August 13, 2009
Moscow, Russia
Viktor Reznov
His whole body flickered as he cautiously leaned around a corner, watching a police car go by with wailing sirens. As of now, it had been twenty-four hours since the airport massacre and Viktor Reznov did not feel that he or his charge were far enough away from the scene of the crime to be safe. Unfortunately there was little the spectre could do about it. Moving a twenty-eight year old David Mason was much more difficult than moving an eight year old one, and David wasn't alert enough to move by himself. That was worrying. If Reznov couldn't get David to a safe place, and then get him proper medical care, the blood loss would kill him and Reznov would fail his single remaining task.
Every time he glanced over at the young man to reassure himself that David was still living, he was almost overwhelmed with a potent combination or irritation and guilt. The irritation was aimed towards himself, because he had made foolish mistakes. He hadn't realized that David had shut so much of himself off to deal with what was going on around him. He'd expected the young man to already start moving when he saw the gun, and the result had been that Reznov had not pulled his charge back and down fast enough to completely avoid being shot.
The guilt was also aimed inward. Twenty years ago, Viktor Reznov had promised a doomed to die Alex Mason that he would protect the man's son. It had taken time and effort to slip under the young Medium's already in place shielding so that his constant presence would not cause David unease. That work would go to waste if he could not think of some solution to their current problem. David would die and Reznov would be left alone again, with nothing but the guilt of failure to comfort him.
The police car had moved past them now, and Reznov stepped back into the shadows to assess David's condition. The bullet had gone clean through the young man's shoulder, which was both good and bad. The good was that no surgery would be necessary to remove a bullet. The bad was that there were both entrance and exit wounds for David to bleed out from and, while the blood flow had slowed, Reznov was still struggling to staunch the flow. Worse yet, rumbling thunder and dark clouds in the distance promised a coming storm. If the storm hit, it could spell the end to David Mason's life.
Another glance to the street showed it was empty, and a glance back at David showed that the young man was still unconscious. Chances were, most people wouldn't disturb the shadowed figure of a man in an alley. They'd assume he was a bum or drunkard and avoid him. That gave Reznov some time to look for possible help. He allowed his form to fade from view on the physical plane and rose above the streets. To the living looking down at the distant figures below, it would seem like they were little more than toys. The dead did not share the same limitations.
Reznov made his way methodically through the city, listening for any sound of someone that might help. Moscow boasted 10.5 million people, and that didn't normally include the trapped tourists and very alert soldiers that had swarmed the city in the hours since the attack. Hopefully one of them would be someone from the CIA looking for David Mason. If not, Reznov was going to have to come up with a new plan.
Zakhaev International Airport came into view before Reznov had any good fortune. "How are we supposed to find some bloody American in the middle of this mess?" The British accent was what first caught Reznov's attention and the words held it. The ghost headed downwards and found himself in a dark alley. Three men were standing there, hidden from the sight of FSB investigators.
"Blood trail led out of the back delivery room," another man spoke, this accent American. "We might be able to follow the traces of blood back to our missing man." Unseen by the men, Reznov shook his head. David had left a trail, but after two streets the Russian ghost had managed to hide the evidence for several blocks. It was doubtful that these three would be able to pick up the trail. Still, it would get them headed in the right direction and Reznov could interfere if necessary.
Reznov followed them through the twists and turns of narrow streets until the lost the blood trail and waited. "Well fuck," the American muttered while the third man added his own curses in what sounded like French to the mix. The only one who didn't seem bothered by the loss of the trail was the Brit.
"We'll split up and scour the area," the man ordered, keen eyes already fixed in the direction the ghost had taken David. "If you find something, radio in, but otherwise keep the chatter to a minimum. Otherwise, we meet back here in twenty minutes."
The British soldier didn't wait for any kind of response from his teammates, instead heading in the correct direction and leaving the other two to squabble over which way they were going to go. Reznov ignored them. For the moment, they were irrelevant. Instead he trailed after the man who'd chosen the right direction, waiting until the soldier found the remains of the blood trail. With a possible rescue attempt moving smoothly forward, the Russian ghost abandoned the man he was following and rose above the city again, returning to the place where he'd left David.
His charge had managed to battle back unconsciousness and was watching his surroundings with half lidded eyes, one hand on a weapon. Viktor Reznov was content to remain unseen as he watched over David, his tether to the mortal world so deeply embedded in the young man that he wouldn't notice the new presence. It was better that way.
David Mason was not ready to face the reality of what he was. Not yet. The first ghost the young boy had first encountered was the violent remainder of a soldier who had been Frank Woods first roommate in the hospital when the man had returned from Panama. He'd died overnight and accidentally terrorized an already traumatized eight year old David. The boy had suppressed the memory, along with the memories of his kidnapping by Menendez, but despite not remembering what had happened, David always tensed or acted skittish when a spirit he could feel was present.
There was only one exception to that rule. Her name was Avery Anne Poindexter and she was six and a half years old. She had been six and a half for approximately thirteen years. She had blond curls that danced around a round, china doll face and she was wearing and orange jumper. Her glittery orange hair clip was normally tucked away in one of David's pockets, kept safe from the dangers of the world.
When David had been fifteen, he'd helped out in a preschool for the summer. Unbenknownst to him, on one particularly sunny day the violent father of one of the kids had escaped from prison. The man had stolen a gun and killed half a dozen people in the first assault, one of them being the teacher. Out of the twelve other little children David had tried to save, only four had made it out. Avery hadn't been one of them. She'd almost made it out before her father had seen her and fired at her. David had tackled her, but had been too slow and the bullet had gone through her head.
In the aftermath, Daniel Poindexter had gone back to prison, and there had been fourteen people to bury. David had attended each of the funerals, looking solemn and guilty and out of place in the back of each while greiving family members and friends looked on. At the last one, Avery's, the little girl's mother had handed over the glittery hair clip. Jenny Poindexter had been a little bit psychic, just enough to understand that her little girl was hanging around. She handed over the clip at the end of the funeral saying, "She'll be happier with you than we me." Then the woman had turned and walked away, shoulders shaking. Eight hours later, she shot herself in the head and another gravestone was erected next to Avery's. The incident haunted the young man still, but the little blonde ghost was free to come and go as she pleased without startling him.
She was good for him. A six year old girl wasn't one to sit quietly and brood, and she often pulled David out of whatever funk he'd fallen into at that point in time. Generally she showed up once a month, standing on tip toes so she could lean over his shoulder to look at whatever he was doing. After a minute or so she would proclaim, "This is stupid" and drag David off, normally to do something outside. Since he'd enlisted, her visits had decreased in frequency, but she showed up at nights sometimes to cuddle up next to him until he drifted off to sleep. Aside from her periodic appearances, she remained housed safely inside the hair clip where she wouldn't disturb the Medium. It was a surprisingly considerate arrangement, especially considering that the person who was arranging it was a six and a half year old.
Approaching footsteps had David's hand tense around the handgun that he had left. Still invisible, Reznov stepped around the corner to see the British soldier approaching. Behind him were his two companions, both scanning the surrounding area for any sign of danger. Viktor Reznov smiled. Thus far, everything was going according to plan. Now everyone only had to survive the next few moments and, if these men were who the Russian ghost suspected, then David would be going home.
The first one to come around the corner was the Brit. His eyes fell immediately on David's limp form. The young man took advantage of that, as he'd been taught, and his handgun was up in an instant, aimed directly at the man. The Brit raised both hands immediately and said, "David Mason?"
"Who wants to know?"
"Call me Archer," the Brit said, voice calm. "My companions are Toad and Frost. We're Task Force 141."
Reznov smiled proudly in the shadows as David studied them warily, not lowering his weapon. The young man's caution would keep him alive in the troubled times that were to come. "How do I know you aren't lying?"
The Brit smiled, body relaxed, and replied, "You don't."
David's eyes narrowed but Reznov knew that his strength was giving out. He wouldn't be able to hold up the weapon for much longer. David lowered the gun before his hand began to shake but his gaze was still wary. Archer kept his hands away from his weapons as he crossed to kneel next to Reznov's charge and probe the wound. David hissed through his teeth in pain and flinched back from the touch but accepted the Brit's help to stand.
"Frost, call for evac," Archer said, voice tight. "When need to get out of here before Mason bleeds out."
