Title: Flight
Rating: PG
Characters: Wikus van der Merwe
Word Count: 440
Summary: District 9 ficlet. A fugitive seeks sanctuary.
By nightfall, Wikus was still running. Through the deserted alleyways of a slum on the fringe of human territory, then through the tall grass that managed to grow in nearly barren earth. From high above, he could hear the thunder of a helicopter, its searchlight scanning the ground. He dove toward a thick patch of brush moments before the beam illuminated the nearby tall grass, whether this was providence or luck, he wouldn't take the time to speculate. He waited until the light was carried far by the beat of metal blades before he was up and moving again toward the only place he could hide. The only place that would have him now.
The tall metal fence was a warning to humans that Wikus couldn't afford to heed. Exhausted, he fell against it, the rusting chain link rattling noisily as he gripped it, keeping himself upright. Peering within, he could see the dark shapes of aliens moving in the dim light cast off by a small fire, some to scurry away at the noise while others were drawn in by their curiosity.
Making his way through a breach in the fence, he moved as swiftly as tired legs would carry him, lest a patrol find him. He already knew how high a price he'd pay if he allowed himself to be captured. Thankfully, it wasn't long before he found an unoccupied shelter, a shack made from scrap and wood that looked as though a strong wind would send it crashing down. A bubble of hysterical laughter made its way up from Wikus' chest. It's a good thing the air was largely still tonight.
Cleaning an area where he could rest his head, Wikus tried not to think of the soft bed that he'd left behind in another life, a life he feared closed to him now. Sinking down, he grimaced at a sudden shooting pain in his ruined arm. He gripped it tightly as he gazed at its misshapen form, his heart racing at the thought of black poison flowing within his veins, warping his flesh. Managing to calm himself somewhat, Wikus cradled the limb to his chest as he settled down on the makeshift bed. He curled in on himself, trying to conjure the feel of comforting arms wrapped around him from behind as they often did, warm breath against his neck at murmured words from her lips that never failed to make him smile. A broken and alien cry from the darkness outside shattered the fantasy and his tentative calm. His eyes wide in the blackness within the shack, sleep was a long time in coming.
End