree house stopped her. “I got this!”

A stocky kid emerged from the structure. He was the one who had fired the first shot of blue paint. But this time he wasn’t holding a plastic paintball gun. Darnell could tell from the glint off the barrel, the thing was real. Quickly, the boy took aim at Sammy’s head and clicked off the safety.

“Wait!” Darnell pleaded as he locked eyes with the shooter.

Darnell couldn’t believe it. He knew the kid. He was a bit taller and a bit rounder than Darnell remembered, but his face was unforgettable. He looked like a miniature Godfather.

“I know you!” Darnell shouted at the chubby boy.

What was his name? Darnell’s mind raced. He was so bad with real names. Think, he told himself. Godfather, he had called him. Italian. Something Italian. Darnell worked his restraints while he searched through jumbled memories.

“Shut up. No you don’t.”

The kid walked forward and stopped with the gun inches away from Sammy’s face.

Suddenly, it popped into Darnell’s head. “Tony! I remember you! Tony, don’t hurt Sammy!”

“How’d you know my name?” Tony roared. He spun around and ran toward Darnell like his butt was on fire, the barrel now pointed at Darnell’s face.

“Who… the hell… are you?” the miniature Godfather wheezed.

The angry kid was so close; Darnell could smell the gunmetal. He had to think fast. “Reed Street. Two years ago. Mrs.…” He searched his memory.

The sprint had caused Tony to run out of breath. And the talking had triggered a coughing fit. The gun was still trained on Darnell’s face, bobbing up and down with each throaty cough.

“Mrs.… I forget her name, but she chain-smoked and had a bum leg. We called her… The Troll?”

Tony stopped his coughing fit for a quick moment and smiled. Then he doubled back over, gasping for air.

Darnell scrambled to get his words out. “You and me, we was foster brothers. At that lady’s house, remember Tony?”

“Don’t call him that,” snapped Rat Face. “His name is The Rock now.”

“Right,” Darnell murmured, “but Godfather is a way better nickname...”

Nearby, the girl called Kitty Killer giggled.

Darnell felt the situation relaxing. Everyone had stopped yelling and Sammy had quieted too. He needed to keep talking to remain in control. “Sounds like you need your inhaler dude. You got some real bad asthma.”

Tony nodded.

“Hey, what happened to you after Reed Street?” Darnell asked with genuine curiosity. Foster care was a revolving system. One day Tony was his brother, the next he was gone.

“I went to like… ten… different homes… after that.”

His wheezing worsened.

“Me too,” Darnell commiserated. They had found common ground.

Tony lowered the gun an inch. “Then I got adopted and moved out here— her name was Cranston by the way. The Troll.”

The stocky boy broke into a coughing fit that made his chest sound like a broken bagpipe. He knelt down and set the handgun on the ground to steady himself.

“Here… take this,” said a meek voice from behind the prostrate Tony.

Sammy had his arm outstretched. And in his palm were some leaves.

“What’s that garbage? Lawn trimmings?” Rat Face barked.

“It’s… mull… mullein,” Sammy stuttered.

Rat Face grabbed the greens out of Sammy’s hand and threw them on the ground. “It’s a bunch of leaves retard!” he yelled.

“Helps with asthma,” Sammy continued. “Crush up the leaves and steep ten minutes in boiling water. Or chew them for a long time and then swallow. It will make the coughing stop.”

The gang stood still. No one knew what to say.

In the silence, Sammy bent down and carefully gathered up the discarded mullein and handed a fistful to Tony. The asthmatic shrugged, put the leaves in his mouth, and began to chew. His coughing lessened almost immediately.

Darnell felt the sides of his mouth edge into a grin full of pride. “Told you he a genius. That’s my boy, Encyclopedia!”

The moment was interrupted by shouts coming from the front yard.

“Sammy? Sammy!!! Darnell!?” a familiar voice called.

Darnell’s chest warmed.

“Make formation,” Rat Face ordered.

His minions obeyed, lining up in a V. Even the newly recovered Tony took his assigned position. Rat Face pointed at Darnell and Sammy and said, “You two, stay quiet or we’ll shoot.”

Darnell nodded in agreement. He had observed at least two other gang members armed with real guns. Best not to test the threat.

With Rat Face at the front point, the flying V marched right past Sammy and Darnell toward the unfamiliar voices. When the gang was fully aligned with the side of the house, Rat Face delivered the next order, “It’s an adult. Ready weapons. Forward march.”

“Sammy? Darnell?”

Darnell could hear the strain in Ms. Harding’s voice and it landed heavily on his heart. She wasn’t mad. She was concerned for him and it felt wonderful.

“STOP RIGHT THERE,” screeched Rat Face.

“They’re over here!” shouted Ms. Harding.

As she rounded the corner, the Applewood Gang lurched forward, weapons drawn. “I SAID DON’T MOVE.”

“Oh my God… a group of children! Drea, there are more survivors!” Ms. Harding ran forward instinctively, oblivious to the guns.

Tony fired a warning shot into the air and Ms. Harding screamed.

Darnell worked on his bonds with renewed purpose. Things were about to jump off, he was sure of it.

Drea rounded the corner and slowly put her hands in the air. “I don’t want to hurt you. Do you have my brother Sammy?” She spoke purposefully a bit slower than usual.

“I’ll ask the questions,” said Rat Face.

Darnell wiggled enough room inside his ropes to scoot down and get his hand inside his right pocket. He gathered all his focus and stretched his fingers out to reach the pocketknife.

“You’ve been living out here all by yourself?” asked Ms. Harding.

“Yes,” answered Rat Face in a baby voice.

“You poor kids. You must have been so scared. What happened to you?” asked Ms. Harding.

The gang leader had an entirely different attitude when an adult was around. He fought through hardy sobs.

Rat Face began, “We were at school when… when the… when everyone died. Then we ran home and hid. But no one ever came to get us.”

“Stop! Don’t tell him anything! The pact!” Kitty yelled.

Dweezil butted in, “And his house was kind of creepy in the dark, so we started living in the tree house.” He spoke enthusiastically with a scoped rifle in his hands.

“Can you do me a favor and put the guns down?” Ms. Harding pressed. Slowly, she lowered her arms to show that she wasn’t a threat.

Rat Face complied and the Gang followed their leader, lowering their weapons.