Hello Everybody!
Oh what's this? Another part? Yeaaaahhh, I lied (to myself) when I said it was only going to be two parts. Part II was actually supposed to encourperate this part, as well, but it just got to be so damn long! So I chopped it in half and made a Part III. Not much else to say here.
(Thank you to IndigoBlueShine and RoseRedAutumn on DeviantArt, for being my advisor and my beta, respectively.)
Disclaimer still applies.
Escape from Crucifixus – Part III
She hadn't felt safe where Graverobber had left her.
It started out as just a niggling in the back of her mind. New city, different kinds of dangers, general apprehension. Nothing too bad. But then she had started hearing things out in the alleyway beyond the metal walls of the dumpster. Things that sounded like hushed whispers, things that sounded like people shuffling back and forth. Things that sounded like the GeneCops. Suddenly she wished that her friend was there with her.
He had left her on her own before, but only briefly, and always somewhere relatively safe. Like a basement or an abandoned house. This time it was taking way too long. She was alone, afraid, and getting quite cold. She did not want to be there by herself. So, gathering up her courage, she pushed up the lid of the dumpster just enough for her to see out. Nothing there. Raising the cover a little more, she glanced to the left and then to the right. Completely deserted.
She wasn't entirely sure where Graverobber had gone to, but she remembered which direction he had said. She squinted out into the night. Unable to actually see much more than her immediate surroundings, she pushed the lid back all the way and hoisted herself up to the mouth of the dumpster. She managed to get one leg over the metal rim. Her balance, she realized a fraction of a second too late, was not the best. She started to fall forward. With nothing to grab onto and no strong arms to catch her, she had no choice but to use the leg still hanging inside the metal trash bin to stop her fall. It worked, but she still ended up landing awkwardly on her hands. Slowly, she pulled her legs out after her.
And then her left arm gave out. Out onto the pavement she tumbled, a sharp pain shooting through her leg. Once she had recovered enough to sit up, she checked herself over for any damage. She let out a hiss as her fingers brushed her aching leg. There, running vertically along the inside of her right calf, was a long, jagged cut. She must have caught it on a strip of metal as she fell. It didn't look too deep, but then again, it was dark as hell and she had no real medical training above and beyond what her father had told her – which wasn't much. She bit back a small wave of tears at the memory of her father and made to stand up.
She tested her weight on the injured leg. It held, it just hurt to put too much pressure on it. She vaguely thought of wrapping it with something but then thought better of it; she had nothing clean that she could use as a bandage. Oh well, it would just have to drip until she could locate her companion. Speaking of whom…
She turned in the direction he had told her he was going and took a few steps. Then a few more. Then a few more. Soon she had reached a section of the alley that connected to another one running straight through the first. A four-way alley. She stopped. Now where?
She crept up to the corner of the closest building and peeked around it. The passageway just stretched on into the darkness. She hobbled over to the next corner and did the same. Still nothing. As she turned around to look down the third alley, she spotted a faint glow of neon blue out of her peripheral vision. Zydrate. Relief flooded through her and she whipped back around to head towards the end of the appropriate alley. She didn't intend to go all the way out to the street and then across and then through the alley on the other side to get to him, she just meant to get as far as the street and then try and see something. But just as she took her first couple of steps, a loud bang sounded from somewhere in the direction she had just come from.
A door slammed open and into the unfortunate wall behind it. She let out a gasp, diving behind a row of trashcans as several drunken men came stumbling out into the rectangle of light provided by the open door. She watched as they staggered off, leaning on each other and shouting slurred curses. Now more than ever, she was glad that she had not stayed in the dumpster.
But the shock of the door and the drunk men had sent a surge of adrenaline pumping through her bloodstream, which, as of yet, her body was still not used to. She felt her throat begin to tighten and her hands start to shake. She sat down on the concrete and closed her eyes, trying to calm the effects. I'm not sick, I'm not sick, I'm not sick. It would be a while still before the "medicine" her father had fed her all her life fully drained out of her system.
She was so busy concentrating that she very nearly missed the blurred figure as it dashed silently past her. "Graverobber?" she called out in a hesitant whisper.
"Shilo?" the figure called back, immediately coming to a halt and glancing over in her direction.
She stood, shoulders hunched, and picked her way carefully around the trashcans. She made it over to his side before her leg protested and she had to squash down a grimace.
"What are you doing out here?" Graverobber asked, kneeling down and putting his hands on her arms. His tone wasn't harsh, not accusing. He knew perfectly well that she wouldn't have left the dumpster without a valid reason. He was just concerned.
She put her own, delicate hands over his larger, calloused ones. "You were gone for so long, and I started getting worried, and then there were these people – I think they were drunk – and I didn't know where you were and I got scared." She wrapped her arms around his neck in a hug. "Sorry, I guess I panicked."
He gave her hair – still short but growing back in nicely – a soft pat. "Hey, you gotta trust your instincts. If something doesn't feel right, then it probably isn't." He pulled back and gave her a smirking grin. "How do you think I've survived this long?" Then his eyes found the line of blood oozing down her leg and his face twisted into a frown. "Oh hell, Kid, what's that?"
"What's what?"
He pointed. "That."
"Oh that?" She followed his gaze and flashed a sheepish smile. " I uh, cut my leg getting out of the dumpster." He raised an eyebrow at her and she just smiled wider.
There was a crash from somewhere behind them and she whirled around to see what had made it, fearing more unfamiliar drunkards. What she saw was a pair of human-shaped shadows about ten feet down the alley. One of them was picking itself up from where it had tripped and fallen into the trashcans and cussing quietly. The second was leaning over the first with an arm outstretched as if to help the other to stand. Her heart pounded as more adrenaline surged into her veins, adding onto the previous dose not yet fully gone from before.
And then she saw the soft glow of eyes in the dark and her mind instantly pictured her father's face behind the RepoMan's mask.
Graverobber immediately stood up to his full height, pushing her behind him and holding up an arm to shield her from danger. He didn't say a word, just glared daggers at the pair in the shadows. She watched as the first one, the one that had fallen down, took a cautious step towards them; hands up to show that they weren't armed.
She reflexively inched further behind her protector, clutching at her chest in desperation. She was scared; not just of the strangers but also of how dizzy she was getting. Her breathing came in wheezing gasps, her lungs not fully inflating. Black began to creep in along the edges of her vision and she had to double over to keep her balance. She reached up and grabbed weakly at the drug dealer's sleeve. Tugged. "Rob…Rob, I can't breathe…" And then she was falling, nothingness filling her eyes.
"Shit!" she heard him say, felt his arms around her, supporting her, keeping her upright. She leaned into him.
Then another voice spoke. "I know somewhere we can take her; a friend of mine, it's not that far." One of the figures. She couldn't tell which one.
She felt more than heard Graverobber's voice rumbling in his chest. "Why should I trust you?"
"Do you really have much choice at the moment?"
A pause. Graverobber's grip shifted, tightened protectively. Then he scooped her up into his arms and held her to him. She felt him nod. As they started moving, just before she passed out, she heard his voice whispering close to her ear.
"You're gonna be okay, Kid, you're gonna be okay. Just hang on."
Galahad watched the drug dealer carefully as he sat vibrating with nervous tension in one of Doc Worth's grungy office chairs. While he hadn't done anything as of yet, other than threaten to throttle Worth, ("Fix her or I'll break your face!") the dead man still did not trust him.
And for good reason, too, it seemed, as Hanna was also steering rather clear of him. The zombie turned his gaze towards the redhead seated next to him. He seemed…lost in thought; usually not a good sign. Whenever Hanna Cross was silent, something wasn't right. He nudged the younger man gently; trying to bring him out of whatever dark place his mind had wandered to.
The investigator started, then looked at him. Blue eyes far away. Then he focused on his partner and gave a tiny, forced smile. From the way he seemed to almost lean into him, the zombie was sure that the reason for Hanna's silence had something more to it than just sheer fatigue. It was like something deep and painful had been brought up to the surface and the young man was trying desperately to bury it again.
He offered a small smile of his own, wanting to make his partner feel better but not quite knowing how. He was about to ask if the redhead was alright, but no sooner had he thought the words than Worth was banging the back door wide open and stepping out with a flourish of cigarette smoke.
"She's awake," he grunted, acrid yellow seeping out from between his teeth as he spoke. The smell of nicotine and tar.
Almost instantaneously, the scroungy man with the dreadlocks shot up from his seat and shoved into the back room. All eyes watched him go.
As soon as he was gone, Hanna spoke up. "What was wrong with her?" His voice was small, withdrawn.
The doctor shrugged. "Nothin', s'far as I kin tell. She jes' passed out is all." There was a pointed look shared between the two that did not escape the dead man's notice, but as he was unsure as to what it meant, he stayed silent.
There was beat. Then the redhead stood. "I'm gonna…yeah…" He stuffed his hands into his pockets and made for the very same door that the drug dealer had just disappeared through. Worth followed.
Not wanting to leave his friend anywhere he couldn't see him, Galahad trailed after them both. He was not comfortable with any of this. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but he felt…possessive. Overly-protective. It was as if there was something way back in the very deepest recesses of his mind telling him that Hanna shouldn't be let near the stranger. There was something like a fear of his companion becoming corrupted, stolen from him and turned into something he was not. Or at least, should never be again. Again? It was like a little voice inside him was saying, 'I care about him, not you.'
Confused, frustrated, and just generally worried, he chose to ignore the excess bizarrety and simply see what happened. As he pushed open the door to the examination room – or whatever it could be called – he caught sight of Worth digging out a roll of bandages and a bottle of disinfectant. Hanna was positioned against a grubby counter, arms across his chest.
"…no' gonna need stitches, but Im'ma give you a butterfly strip jes' ta be safe," the doctor was saying as the girl, indeed now awake and sitting up on the long metal table with her guardian right behind her, peeled back a ripped legging. The cut on her leg was impressive; angry and harsh, but not very deep at all. "Migh' no' even leave a scar. If'n yer lucky, missy."
Galahad stood soundlessly in the doorway, observing. He watched the girl hiss and wince at the disinfectant's contact, watched the man at her shoulder give her arm a reassuring squeeze. She shivered slightly and her friend – or whatever he was – pulled off his ratty coat and tossed it into her lap. ("You cold, kid?" he'd mumbled, "Here. Catch.") The way they interacted, it…it was like…watching a messed up, parallel version of Hanna and himself. One cared for the other when one was hurt, looked out for them, both of them needing the other to some degree.
Suddenly, he didn't feel quite as threatened by this person as he had before. Now that he saw what could possibly have been a little bit of himself in the dealer's actions. He was still wary but he no longer felt his muscles tensing of their own accord as if to tackle the man at a moment's notice should he decide to pull anything. It was this thought that allowed him to move into the room fully to stand beside his own charge.
He could feel the girl's eyes as she stared at him in what was most likely shock. Unconsciously he tugged the collar of his coat up a little bit higher around his jaw line.
Worth must have spotted it, too, because he made a noise in the back of his throat and said, "Ain't gonna lie, you two're no' 'xactly wot I'd call my 'usual' brand 'f clientele." The doctor paused in his work to take a long drag of his cigarette. "No' from here, tha's fer damn sure." He glanced over at the redhead in the corner. "Ya wanna maybe fill me in the rest'a the way, squirt?" Another look was passed between them, as though the back-alley surgeon was searching for something he didn't really want to know.
Hanna seemed to shrink into himself even more, if that was possible, and averted his eyes. "Doc…He's a Z Dealer." And every single person in the room, including the dead one, stiffened.
"A fuckin' grave robber?" Worth asked, voice horse and barely-audible.
At those words, Galahad found nearly every apprehension that had previously left him come back full force, his earlier suspicions confirmed. And yet…he was intrigued by the situation. Perhaps it was just that he had no idea what was going on, or that his roommate was letting out pieces of information that stirred his curiosity about him, but whatever it was, it kept the zombie from grabbing Hanna by the scruff of his neck and dragging him out of there.
His already mangled train of thought was derailed entirely as Worth smacked a greasy hand down on the tabletop. "Tha's impossible," he growled, eyeing the offending pair. The girl flinched backwards into her companion's protective hold. The 'grave robber' stood like a soldier, rock-rigid and ready to either bolt with or defend the smaller figure beside him.
The Aussie turned away, shaking his head with a mix of shock and disbelief scattered across his face. "No one escapes Crucifixus." It was almost like he was speaking more to himself than to anyone else in particular.
Hanna just stared at his feet. One of his pale hands came up to clutch at his shirt, just under where his heart was located. When he spoke it was with the same tone of voice that Worth had just used; distant and strange. "We did." His fist clenched tighter. "Lamont did."
The doctor chuckled. "Heh. Yeah, yeah we did, di'n we?"
For an instant, that same look that had been passed between the investigator and the physician twice before hung heavily in the air. The pair of them exuded nostalgia of the most negative kind. It was the kind of look that two survivors might share as they silently communicated a mutual remembrance of harsher times. Times that had shaped them, and that they hoped to never, ever experience again. In that instant, all else seemed forgotten.
And as the green-skinned man watched them in their unspoken dialogue, he, too, very nearly forgot that there was anyone else there. He studied that look, that bond that they had, and suddenly wanted to join in. Like a little voice in the back of his head was saying, "hey, me too!" It was almost…unfair? He couldn't place the feeling, but something in him wanted desperately to be a part of that connection. He deserved to be a part of that connection, even if he did not know why. His brows furrowed slightly, the only outward indication of his inner sensation of being left out in the cold. If only he knew what the hell was going on!
But even that strange, foreign pang in his gut was not enough to distract him fully from the other occupants of the dingy back-alley examination room. He caught movement in the corner of his eye and immediately his attention snapped back to the environment at hand. Unfortunately, by that time it was almost too late to stop it.
The grave robber had shifted, moving from his place behind the girl on the table to step dangerously closer to the partners by the countertop. His face was a mixture of stone and cynical semi-amusement. And he was staring fixedly on Hanna's clenched fist. With one swift, fluid motion that the zombie would never have expected from such a shady-looking person, the man had closed the space between himself and the redhead, gripping the thin shirt with both hands and tugging almost violently.
Galahad's body jolted into action just as his employer let out startled squawk, propelling him forward in one quick stride to grab the assailant by the shoulders and yank him away. But as he did so, the man in his grasp succeeded in his endeavors. Off came Hanna's shirt, over his head and into the grubby hands of the dealer.
And the entire room froze.
Okay, so, still not quite done yet but I wanted to give you all something for Halloween this year since I missed it last time. There should be one more part to finish up this bit of the story {again, I cut this piece in half} and then about…oh man, five more parts after it? Wow. So It looks like there'll be nine parts all total for this fic. And then, of course, a possible sequel. We'll see.
Happy Halloween, everybody!
Musical Muses:
Repo! The Genetic Opera Soundtrack – 21st Century Cure
Repo! The Genetic Opera Soundtrack – Things You See in a Graveyard
