Title: Second Best Choice (1/1)
Summary: Freedom almost in reach, choices to be made.
Rating: PG.
Disclaimer: Cameron and Eglee.
Date: March 15, 2001.
You had thought about this before, but never really expected it to happen. It's six o'clock, and instead of hand to hand combat training, you're crouched in the halls, hugging the walls. Your heart is pounding, your palms damp, you feel like you're about to fly apart with the tension thrumming through you. You don't snap, and a distant part of you thinks that Lydecker would be proud of your adherence to his training -- if you weren't disregarding his authority by your present actions, of course.
Zack is in front, and you don't envy him that position. You can still remember Eva's limp body, slumped on the floor, a bloody hole in her forehead. But Zack's the leader, has always considered himself as such, has always wanted to be in charge. All you've ever wanted was to stay alive, to be neither so excellent nor so bad as to gain special attention from Lydecker. You keep your eyes trained on Zack, your other senses open to the approach of the men in this facility who have as of minutes ago become your enemies. His hands move, and you can read entire paragraphs worth of strategy into that sharp thrust.
You can hear glass shatter as Zack throws himself through the window he sent you towards. You leap through that emptied space, body twisting in the slap of cold air as you ready yourself for landing. Snow shifts beneath your bare feet and you nearly slip. The alert is sounding around you, continuous and painful to your sensitive ears. Zack is already moving, Zane and Tinga close behind him. The others are rolling and rising in the snow, driving themselves forward. You find your balance and burst forward.
Lydecker has trained you for these conditions. You can handle this, you tell yourself. But you've always hated snow. You hate how loose it is when its high and freshly fallen, how you sink into the stuff beneath the weight of your own body. You hate it when its packed and slick and sends your feet slipping out from under you, falling to the ground and into the range of Lydecker's scowl. You hate how your fingers and toes and ears go red and sharp with cold, and your nose leaks freely because you'd been told not to move and you had damned well better obey.
You figure the men behind you aren't enjoying this any more than you are. You're faster and lighter and stronger and they're floundering in this damned stuff with their clumsy human bodies and equipment. They have resources, though, you think as the sound of a dozen ski-doos split the suddenly silent air.
Zack has stopped, the others following suite. You crouch by a fallen log, hands resting on its rough bark, steadying yourself. Zack's eyes flicker over you, a rapid decision, and he's pulling you all apart. Max and Jondy, that way, _now_. Krit, Syl, over there, _move it!_. You look at Zane, Brin, Tinga and nearly revolt. They're getting closer, you can feel the ground vibrate with their approach and you remember that you're a soldier and that there's no going back now. You offer yourself up to Zack, let him point the way for you.
You run. Snow gives way beneath your feet, shifting and flying so that you're stumbling. You can hear a shot behind you, bullet to flesh and bone, and a sudden scream and you've lost one of your own. You were born here, raised here, know this place and people -- you hadn't expected them to go easy, to meet your defiance without force. But two of your family dead behind you and you meet true rage for the first time.
The fence is coming up before you. The dogs are at your back, dragging you down. You're face first in the snow and you remember that you're suppose to lay still, hands over your head. Their teeth are breaking flesh, digging into your arms and back. You can hear the approach of the guards, and they won't let you be, no matter how still and quiet you may lay. Fear, desperation -- enemies to any soldier, Lydecker snarls in your head -- and you struggle, dogs vicious against you.
You want to scream, cry out for help. They might hear, but none of them would return to help you. They shouldn't. You probably wouldn't if you'd made it. Don't risk yourself in a hopeless situation. Don't make more trouble for yourself if you've already met your objective. You're hopeless, dogs and men around you, your prison solidifying once more.
The dogs back off. You rise to your knees, wincing as broken flesh stretches and tears. You look up, to black boots sunk into snow, blotting out the desperate trail of your footprints. Upwards, to find the weapons pointed at you. A plan crystallizes in your mind and you think you may actually smile.
You've dreamt of escape before.
You aren't getting out of here.
You aren't going back.
~end~