This story is an attempt at a first-person account. I got tired of wrestling with the third-person omniscient that I was using for "The Hardest Choice". Besides, I got stuck on that story's direction. This, however, has a direction and I can't wait to see where it takes me...and you too, hopefully. It is currently gestating in a miniature red composition book during my free periods at school. Please, enjoy Chapter One, with Chapter Two hot on its heels, I promise.

Still don't own any of this.

"But With A Whimper"

by Macushla

Chapter I

At that particular moment, I could not imagine hating anything more than the cold rain that fell throughout the morning. The stinging pellets were just above the temperature of ice, and rather than freezing my hair to my face, they had instead reduced it to an unmanageable mess that impeded my vision. I wished it would just turn to snow. I loved snow. This was nightmare.

My fingers numbly struggled to tighten a knot in the damp rope. I half-noticed my chipped and broken nails, the raw redness of the skin on my hands. Before I could even register how cold and sore I truly was, the rain began to pound harder. I desperately tried to use my poncho-covered elbow to push the sopping blond strands away from my eyes so I could see what I was doing. Over the chaotic din, I heard a voice behind me.

"Hey, babe, you got that yet? They really need this tent tied down."

One could imagine my irritation.

"Yankee, for God's sake! I am doing the best that I can! I can barely feel my fingers!" I glared at him, watching raindrops plaster his dark red hair to his forehead. "I will be done as soon as I can. I am trying. Why do you not do something useful and leave me alone?"

He grunted, now clearly irritated as well. This was always how it was – we would take turns saying things to infuriate one another until we fought. With Wheeler and me, it was always one step away from Chernobyl. And we kept discovering new buttons to push on one another.

"Look," he was saying, reaching past me to grab the rope I had been working on for ten minutes, "if you need a man to handle it, just say so."

Prekrasno. Not a new button. An old one.

"I do not need your help! When do I ever need your help?" I was still holding on to my rope with such ferocity that I could feel the rope burn cutting gashes in my skin. It had been a long, long morning. First, I had to pilot through some of the worst weather I had seen in my time as a Planeteer. I was completely on edge by the time we landed in Hungary, not to mention (if I were to admit it) exhausted. And then the plant closure was a mess, as we were met with more difficulty that we anticipated.

Bozhe moy, people had been falling sick from contamination-related diseases for months, and they were fighting the plant's closing! Unbelievable. When the inevitable explosion occurred, there was nowhere around to shelter the people. Schrappnel flew in every direction – catching a girl on the leg, grazing Gi's hand – and I, at 22 years old, was the closest to a doctor they could get. I was directing clueless and frightened townspeople to get water and bandages, feeling a long way from any Magyar I might have picked up years ago.

Eventually, blood-caked, weary, and disgruntled, we were left to set up temporary shelters for the people who had spat on us earlier. And now – now – Wheeler was taunting me and questioning my ability. It made me insane how he never missed an opportunity to reinforce the degree to which he judged me by my gender: You are so pretty, Linka. Do you want to go out with me, Linka? You need help, babe?

I found myself contemplating where the rope could be put to better use – on the tent or around his neck.

We glared at each other. These moments occurred far more often than I would like to admit, and I had always wondered how we did not end up killing each other at times like these. As I stood there freezing in the miserable rain with my extremities numb and my breath creating angry bursts of condensation in the air, I thought long and hard about grabbing him by the neck, talking him, and kissing him all over his stupid face.

Have I not mentioned how intensely complicated my relationship with Wheeler was?

I let go of my end of the rope and took some small satisfaction as Wheeler stumbled back a few steps. I shoved my sore hands in my parka. "Fine, Yankee. You know what? You can do it. You are the big, strong man, da?" I turned my heel and started to walk back towards the plant rubble. "I will go do little girl things. Please, let me know if you need help with making the cookies, OK?"

He looked back at me, frowning sullenly. I could push buttons, too.

This time, he was in the wrong. I was woman enough to admit when it was me, but this time, certainly him. And in the middle of this mess, as well. Excellent timing, Yankee. Otlichno. An apology would be nice, but I was not anticipating one. Not yet, anyway. He would most likely wait until he managed, through sheer luck, to do something heroic or brave. Then he would look at me with those clear blue eyes. He would put on a sad puppy dog expression and say he was sorry. And, in all likelihood, I would forgive him. It was a ridiculous weakness that I had never been able to shake in over six years of being a Planeteer.

The rain had let up a little, leaving behind a raw chill in the air. I checked in with some of the injured people, tightening a compress here and re-bandaging there. One of the plant owners sat cradling his arm. He was a large man with a massive stomach and a cold face that matched the wind. He had threatened us earlier; he had said he would kill anyone who tried to close down his business. The man was no more friendly now, but he was obviously in pain. I took a breath and approached him. "Do you need help?"

The Hungarian man looked at me and scoffed. "I do not need help from a little girl, that is certain."

Tak.Snova e snova. Was this the theme of the day?

I took a few more steps towards him, getting a better view of his arm, the angle of his shoulder. "Your shoulder is dislocated. It must be tended to. I can help you."

He glared at me, anger rising in his dark eyes. "I told you to leave me alone!"

"Look!" I shouted, my temper – my greatest vice – mounting. "My friends and I have put up with quite enough here! You opened the plant, though you knew it was dangerous. You chose not to close it even after we presented the evidence of explosive chemicals. And now you are sitting here with a dislocated shoulder, watching as we help your neighbors. Let me help you so you can get off your hájas segg and help us."

He blinked slowly and stood up. I guessed that my Magyar was not as far gone as I had thought. If only I could do a better job remembering the nice words rather than the more nasty ones, this whole thing would go more smoothly.

I gripped the man's wrist tightly and placed my other hand near his shoulder. He winced in pain as I braced myself. I noticed his expression and shook my head. "It is going to hurt far more than that, I am afraid. I am going to pull your wrist as I push back on your shoulder. That will move the joint into the correct position and keep it from beginning to heal incorrectly before you see a doctor. But it is only temporary. You get it checked when this is over, OK?"

The man nodded. He was scared, afraid of the pain, but I had no time to coddle him.

"Odin', dva, tre!"

I yanked down and the man yelped – a funny, high-pitched sound so completely out of place that I almost laughed aloud. But even as he whimpered, I could see he was moving with more ease. "Is that better?"

He was gently rotating his arm, exploring the new range of motion. "Yes. Yes, it is better. Thank-you."

I felt a small smile flitter on my lips for the first time that day. "You are welcome. Now, come. The people need your help over in the tents. They need food and water. You can help them with that."

The man lumbered off to finally do his job as I headed around the corner. A tin can spun on the ground near my boot, carried by the wind. I almost tripped over it. Litter did seem to be the very least of our problems in this city, but I could not bring myself to let it sit there. Once a Planeteer, always a Planeteer.

As I bent over to pick it up, a larger form collided with me and knocked me to the ground. The impact was so sudden that the air left my lungs. I was surprised to find Kwame on top of me. "Kwame, what is –" But then I heard it too.

"Gunshots!" Kwame yelled, his normally calm voice panicked. "Get down, everyone!"

I tried to regain my breath as I carefully glanced around to catch a glimpse of the rest of our friends. Ma-Ti was nearby, sheltering a baby in his strong arms and guiding a few terrified children behind a broken structure behind us. A moment later, I caught sight of Gi huddled on the far side of the plant. She was curled up so tightly that she looked to be half of her already slight size. And about a block away, I quickly realized, was the gunman.

He was maybe seventeen or eighteen years old, looking feral and frightened as he brandished his gun in a shaking hand. He was standing in the middle of the square, near where we had been setting up tents, and screaming at the top of his lungs. His words were so incoherent that I could not understand any of what he was saying, and that made me even more frightened.

As I looked past him into the tent village, I could see the plant owner hiding with several other people, none of whom I recognized. A thrill of fear ran through me as I hazarded a look over Kwame's back to the place where I had been tying down tents.

At first, I did not see him. Then, Wheeler's form moved out of the shadows, coming full speed towards the young man with the gun.

Bozhe moy.

Wheeler smacked into him hard, knocking the younger man to the ground forcefully. The gun was let loose from his hand and skidded across the cold pavement. Before I was fully aware of what I was doing, I found myself on my feet and sprinting towards the weapon, with Kwame yelling out behind me. I had always been a strong runner, but in those desperate moments, I was moving more quickly than I had ever been capable before. Time seemed to be moving very slowly, and I was acutely aware of my own breath and heartbeat as I raced in Wheeler's direction.

I reached for the gun, always keeping an eye on the American, who had just absorbed a blow to the face by the gunman. He responded with a punch of his own, and the Hungarian man hit the cement in a rough heap.

My senses came back to me suddenly, and I had enough mind to put the safety on the gun. I felt shaky; I hated handling guns. Wheeler stood slowly then, his eye just beginning to show signs of swelling. A small trickle of blood was trailing down his chin. He held the disoriented gunman in place until two authorities moved into place to take the man away. One of them clapped Wheeler on the shoulder, saying something like "Good work." He just shrugged and put his hands on his knees as he tried to catch his breath.

Another authority came over to me to take care of the gun. I gratefully turned the weapon over and made my way towards the American. "Wheeler," I began, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder.

He straightened gingerly and looked down at me with his better eye as I surveyed him quickly for any major damage. I was purely in clinical mode, objectively checking an injury victim for any less obvious problems. In truth, I was a little angry. How dare he risk his life like that? Did he not realize that he was part of a team and he had a responsibility to us? What could he have been thinking? I tried to keep my hands from becoming too rough as the irritated thoughts tumbled through my head.

Suddenly, he gently touched my cheek. "Hey. It's OK, Lin."

It was then that I realized I was crying.

Embarrassed, I looked down and brushed the tears away as surrepititiously as possible. "I – I was just making sure you were alright. I saw him hit you and I..I just…" I swallowed hard, cursing myself silently for this moment of weakness in front of him. In front of him, of all people.

Finally, I found my strength and looked back up at him, moving my hand to touch the purpling skin under his left eye. He winced under my touch. It was almost imperceptible, but I saw it. I was always the one to see what Wheeler was hiding.

I felt tears burn in my throat again and fought hard against them. I grabbed his hand; his fingers were warm against my cold and shaking ones. "Come on," I said, "we must go find the others."

I felt a resistance as I turned. I glanced back.

His head was down, and the icy wind was blowing his unruly red hair in every direction. I felt my heart beat a little faster. When he looked back up, he fixed his gaze on me. "I just wanted you to know, I'm sorry about what I said earlier. I didn't mean it, babe." His voice was quiet and full of sincerity.

Damn you, Yankee.

I sighed and tightened my grip on his hand. "It is OK, Wheeler. Let us go."

The others met us at a gallop through the havoc of the crowd. Fortunately, the local law enforcement had managed to move in to control some of the situation. It had taken gunshots to convince them of the seriousness of the situation. It was very disappointing. "Is everyone alright?" asked Kwame, frowning with concern.

Gi's hand flew to her mouth. "Oh, Wheeler…"

He let go of my hand to touch the dried blood on his chin. "Oh. Yeah. I'm fine, Gi. Really, no big deal."

She looked unconvinced, but let it drop for the moment. I was certain she would be fussing over him for the rest of our trip. An odd feeling shot through me at this realization. I quickly brought my thoughts back to the matter at hand. "What has happened here? Who was that man with the gun? Why in the world was he shooting at us?"

My gaze fell on Ma-Ti, who had been contemplatively quiet so far. I had never been one for sharing my emotions, and, in a very small way, Ma-Ti tended to unnerve me more than anyone else. I was not used to revealing more about myself than what was absolutely necessary, and from the start, I had had a tacit uneasiness about his power. I truly had come to love him as a younger brother, but I knew there was a separation between us that I constantly preserved. Now, however, I looked to him to give us some insight on the madman who had attacked us.

Ma-Ti shook his head grimly. "I could not understand most of what he was thinking. His thoughts were very agitated."

Wheeler sniffed next to me. "You don't say," he commented softly.

Ma-Ti continued. "But there was a sense of urgency, as though he was afraid of something that was about to happen. Like there was…like there was an impending doom."

We were all quiet for a moment before Wheeler shifted his weight and muttered, "Must be Tuesday."

"Well," Kwame began, suddenly appearing tired and older than his 23 years, "we still have a job to do, Planeteers. Let us get back to work. We must help these people rebuild and find a way to move on."

My shoulders straightened at his words and I cast Kwame a small, grateful smile. At moments like this, there was nothing I appreciated more than his quiet leadership and integrity. He often provided me the extra strength that I pretended to have when I was afraid.

But as we set about finishing the tent triage, I found that I could not shake the fear that had managed to creep into me. As I caught Wheeler's eye on the way back to the Geo-Cruiser late that night, I could see the slightly-haunted look in his pale and beaten face. He felt it, too. I did not sleep at all the entire trip back to Hope Island.