The Retaliation of Seven 1
Author Note: Welcome, my fellow Loric, to the sequel of "The Hunt of Five". Read it first if you haven't already; it'd be a good idea.
Enjoy and thank you all SO MUCH! :D :D :D
John's P. O. V.
I stare at the utter disbelief as the scar burned raw into my leg.
Four scars of the fallen Loric. Four marks that haunt much deeper than my skin. The fourth mark doesn't belong to me. One of the other Garde has fallen, and we weren't there to help whoever it was.
Now we only have six. The Lorien Six, just like we thought before Ella…my thoughts are bitterly sullenly as I touch the fried flesh with my mere fingertips. Six, Nine, Eight, Adam, and I managed to get out from the burning car in time for all of us to be alive; apparently whoever our attacker was only wanted a hide-and-run kind of traumatization.
Six hasn't said a word since our group fight and is now merely curled in a small ball with her face hidden as Nine makes a fire for the approaching darkness. Eight is gripping his fists together tightly with his eyes bored into the ground; he's always been one of the most protective. Adam seems shaken up himself as I bats away unseen enemies in his sleep, his face twisted in inner pain and angst. Nine hasn't said a word, either, so the only noise comes from his starting a natural fire.
I slowly lower myself to my side and close my eyes tiredly. There really is no time for sleep at a time like this, but I have to recollect my thoughts before agreeing on any sort of next move. We finally found Number Five, but now she's gone and quite possibly dead. Marina, Ella, and Sarah are separated, and we're all in the middle of who-knows where with the Mogs finding us all. None of us have trained enough for this since the last attack, and we're hopelessly outnumbered and too weak for a real fight.
And there's only six Loric left in the universe.
The reality of that sends chills racing up and down my spine as I weakly clench my own fists. The grief is truly setting in on me now; we truly have lost another one of our own. I restlessly turn over and focus on not bursting into tears, instead forcing myself to focus on trying to get some sleep. There is no doubt a doubt in my mind that tomorrow will be one of the worst days, so I might as well be somewhat rested for it.
This is it. This is really it.
Ella's P. O. V.
"I heard footfall just over here!"
"There isn't anything here, Jim. This place is a dump."
"Maybe the aliens like the dump!"
"Did you see the size of that penthouse? Even like to live it up some."
Throughout the men's arguing, I keep myself wedged between two old cars with my face covered by one rusty door. They're from obviously from the goverment- why else would they know I was in the penthouse? I've got no idea what they've done to Marina, and while a large part of me wants to turn myself over so I can find her, I know it'll be better if I stay un-caught and all in one piece. I can only begin to imagine the horrible things they do to aliens in their labs while they try to understand all of us; it might even be worse than what the Mogs could do.
"Look, I'm beat and the little one isn't here. Let's just call it a night and go get some drinks."
"I swear I-"
"Jim! Nobody gives a fuck! We'll just tell the boss man she's M.I.A. and that we'll get her tomorrow or something."
Their footfall grows lesser in volume as they unsuspectingly walk away from my hiding place. I remain still none the less as their cars start up and roll down the dusty old road that leads to the public dumpyard somewhere outside of Chicago. After all, it's better safe than sorry, right? Once several minutes have best, I allow myself to sag back to sitting and let out a sigh of relief. Now that they're off my case, I've got one more night to get further away and to survive.
I miss Marina...and Nine...and everybody. I sure hope they're okay; I don't know what I'd do if they weren't.
A lone tear streaks down my cut cheek. Ever since the penthouse attack, I've been bleeding off and on while I run, and now dirt covers my new image as a runaway. I'm completely on my own now, and I've got no idea what I'm doing or where I'm even going. All I can do at this point is pray for the others' safety and search for John and the others. Sarah should be safe enough, but I do feel bad for letting them for taking her.
You couldn't do anything and not be caught yourself...I think sadly as I shift into a younger age for the next town, she'll be safe with the humans for a bit.
"Hey! Hey, kid!"
Instant fear sends shiver up my stiffening body. I've got to get away from whoever sees me- I hope to God they didn't see me age-shift. Before I can start sprinting, though, a gentle set of fingers wraps around my wrist, making me shriek. My other hand flies to cover my mouth as I jerk around, looking about frantically while squirming. A slightly bent figure is all I can see in front of me with their hand around me without any signs of letting up their surprisingly strong grip; I whimper.
"Don't worry, little angel," he coos, and I realize with a small gasp I recognize the voice.
Tears begin to well in my eyes as the figure scoops me up, still keeping himself mostly bent as he ducks into the shadows. I realize the person who called out for me was Jim, and he's now gaping in confusion at the empty space I was just in. I barely have time to question anything as I'm carried further into the shadows by the figure. As I'm carried away, I rack my brain for how on Lorien I know this man. Papa and I didn't encounter him as far as I can remember, but there's something vaguely familiar about the Italian suit I'm being held against.
I'm set down in what seems to be a long-since forgotten alley, where I'm finally able to step back and take a good look at this man. He's hair is slicked back, and he's basically dressed to the nines...
Wait.
Nines.
Nine.
It occurs to me there's a single photo on his bedside drawer, the only picture in the penthouse. It has a man that looks almost just like it, but only by his deep, dark eyes. Everything is different of this man, but something connects inside. I squint in the looming shadows and see another figure, one that appears that appears to belong to another man.
"Who are you people?" I whisper.
The smile is evident in the man who didn't carry me's voice, "Ten, I'd like to introduce myself as Henri. It's a pleasure to meet you."
Five's P. O. V.
"Do we get to eat dinner tonight, Emily?"
I bite my lower lip and glance at our food options. They're very slim- Roman noodles, a bowl of Easy Mac, half a loaf of bread. I consider it for a few more moments, then finally decide, "I think we can afford a little take out."
"Yay!" Her face lights up and I smile despite knowing we probably can't afford to do it and will regret later.
Ever since the beach, I manage to get out of that state and change my appearance enough to be unsuspecting from the news in this one. I tried giving up the baby, but ultimately I ended up keeping it. I've named her Ocean Jem, (after the ocean we landed in and Jemstone,) and she is currently asleep in the bundle of blankets on the table. It's the best we could do as I coax baby formula into her- she seems to be around two years old, and I know we're in no position to take care of her properly.
At this point, though, I'm left to merely attempt at trying.
I call a Chinese place and order some chicken and rice, then pull out a coat and say, "Michele, I'm going down the road to the convenient story to get Ocean Jem some more food. You know the drill."
She gives me a solemn nod as she gets on the floor instantly, ducking her head as I turn out the lights. I really can't risk anything, and most people I have no idea we're related with each other whatsover. Taking a deep breath, I take a quick job to the said convenient store, pacing myself to take less than ten minutes in total time. If anything happened to Michele or Ocean Lee...
I force the thought of my head as someone crashes into me.
"Oops! Sorry, kiddo."
A set of tan, pretty hands steady my shoulder instantly. I barely have time to recoil as I look up at the young woman who crashed into me- she looks about my age. Her hair is a dirty blonde with dark blue and green highlighting it in places, her bangs in a ringlet around her head. Her eyes a dark, iced-over type of blue, and her small little smile and faint smirk makes oxygen abandon my lungs.
It can't...never. No way whatsoever.
But I can't help the shaky, emotion-filled whisper I manage through my denial, "S-Su...Summer?"
