Chapter 7
"He's armed," Sadik whispered. His eyes were bright in the golden gloaming light. There was a sly smile pulling his lips. "So get down. Vash I will take care of this."
Heracles and Lovino slid off of the couches and rested strategically on the floor, tense and ready to leap up at the pressing second. The sharp, high pitched sound of shattering glass in conjunction with a series of thunderous gunshots sounded. Torrents of glass rained upon Roderich's living room, shards cut and scratched Lovino and Heracles. Over the tinny bell chimes from the falling glass there was the sound of struggle.
"Ow, ow, ow…!" a voice moaned through desperate gasps. It was not Vash, it was not Sadik, though Sadik could be heard mumbling something incredulously. Heracles propped himself up on his elbows and surveyed his shimmering surroundings, listening for more, awaiting gunshots. Deeming his surroundings relatively safe, he rose to full height and peered over the window sill. On the ground before him, Vash was pinning a very young man down with his knees.
"Ivan's going to find out about this!" he screeched, flailing his arms around. Dark blood was soaking the grass, and Heracles took note of the round black hole in the gray overcoat that Peter Kirkland wore. Inky blood was spreading round the bullet hole in his upper chest. It was Sadik that fired, for the shot had not hit the heart, head, or neck, Vash's favorite and most effective places to fire.
Peter Kirkland was leaner, taller. His eyebrows had thickened and darkened significantly as well, and he was beginning to look very much like his older brother.
"Bastards, that's what you all are," he spat, eyes wild.
"Calm down," Vash said sharply. He applied pressure to the wound frantically, hands trembling. He had just shot a kid.
"Where's your brother?" Sadik demanded.
"That faggot, Arthur?" Peter snorted. His face was contorted with physical agony, his teeth were gritted and he squirmed uncontrollably under the weight of Vash. "Dead, I hope! Stupid Ivan didn't think Sealand was worth attacking, that bastard. Nobody recognizes me, so I'm seeking my revenge!" Peter maniacal laugh was chilling. "And I certainly will," Peter's blue eyes became glacial; his eyebrows cocked in a frown. "Ivan's coming to kill you all, just wait. You're going to die like all the others."
"I'm sorry, Peter, but this has to be done." Vash planted a foot on Peter's abdomen and stood up, pointing the rifle's sleek barrel at Peter's sweating forehead.
"I don't care if you shoot me," Peter panted. He stopped squirming.
Sadik and Heracles watched Vash expectantly. Was he really going to shoot a boy? Vash closed his eyes. His index finger gave an uncertain twitch upon the trigger and Vash let out an uncertain breath. There nothing more he could to Peter, who was bound to die with the wound in his chest. He was with Ivan, after all. Vash's mind was jammed with concerns and second thoughts, but there was no time for that. If what he said was true, then something had to be done. Vash pulled the trigger. Peter's body leaped under him, and Vash removed his boot from Peter's body.
"You just killed a kid." Sadik said, wide eyed.
"He was going to die, anyway," Vash murmured, clambering back into the house. He impatiently brushed blond hair out of his eyes and turned to gaze somberly at Sadik and Heracles. "We have to get out. Right now."
"I think he was bluffing," Heracles said flatly. "About Ivan coming, that is."
The front door opened, and a flurry of frenzied footsteps followed. They were home.
"I heard gunshots," Elizaveta said, struggling to keep up with Roderich, who led the party. She paused to survey the glass crystals soaking the furniture, the floor, the curtains. "What happened?"
Sadik gave an impassive, mechanical explanation to the group.
Liese approached Vash with wide eyes and encircled his waist in her arms, resting her head against his chest. Vash inhaled, he loved her sweet scent and the soft blond hair she wore like his. She was warm and comforting, and for the brief moment that her arms were around him Vash's troubled conscience seemed to evaporate and take form as tears that were building in his eyes.
"Did you shoot?" she whispered.
"Yes," he responded under his breath. It was all he could manage.
"Fratello!" Feliciano exclaimed, running over him to his dear older brother. "I thought you were dead."
"I'm not," Lovino muttered. He tried to wriggle out of his younger brother's tearful embrace, but gave up and turned his attention to Ludwig, Roderich, and Sadik, who were scheming.
"Basically," Gilbert spoke up and stifled a cough, "We have two options: stick around, or get out."
"Obviously," Roderich said testily. "But the problem is that there's not really a way to escape in time, unless we hijack a plane and leave."
"That might actually work," Sadik said thoughtfully. "I know how to fly a commercial jet."
"And seriously, it can't be that different from flying a fighter jet, so Luddy and I can help out." Gilbert added.
"It's not going to work," Roderich sighed, waving a hand.
;;;;;
"It's been three days," Francis said hoarsely, glancing at Arthur. "What do you think?"
"Dead." Arthur said through gritted teeth.
Francis chuckled dryly and shrugged his aching shoulders. He glanced at Arthur, whose hands were trembling as they always were. Temperatures had dipped below freezing and snow had begun to fall from billowing gray skies.
"Hey, Arthur?"
"What do you want?" Arthur demanded petulantly.
"I think we're going to die here." Francis said solemnly. "Right here, under this bridge."
"No shit." Arthur murmured, pulling his knees close to his chest. Well, they had lost the war. It wasn't even a war to begin with; they'd lost from the start. The temperatures were plunging, finding suitable food was impossible, and they were at the mercy of their minds and metabolism. There was nothing more than bodies, dust, smashed cement and ashes in barren Moscow. Arthur and Francis would surely become part of it.
"Do you think everyone else is dead, too?" Francis' voice quivered as a picture of Feliciano clouded his eyes.
"Of course…" Arthur's voice trailed off and hung in the chilly air.
"I think you're being pessimistic." Francis chided.
"Realistic," Arthur corrected. He shoved his hands in his armpits in a futile attempt to keep warm.
"Listen, we need to get into the headquarters." Francis dropped all pretense and leaned close to Arthur, who recoiled, wary shimmer to his dull green eyes. Francis' eyes glowed like the blue sky they hadn't seen in weeks. As a small smile tugged at his cracked lips, dark blood oozed from little cuts. "There's probably food in there. I'd rather die by being shot that starvation."
Francis rose from the floor and held out an inviting hand to Arthur, gentleness smoldered in those blue eyes. Arthur was particularly attractive in angst, with that frown and the hard green eyes. Arthur averted his gaze to the floor and snubbed Francis' hand and stood up by himself. They navigated through brick and dust and the glimmering landscape of glass inside the first building they entered. Arthur's footsteps over the glass reminded him of snapping bones. He placed a finger against a skeletal wall and leaned his forehead against it. There was a heartbeat behind that wall, or was it the throb of his freezing fingertips? He breathed in deeply, unfazed by the acrid smell of ash. The scent was so prevalent that it was almost calming.
"Arthur, are you all right?"
"I'm fine," Arthur mumbled, backing away from the wall. "Right…how the hell did Gilbert get into the base?"
"All I see is glass and burned furniture." Francis grumbled, folding his arms. "Do you think we're actually in the base right now?"
"We are in Ivan's territory…" Arthur muttered. "But there's no one here."
The toe of his boot caught on something on the floor, and he staggered forward, cursing in surprise. He looked down and leaned close. There were shards of a cracked piece of tile. Intrigued, he scraped the shards away to remove a groove beneath the tile. Arthur placed his fingertips underneath and heaved up, gasping as the floor gave way and opened up, a trapdoor. White light befell the steps leading below.
Francis nodded at him; throat too parched to speak any more, and descended the stairs in the heavy pitch darkness of the stairwell. A haunting sliver of light appeared upon touching the last step—a door was up ahead. Francis placed a hand on the door jamb and slowly turned it to left. With a satisfied click, the door opened. He peered down a long, claustrophobic hallway, oddly symmetrical. He and Arthur navigated down it quickly, heading for the double doors that so tantalized them, for it was the only exit. Arthur's brisk walk turned into a panicked run, and Francis followed. There was something about that corridor that disturbed him—in his ears he heard the screeching of nails against a chalkboard, on his skin he felt virulent goosebumps rise not from cold but anxiety. He slammed into those doors and flung them open with all his might and threw himself into the next room, fighting for a breath of air.
The next room was massive, with white vaulted ceilings and tubes of halogen lights up above. Air ducts and vents snaked around the ceiling, and in front of him were a set of metal vats with complicated tubing. A wave of fear washed over Arthur, and he was unable to draw breath, asphyxiating in his own terror.
"M-Mon Dieu…" Francis stuttered. His eyes were wide and his lips were parted, he felt cold all over again. "Ivan's making nuclear bombs."
;;;;;
"How long until we die from this?" Feliks sighed dramatically as he checked the gauges one of the cylindrical containers. Feliks tucked a few strands of hair behind his ears impatiently and added, "I'm kind of ready for that, you know?"
Tino gave a noncommittal hum as a response. He rubbed his eyes. Tino had begun to feel unlike himself—he was stricken with malaise and had a headache, and he had a strong suspicion it was because of the work they were doing, and of course, the lack of protection. Neither wore gloves or masks as they roamed the volatile labyrinth of tubes and pipes.
"I suppose we'll find out eventually," Tino said. "What's the pressure on that one?"
"Who cares?" Feliks scoffed. He landed a decisive kick to the metal container.
"Be careful!" Tino hissed.
"Seriously, what was Ivan thinking, telling us to do this dirty work?" Feliks seethed, eyes blazing. "Does he really think we're going to do it?"
"Shut up," Tino said mutinously, examining the gauges. "He'll hear and break your other arm. Or remove it, depending on how he feels."
"They can break my bones and unravel my intestines," Feliks was satisfied by Tino's cringe. "But I won't listen to them."
"Hm. By the way, Katyusha seems to have a thing for you."
"Eh, whatever." Feliks waved off his remark. "Want to get some food with me?"
"No, Feliks." Tino sighed. "This has to be done first."
"Wait, Tino, look!" Feliks grabbed the sleeve of Tino's coat and pointed discreetly. His face had lit up. Some distance away, there were two men—Francis and Arthur, rooted at the double doors, gaping in awe. Feliks bounded over to them, dragging Tino along.
"What are you two doing here?" he asked eagerly, smiling uncertainly to hide his enthusiasm.
"Oh, Feliks!" Francis exclaimed. "You're alive. And Tino, I'm glad to see you too are well."
"Somewhat," Tino chuckled. "Listen—Ivan's planning on bombing some more, as you can see." He gestured to the factory behind him. "I don't know how you got here or why you're here, but it's dangerous. I heard something about two other guys that got in—"
"Sven and Antonio," Arthur said with a jerky nod. "Have you seen them?"
"No. Feliks and I have to go, but I leave you with this: watch out for Natalia. Katyusha Braginskaya, Berwald, Adrian, and Mathias are your friends." Tino said solemnly.
"And if Eduard von Bock, the prison guard, catches you, you're screwed." Feliks added with a nod. "He's a tattletale. There are a few others soldiers around, so avoid them, too. And if you do run into them, shoot them. Good thing you're armed."
"Do you have any plans?" Tino asked eagerly. His eyes flickered to the door behind Arthur and Francis.
"No," Francis confessed. "We were cold and wanted food."
"Oh…well…" Tino looked crestfallen. "I'm sorry, but we have to go right now. Good luck."
"One more thing!" Feliks said. He dropped his voice to a whisper and said, "Kill the electricity. That'll really be fun for Ivan and Alfred."
The two rushed off without another look back, leaving Arthur and Francis alone in the room.
"Come on, let's get out of here." Francis said softly. He touched Arthur's shoulder and began to walk among the imposing pipes and cylinders until they reached another door that led to yet another corridor.
"Francis," Arthur's tone was heavy and he refused to make eye contact with Francis. He seemed to be embarrassed. "If I knew that we'd be in this much danger, I would not have even left London."
"Oh, Arthur, relax." Francis said. "Everything will be fine."
Arthur shook his head, unconvinced, and ran those famous shaking hands through his filthy blonde hair. He sighed and leaned against the wall.
"We can't turn back, Arthur." Francis pointed out. "Let's see if we can find Antonio and Sven."
;;;;;
In the night, the snow was a pale and powdery blue blanket that draped the ruins of Moscow. Snowflakes swirled and drifted in the air, a fine replacement for the acrid cinders.
"Hey," Sadik said solemnly. He shivered in the frigid air and watched his breath evanesce in the still night air. "It's likely we may not ever return home. Is everyone aware of that?"
He was met with somber, tired nods. Sadik offered a comforting, forced smile and beckoned them over with a short wave of his hand.
"Wait—" Elizaveta cut him off firmly and added, "Before we go in, there should be two people staying in the plane, just in case. Gilbert and I will stay, because he's ill and I'm useless, too," Elizaveta's gaze softened when she met her husband's tense look. He looked strapping with a rifle across his chest, standing straight with a stony, resolute look to his bright eyes. He nodded at very slowly.
"Good thinking," Ludwig said, patting Gilbert's back.
"T-The building I went in is that one," Gilbert pointed a trembling finger to the blockish ruins of the closes building to the Kremlin's main entrance. "The trapdoor will be under some cracked tile in the foyer."
"Sounds good. Everyone ready?" Sadik said. "So…I guess this is goodbye."
"Elizaveta, be safe." Roderich marched over to Elizaveta and bestowed a stiff embrace and a swift kiss upon her before sharply turning on his heel and stalking toward the Kremlin. Ludwig muttered something to Gilbert, to which Gilbert nodded absentmindedly.
"We'll see you soon." Feliciano added with a cheerful wink.
Elizaveta and Gilbert clambered back into the cozy airplane and watched the group disappear in the distance as the snowfall thickened. Elizaveta turned to Gilbert, who was reclining along seats. She brushed his forehead with the back of her hand. A fever blazed beneath his ashen skin. Elizaveta suspected pneumonia. That was his fourth round that winter.
"Liz." Gilbert said weakly. "Shit's gonna hit the fan."
"I know that." She snapped.
"What are you going to do if Roderich gets killed?" Gilbert's chuckle turned into a coughing fit.
"Not think about it," Elizaveta replied loftily. "It's out my control."
;;;;;
Ivan sat atop a craggy piece of concrete, sipping vodka and watching, with a placid, romantic gleam to his eyes, as Moscow blazed before him. Wild, ambitious flames reaching into the sky, vague shouting and screaming, the sizzling, the explosions that shook the earth. He placed a gloved hand on the concrete—it was humanly warm. A laugh caught in his throat— the world was his, finally. He had his base underground, loyal servants. And the rest would bend and fall to his demands.
"Ivan," a warm whisper tantalized his ears, a thin arm was slid around his waist.
"Natalia, hello," he greeted. Ivan leaned his face toward Natalia, awaiting a kiss on the cheek that was swiftly delivered.
"How beautiful Moscow is." Natalia sighed. Sounds of suffering drowned Katyusha's earnest and uncontrollable sobs from a few feet away. She sat with her head on her knees, shivering under the coat draped round her shaking shoulders. Bitter tears soaked her chest—she had been blindly stalemated, and she would ever escape. Her hands were empty; they carried not a grain of authority and respect that she should've exercised as the eldest sibling. How many millions would be killed in the next days? Katyusha choked on the mordant air that had already made her throat raw, and cried harder, for she was the most fortunate of the millions that diminished to silvery ashes before her. Her throat was raw, but others' whole bodies were raw, as well as their fear. Melancholic notes of sympathy vibrated within her.
"I agree," Ivan said with a sure nod. "Natalia, my dear, what did you do with Alfred?"
"Alfred has been drugged and dealt with." Reflected embers glistened on Natalia's long scroll of platinum blonde hair with the glow of the fire on wet lips.
"I can't wait," A sickening smile split Ivan's agreeable countenance, "to see the look on his face when I tell him his land has been reduced to cinders. That possessive bastard needs a lesson in discipline. I can't wait to make him mine, and I can't wait to burn the rest of the world."
Why? What good will that do?
"I will be with you forever and always," Natalia's voice swelled with pride.
It was not long after that they encountered a groggy Alfred, on the floor of Ivan's office. Ivan watched with glee as Alfred slowly stood up, mildly disoriented.
"Was I drunk?" Alfred inquired, scratching his head. He squinted. "And where am I?"
"My office, Alfred." Ivan replied. "My other office."
Ivan reached into his overcoat and withdrew a few photographs that he handed to Alfred. The photographs were of Alfred's most populous, famous cities—ashes now.
"Do any of those look familiar?" Ivan questioned cloyingly. His smile distended at seeing Alfred's hands quiver. He loved the horrified expression on Alfred's face, the pallor on his cheeks, the trembling of his lips and the tears springing to his eyes.
"No, that's not NYC." He said. Alfred's eyes strayed from the decimated Statue of Liberty in the first picture. "These are not San Fran, Phoenix, H-Town, LA, or Philly, or even the Windy City. This isn't real."
"No?" Ivan said. "Let me show you, Moscow, then."
And Alfred watched the blazes leave behind royal, ancient ruins of an old city. He was on his knees, his countenance was pale as the crisp white ashes that flitted about in the thick air. His eyes, a gloriously blue shade that matched the sky, were clouded with unshed tears and repressed despair.
"How could you do this?" Alfred asked hoarsely. "How could you kill not only your citizens but everyone else's too?"
"It's beautiful." Ivan replied simply, evading the prying nature of Alfred's question. "You do not agree?"
Alfred drew breath to speak and nearly asphyxiated on the sea of cinders that stirred around him, so he simply shook his head and gave a small gasp to stifle and stop any sobs that threatened to break from him.
"N-Not at all." Alfred said under his breath. Sweat slid down his face and mingled with those unstoppable tears. "I'll send my army to kill you for doing this."
"Alfred," Ivan said in a an almost sing song tone, approaching Alfred carefully. "I already killed off your country—there's no army left, you see. So what are you going to do?"
Alfred averted his gaze. He frowned incredulously and further blanched when he realized he too, was trapped and had no choice.
"I'll shoot you if you don't help me," Ivan's threat had little effect on Alfred. He decided to glibly add another little bonus. "But you'll have your wish of having all the most powerful weapons if you join me."
"All right, fine." Alfred said with a shrug. He wiped his eyes and hid a smile. It'd be easy as finding a gun in the base and shooting Ivan and his cronies up. He would rise as the hero, the way he always did.
;;;;;
"All right. Confess, you filthy bastards." Natalia strode into the cell, hands behind her back, eyes half closed and baleful. Her eyes, a dark, guarded shade of blue roved the cell and the grimy faces of the pitiful prisoners. Tino surreptitiously pressed his back against the wall to hide the rifle Adrian had given then. It was just him, Feliks, Toris, Freyr, Kiku, and Yong Soo.
"What did we do?" Yong Soo asked with a coy blink of his eyes.
"You know what you did. You got a gun from somewhere." Natalia growled. She was so beautiful but so vile.
"Miss, there is nothing here. You confiscated all of our weapons." Tino said reasonably.
"If you don't tell me where the rifle that Adrian fucking Folkestad gave you," Natalia withdrew a long, machete that winked furiously in the dim light from behind her back, and in her left hand was a small but potent handgun. "I will kill all of you. And even if you don't tell me, I'll kill you for lying."
"I'd like to see you try," Feliks said under his breath. He smirked and brushed some dust off of his pant
"How did you find out about that?" Tino demanded. His voice shook with anger.
"Do you think I'm stupid?" Natalia scoffed. "But don't worry. Adrian is being dealt with by Ivan and Alfred themselves."
Tino watched as Freyr blanched to the color of the wall he sat against.
"Then again, a imbecile like you probably has no idea how to even hold a rifle." Natalia laughed.
And a gunshot sounded in the small room.
Feliks gasped sharply when he saw splashes of dark blood appear on his pants, and he waited to lose consciousness or feel wild pain on some part of his body. It never came, and he realized the blood was not his when he looked up from his lap to see a body that writhed in pain, screaming, long golden hair turning black in the thick blood that issued from a hole in her chest and another in her neck. Not five seconds passed before Natalia Braginskaya became limp.
"W-What…" Feliks began, lifting his eyes to Tino, who was breathing heavily, flames burning in his eyes. He rested the rifle Adrian Folkestad had given on his shoulder and glared at Natalia's body with such uncharacteristic fury.
"Serves her right," he spat, "For threatening us like that."
He stooped to the floor and tucked her famous knife and pistol into his pocket. The door to the cell was open and Eduard was nowhere to be seen. The doorway shone with opportunity.
"Let's get out right now," Tino said urgently. "It's now or never. Katyusha slipped me the map of this place. There's a stairwell just down the hall. Up four flights—and we're out of here. So, who is coming with me?"
Feliks leapt to his feet and pulled Toris off the floor without even letting the poor man make sense of the situation. Toris' wide eyes were bound to the sight of his lover sleeping in a pool of her own blood, but they slowly strayed to Feliks, who was smiling radiantly so that his pallor seemed to dissipate. Feliks coaxed a reluctant Kiku and a dazes Yong Soo off of the floor and Freyr was already out the door. The rest of the prisoners were elsewhere—dead or out laboring for Ivan. But Tino had other plans.
"Let's go," Tino said. "Run, if you can."
Tino, in possession of the weapon, stood in front as he sprinted down the hall and up the stairs, glancing over his shoulder to see all of his comrades, tense, following him diligently. When he ran into a narrow, flimsy door, he knew he was free. Bashing it to the floor, he needed no map to figure out where he was. A snowy expanse lay before him, and an overjoyed laugh escaped him as he dashed across the fluffy snow. His eyes watered, for it had been so long since he'd been outside.
"Come on, the further we get from the base the safer we are." Tino said enthusiastically. He looked over his shoulder at his ragtag comrades, thin and wan and freezing, ankle deep in the snow. They continued lumbering through the blinding snow until Tino made out a distinct figure up ahead. It was small airplane stopped on a desolate Russian highway. Intrigued, Tino approached the plane and tapped on the door with the butt of his rifle. He took a step back and waited, glancing anxiously at his fellow prisoners. The door opened, and there stood Elizaveta. Her face was blank with surprise, her body trembled with repressed emotion. The people that stood before her she had assumed dead.
"You're alive," she said with a shaky laugh. Elizaveta grinned at Feliks, an old friend of hers, and he returned the gesture.
"Good to see you, Elizaveta." Tino said cheerfully. He clambered into the airplane and pulled everyone else into the aircraft. Toris was relieved to see amassed food, blankets, and weapons, and he sank into a seat and leaned his head against the window.
"I'm going back to find everyone else," Tino said with a firm nod.
"So am I," Feliks said determinedly.
"Ah, shit. I wish I could join you." Elizaveta said. She looked down at the bandages covering hers arms and legs. Elizaveta pointed to the back of the plane, where the weapons were stored. "Well, go get some guns, ammo, and everything else."
"It's not just you here, is it?" Freyr asked, surveying Elizaveta coolly.
"No. Gilbert is here with me. Roderich, Ludwig, Vash, Liese, Feliciano, Lovino, Heracles, and Sadik are in the base right now." she said. "So—tell me. What is going on in there?"
"Ivan has a bomb factory underground. We've been exposed to nuclear radiation. Feliks has been tortured, Xiang has been vivisected. I was almost beheaded by Natalia," Tino winced at the memory. He had a shallow cut on his neck from the time Natalia was in a violent frenzy. "Ivan also likes to starve us."
"Don't forget the time he tried to inject me with various chemicals." Freyr muttered, rolling up the sleeve of his jacket. The inside of his forearm was dotted with needle sticks.
"And various other things." Toris said jadedly. "Elizaveta, it's very dangerous in the base. Ivan has soldiers left and right. The only allies there are Mathias, Adrian, Berwald, and Katyusha. And Adrian is probably dead, seeing that Natalia found out about him giving us the rifle. But Tino did kill her."
"If things get bad, I'm flying out with the survivors." Elizaveta explained solemnly. She turned to Feliks and Tino, armed with two rifles each and weighed down with ammo and other supplies. Both of them had the excited twinkle in their eyes that betrayed an adrenaline rush. Before she had a chance to say goodbye, the two had already leapt out of the jet and were sprinting back to the Kremlin with an invincible air around them.
Meh. Shitty chapter is shitty. Sorry for that.
But I'll deal with that after my homecoming dance...lol.
So leave me a review.
