Usually they came when she least expected it, when she was defenceless against them. They hit her fast and hard and left her dizzy, her head spinning. Something stupid would start them, like the pattern on wallpaper, the feel of a certain type of fabric against her skin, the sound of a child screaming, so like her own cries of so long ago. She never saw them coming, and tonight was no different. On some level she knew she was sitting in the truck, felt the seat cushioning her, the wheel in her hands. But the road faded away and disappeared before her eyes. The sound of the rain on the window, a slow steady pounding, turned to the bumping of a headboard against a wall from six years before.


"Shut up!" her foster uncle yelled, slapping her face as he moved on top of her. She stopped sobbing, bit her lip, drawing blood that trickled down toward her chin. Her small hands dug into the mattress; she tried not to cry, not to scream, not to make it any worse on herself than it had to be. His sweaty fingers grabbed her blonde hair painfully, pulling on it as he moaned above her, his body pressing her down into the mattress, smothering her, slipping and sliding against her. "You like that?" he grunted at her as silent tears rolled down her face. He grabbed her small chest in his meaty hands, squeezed painfully. "Yeah, you do, you tight little slut," he panted as she cried without sound. "Yeah, you do."

"Syl!" Someone was yelling her name. "Syl!" it came again. Who the hell was yelling at her, who was in the bedroom? It wasn't time for Zack to save her yet, that wouldn't happen for months...


But wait, the bedroom had fallen away from around her now and the present suddenly returned in a flash of colour and light, disorienting her. Where am I? The car! Yes, she was in the car; trees were slapping the windows- Where's the road?

"Syl!" the yell washed over her once more. Oh, it's Zane. Why does he sound so scared?

"What are-" She jumped as she felt his body push against hers, his hands grabbing for the wheel her own fingers had slipped off. She looked up, panicked, her eyes flying around. She couldn't seem to understand what was happening. The car lurched and her hands finally found the steering wheel again, registering her feet on the gas pedal, easing off it, pressing on the break. Zane released the wheel to her and the car swerved dangerously close to a large tree, toward a low stump. They turned sharply, but the car's front wheel caught and they sailed through the air, snapping and twisting against a tree. She heard a scream that she belatedly registered as her own and felt Zane's hand clutching her shoulder. Then there was a loud crash and a stab of pain before everything went black.

* * *

Someone was kissing her. Krit? He was kissing her and there was pain exploding through her, hitting her from every side. Where am I shot? Did I lose control over my gun again? Lydecker's going to be- No, wait, I escaped, this isn't Manticore anymore...

He kissed her again and bile rose in her throat; she coughed suddenly and only then realized that she hadn't been breathing. She narrowly avoided vomiting into his mouth and a moment later his hands were against her shoulders, turning her onto her side so she could breathe more easily. It was freezing and her face was damp. She was shivering.

"Syl," she heard Krit calling her; he'd stopped kissing her now. His hands were soft and shaky against her cheeks. Then reality suddenly came crashing back as her eyes fell open: she was lying on the cold, wet ground, the stars shining overhead, trees surrounding her, their burning car a few feet away. Krit wasn't here, it was Zane, and he hadn't been kissing her, he'd been giving her mouth-to-mouth. His face was staring down at her, his dark eyes wide and frightened. He leaned his head down and touched his forehead against hers, breathing hard, his whole body shaking with relief.

"You're okay," he said, his thumbs stroking her cheeks. "Thank God you're okay."

"What happened?" she whispered, her voice raspy. He pulled back from her, forced a smile.

"You forgot to drive."

"Oh." She coughed again, inhaled deeply, trying to breathe. He brushed the hair from her face. "It's my shell-shock." If she'd been fully conscious she never would have said it.

"Your what?" he asked, eyes narrowing in confusion. She waved a hand at him; post-traumatic stress disorder wasn't something she wanted to discuss right now. She saw blood matted in his red hair, trickling down his face. She raised a hand, touched his cheek. He cringed slightly.

"You're hurt."

"I'm fine," he assured her. "What about you, can you sit up?" Syl considered that for a moment.

"I think so." She grasped his forearms and he helped her tentatively to a sitting position. Pain ebbed down her body but nothing seemed to be broken or bleeding.

"You look okay," he said, scrutinizing her. "How's your head? Can you stand?" Syl nodded and he helped her to her feet slowly, his arms around her waist. She stood there for a moment, holding onto him as dizziness clouded her vision. She blinked against it for several moments before she could cautiously release him; he left his arms outstretched in case he had to catch her, but she stayed on her feet, glancing over at the car and managing a small smile when she saw it was totalled.

"We should stop for the night and sleep," he said. He walked over to the car, dug around behind the seats, avoiding the fire spreading through the front. "Here," he called triumphantly, finding their bag of addresses and Syl's things unscathed. "We'll hitchhike into the nearest town."

"I'm sorry, Zane," she said as they headed through the trees and back toward the road, following the track they'd left in the forest.

"It's alright, I'm just glad you're-" He glanced at her, stopped. "Hey, Syl, don't cry, we're alright."

"I hate it," she whispered, wiping at her tears angrily. "I hate it." Zane's arms wrapped around her, his chin against her hair.

"Shshsh," he soothed her; she knew he didn't understand but he was warm and safe beside her and that was enough. She cried into him for a few comfortable moments until he released her, smoothing the hair off her face and smiling a little before taking her hand and continuing toward the road. They climbed up from the ditch and she sat down on the side of the road, her head still reeling, as Zane tried to flag down one of the passing cars. Most ignored him, but finally one stopped, a black pickup truck, and he talked with the driver for a moment before waving her over. She got slowly to her feet and walked to Zane, who had opened the backseat door for her. She slid into it, glancing over at a baby sleeping in a carseat as Zane climbed into the front beside the driver, a kind-looking young man with a wide smile.

"I'm Jim," he told her. She smiled at him.

"Syl," she said. "What's your baby's name?" She took the sleeping child's tiny hand in her own and it tightened around her fingers automatically.

"That's Sarah," he said, pulling the truck back onto the highway. "So what are you folks doing out here so late?"

"We had a little car trouble," Zane said, glancing back at Syl. "So we thought we'd hitchhike into town, find a place to stay tonight." Jim nodded.

"Sounds good," he said, then caught Syl's yawn in the rearview mirror.

"I know the seats aren't too comfortable, darling, but there's a blanket just underneath if you want to sleep." She smiled at him, wasn't annoyed by the pet name he used. It sounded like something he'd call a daughter, not a woman he considered a sexual object. She found the blanket, wrapped it around herself. "Your girlfriend?" she heard Jim ask as she was drifting off, Sarah's tiny, soft fingers still wrapped around one of her own.

"No, my sister," Zane answered. Then she didn't hear any more because she was asleep, exhausted from the accident and everything she didn't want to remember but couldn't escape.


The dream always started back at Manticore, but even her one consolation there, her family, Zack and Krit and the others, was no comfort. They were there, but none of them had features. She still knew who they were, but they were faceless, couldn't see the pain that was being inflicted on her. She screamed and they couldn't hear. She ran to Zack and took his hands, but he didn't see the panic on her face so all he could do was hold her hands and not understand.

Huge statues chased her, running without feet, faster than she could ever be. They would corner her, force her in the direction they wanted her to go, but she didn't want to run that way. She knew what was waiting for her there.

"Zack!" she screamed. "Zack!" But he'd never hear, he'd just stand there, grown up but without a face, unseeing, unable to help her, still wearing the military-issue gown from Manticore though he should have been far too big for it. The statues would chase her where she didn't want to go, and she'd walk into a big room with broken windows, the paint peeling on the walls and jagged cliffs forming the landscape outside. The air smelled like rotting dead animals and there was nothing in the room but a huge bed, a sickly-cheerful rose petal design on the quilt, thorns jarring angrily from stems.

A little girl laid in the bed, crying, tied to the headboard. It was herself at thirteen, and she couldn't help the child escape. Syl would run to her every time, pull at the bonds holding her down, but she could never get enough strength to actually break them.

"Help me," her younger self always screamed. "Please help me, I want to go home! I want to be safe, I want to go back to Manticore!" Syl pulled at the ropes and sobbed.

"Stop it, that isn't home," she hissed, trying to loosen the knots, unable to do so. "You're free now." A bang at the door, Uncle John coming.

"Look at me!" her younger self screamed; Syl looked, saw the child's stomach and womb ripped open, a dead baby, the daughter she'd never seen, thrown on the floor. Blood everywhere.

"No, she lived," Syl whispered, backed away. "I saved her. I saved her. She lived."

"You did this!" her younger self sobbed. "Untie me! You're supposed to be a soldier, why don't you fight?" Syl collapsed against the wall, crying, the door opening as she did. Her foster uncle never saw her, always went right to the girl, the blood gone by now, the dead baby vanished. Then Syl would witness it all over again, a long, drawn-out version of every night she'd ever endured with him, and just like then she wouldn't be able to fight, she wouldn't be able to scream or even cry. All she could manage to do was clap her hands over her ears to drown out her own screams and wonder how this world was better than anything.


"Wake up, sleeping beauty, we're here," Zane's soft voice cut through her dream, his hand shaking her shoulder gently. Her eyes fluttered open and she sat up slowly, forcing herself to shake off the nightmare. She glanced over at Sarah, still asleep, and let go of the baby's hand, brushing her fingers over the child's innocent face before climbing out of the truck. She closed the door and Jim smiled at them from the driver's seat.

"You folks have fun in Elko," he said.

"Thanks for the ride," Zane answered. Jim nodded, pulled out of the parking lot. Syl walked quietly as Zane led her into a small motel, got them a room. She stumbled into one of the twin beds and fell onto it, still exhausted though she was now afraid to drift off again. She heard Zane on the phone before sleep overtook her.

"Hey, it's me, I'm safe, just wanted to leave you a message to let you know. I hope things are going okay with Ben." She heard him lower his voice, registering his words only on a subconscious level that she knew she would forget by morning. "By the way, Zack, why does Syl have shell-shock?" Then everything drifted away as sleep claimed her once again.