Seifer dropped down onto the awning of the store below with a heavy thud and belly crawled toward the edge. The street was full of creepers, but their attention was on the rapidly growing blaze on the other side of the street. A dozen or more shadows lurched around inside ablaze and more seemed on the verge of joining them.
It was only a short drop from his position on the awning, but he didn't want to alert them to his presence. The last thing he needed was for one of them to turn at the wrong moment and spot him.
If he dropped in just the right spot, he would land next to the door of the cab. For a second, he wished he'd stayed in the apartment and waited it out. This was a stupid, reckless plan and he was going to get himself killed.
There was no backing out now. With a slow, deep breath, he slid forward and dangled his legs over the side. The truck was just below. A short drop and a quick escape, that was the plan and it was too late for another.
The awning groaned under his weight and Seifer froze. The three closest to him turned toward the sound and Seifer cursed silently as they shuffled forward to investigate. A second later, the awning shrieked as the thin metal tore away from the wall. Seifer reached for the edge of the sign to keep from falling but his hand missed it and he was dumped onto the sidewalk.
The wind was knocked from his lungs when he hit the concrete, and his head smacked into the ground hard enough to blur his vision and momentarily stun him. From his left came an outraged snarl and heavy footsteps as the nearest creeper spotted him. Dazed, but certain he was about to die, Seifer shot to his feet and lunged for the door of the truck.
Something slammed into him from behind and he flew into the side of the truck. Acting on instinct alone, Seifer threw his head back and felt it connect with something hard. A howl of anger rose up behind him and a pair of hands grabbed hold of his jacket. A second pair of hands wrapped around his leg and he kicked out at it, felt the sole of his boot connect with something that went squish. He turned on the first and kicked out at it and shoved it back, lifted his rifle without shouldering it and pulled the trigger. Hot blood sprayed over his face and Seifer instantly wiped it away with his sleeve. He didn't know how infection spread, but he didn't want to chance blood in his eyes or mouth.
There were more. So many more and there was nowhere for him to run. They swarmed the truck behind him, and swarmed out of the store in front of him and the sound that arose from them sent a chill down his spine.
He was going to die. There was no way out of this.
A hand wrapped around his throat and he squeezed his eyes shut as he was shoved back into the door of the truck again.
Fuck.
This was not how Seifer wanted to die.
Quistis dozed at her desk, not quite asleep but definitely not awake. Her phone was only inches away from her hand, in case Squall or Marnie or Laguna called. She'd tried to stay awake to wait for their respective calls but at a quarter past one, she finally succumbed to drowsiness and laid her head down on her arms and closed her eyes. She knew she had work to do, but it was only for a minute. She'd take a nap and wake up refreshed and ready to get back to the grind.
She didn't hear the knock on her open office door, nor did she hear Laguna's voice as he stepped inside. Only when the man gave her a gentle shake did Quistis open her eyes. She sat straight up, alarmed and tense and ready for a fight. Automatically, she reached for the weapon that was not there.
Laguna laughed softly and took a seat on the plush leather couch by the window. Quistis blinked sleep from her eyes and offered Laguna an apology uttered in a thick, sleep heavy voice. She hadn't meant to be caught dozing.
"I guess Squall's not the only one who sleeps at his desk," Laguna said.
"I was actually waiting for him to return my call," Quistis admitted. "Thought I'd close my eyes for a minute and..."
She shrugged and eyed Laguna as she got up from her chair to join him. He looked exhausted. Dark circles ringed his eyes and his normally humorous expression had been replaced by a world weary look that Quistis understood all too well.
"He's not calling me back, either," Laguna said. "But that's nothing new."
Quistis glanced at her watch. It was nearly three in the morning. What in the world was Laguna doing here at this hour?
"Is everything all right?" she asked.
"...no," he said. He gave a weak laugh devoid of humor and dropped his forehead into his palm. "Everything's gone to shit, Quistis."
It was unusual for Laguna to curse, and Quistis prepared herself for bad news.
"What's happened?" she asked as she got up to turn on the coffee pot. There would be no more sleep for her tonight.
"It's too late," he said. "We closed the borders, but... We were too late."
Even as tired as she was, Quistis grasped what that meant. She turned away from the coffee pot and faced him. Beneath the exhaustion in Laguna's face was a deep sorrow. Quistis had never seen the man look less jovial than he did now and she returned to the sitting area and joined him on the couch.
"Tell me," she said.
"I failed," he said. "I failed and Esthar is done."
What did he mean, done?
"Twenty-seven thousand people are sick," Laguna said, shaking his head. "It'll be more by daybreak."
"How many deaths?" Quistis asked.
"Seventy-five hundred," Laguna said. "About half of them turned, so technically, that's roughly thirty-three hundred still alive, but, just the same... they might as well be..."
Quistis stared at the man, unable to comprehend the scope of that many deaths from illness. Or that many sick people. If roughly half of twenty-seven thousand people turned... Esthar had the potential to be even worse than Deling City.
"How did it happen this fast?" Quistis wondered. The chime on the coffee pot went off and she got to her feet to pour each of them a mug. "Why am I just now hearing about this?"
"We didn't know," Laguna said. "We closed the border so people thought it was just the regular old flu when they started feeling bad. They all thought closing the border would protect us, that it wasn't the same thing. Odine thinks it's been festering for a week or more."
He sighed and accepted the mug Quistis offered him. His face collapsed and he took a deep slow breath. When he met her eyes, they were misty as though he was on the verge of tears.
"Ward... He'd been feeling under the weather for a few days," Laguna said. He swallowed hard and wiped a hand over his eyes. "... I had to... take care of it a little while ago."
Laguna broke down and sobbed quietly into his hands. Quistis blinked at him in shock. He'd had to take care of it? Take care as in kill? A cold knot of emotion settled in Quistis' throat and she braced herself for confirmation.
"He asked me to do it," Laguna mumbled. "...he asked me to."
Quistis reached over and pulled the older man into an embrace, a mixture of sympathy and terror brewing in her chest as Laguna sobbed into her shoulder. Was this what she would have to do for Zell in the end? Would she have to administer some drug and hold his hand while he passed? Would she have to put a bullet in his head if he turned? Quistis didn't want that. The very idea of it was deplorable and horrible and though it was the right thing to do, how could she live with herself if that was the only option she had?
It was a long time before Laguna stopped crying. When he finally did, he looked away from her in shame as his fists ground at his tired, red-rimmed eyes.
"I'm sorry," Quistis said. "I know that's not enough, but... I understand."
Laguna nodded at the wall and pushed a hand through the locks of hair that had escaped the band of his pony tail holder.
"Do you have something stronger than coffee?" Laguna asked. "I think I need a drink."
Quistis got up and opened the bottom drawer of her desk and broke the seal on a bottle of whiskey Irvine had given her when she'd gotten the job. Written on the side of the bottle in black marker was:
"In case of emergency, mouthy little shits, the prospect of wild, hot drunken sex, or the zombie apocalypse, break seal and apply liberally."
Irvine meant it as a joke, but that last part seemed strangely prophetic to Quistis. She poured out a measure into a pair of crystal highball glasses and set one in front of Laguna. He eyed the amber liquid in the glass as though he'd find answers there.
"I don't have any ice," she said.
"No worries," Laguna said. "This is fine."
He picked it up and lifted it in the air.
"To Ward," he said. "Hope you got your voice back, wherever you are. Godspeed, good buddy."
"To Ward," Quistis echoed. "Godspeed."
Squall's phone buzzed in his pocket, but he ignored it as Rinoa collapsed against him. She drew great, gasping breaths and made a sound that tore his heart to ribbons. He knew through the bond, whatever she was experiencing was not physical pain but mental or emotional. It ricocheted along the invisible link and Squall was pelted with vague but dark impressions as he held her upright. He didn't know what this was, but he'd never been more afraid in his life.
Her wings shimmered with opalescent light and shifted from violet to amber to pale blue and her fingers curled into the sleeves of his jacket. Her whole body shook in his arms and Squall held her tighter, at a loss as to what to do.
"I don't want this," she moaned.
"Shh," he soothed. "You're okay."
"Make it stop, make it stop, make it stop," she chanted. "Please, just make it stop."
A void opened up inside Squall's head, filled with a nothingness so deep, not even time compression could compare. He saw nothing but darkness all around him. It was like being in space again, surrounded by a vast emptiness that knew no limits, but there were no stars and no moon to illuminate what was there. And there was something there. He could sense it, whatever it was, out there just beyond his reach in the pitch black around him.
Squall couldn't breathe. Whether it was fear or lack of oxygen in the space around him, he didn't know. A pressure against his ribs made him aware of the shape pressed against him, a feminine and supple presence that flirted with the darker and unspoken desires within him. It wasn't Rinoa. She didn't smell like Rinoa or feel like Rinoa. The body pressed against his was leaner and harder and taller, and the arms around his waist were hard and ropy.
When Rinoa's terrified cries turned to cruel laughter, Squall panicked. He knew that laugh. He never thought he'd hear it again and it was just as horrifying and awful as it had been when they'd faced her in battle. Worse, the laugh came from the woman in his arms and he tried to push her away, only to have her grip tighten and squeeze the remaining oxygen from his lungs.
"You didn't think you'd actually won, did you?" a hateful voice breathed in his ear. "Foolish boy. That was only the beginning."
Two voices, not just one. Two. Squall knew what that meant and he reached out to Rinoa in his mind.
Stay... Stay with me... I love you...
Rinoa's terror was overwhelming. He could feel the psychic assault being waged upon her and there was nothing he could do to help her fight back except offer whispered please to remain with him.
The blackness became thick and heavy, and the air around him smelled like blood and dirt. The figure in his arms shifted and softened and felt like Rinoa again.
"Squall?"
"I'm here."
"I'm scared..."
"I know," he said.
"She's in my head..." she whispered.
"I know," he said. "Stay with me, okay?"
"Don't leave me."
"I promise I won't."
The darkness gave way to a light so intense, Squall was forced to shut his eyes against it. The arms around him gripped tighter and when he opened his eyes, they were back on the second floor deck, seated against the railing and wrapped tight around each other. A balmy, salty breeze washed over Squall's skin and he sucked in a breath of fresh air.
Shaken, Squall loosened his grip on Rinoa dropped his face into the top of her head. He didn't understand what had just happened and he didn't want to. In that moment, he wanted to disappear with her to some far away place where he didn't have to worry about responsibility or make plans for disaster. Nothing in this world mattered more to him that she did and if keeping her safe, healthy and sane meant turning his back on everything and everyone, he'd turn the world to ash to make it happen.
"She was in my head, Squall," Rinoa murmured. "She was in my head and I couldn't get her out."
"She's dead, Rin," Squall said.
"How do we know for sure?" she asked. "How do we know she didn't try earlier in her life?"
"She might have, but if she did, she failed," Squall said. "And I know she's dead because I saw Edea take her power when I was a kid."
"I know, but what if...?"
Rinoa sucked in a breath and pulled away from him. Squall's ribs ached and he was sure she'd left bruises, but that wasn't what concerned him. It was everything else. The empty darkness he'd seen in Rinoa's head and the sound of Ultimecia's laughter.
"She says she's built us an army," Rinoa said bitterly. "To rid the world of the sheep. What if this is her revenge? We killed her, but... she sent a plague back with us."
Squall leaned his head back against the barricade and tucked Rinoa's head against his chest. Her suggestion unsettled him because it wasn't outside the realm of possibility. He already knew from Dr. Odine's presentation, it had most likely come back with them, but it had never occurred to him that it had been a desperate act of vengeance. If Ultimecia went down, she wanted to take everything with her in one fell swoop.
"You could be right," he acknowledged.
He held her tighter and kissed the top of her head and wished there was some way he could ease her fears.
"It's awful having her inside my head..." she whispered. "I've never felt so small or helpless or afraid."
That was the one thing Squall could not defend her against. The invasion of her mind or the inevitability of facing her own dark side. Rinoa carried within her all the power of Sorceresses past and future. She was Ultimecia's equal, as near an embodiment of Hyne as existed in this world. To Squall, there was no if. There was only a when, and when that day came, when the darkness was all there was to be found, he would surrender his will to her without question. He had made her a promise, and that was a promise he would keep until there was no breath left in his lungs.
Squall had never shared his belief that she would turn eventually. It was a thought that crept in from time to time, but one he had never given voice to and never would. It wasn't pessimism that skewed his thoughts on the subject, but history. The more power, the more likely darkness would prevail. It wasn't her fault and there was nothing she could do to stop the corruption from spreading like cancer once it began. And it would as it had for a thousand years, the way it had within nearly every sorceress in known history.
Maybe that day was upon them sooner than Squall anticipated. He'd hoped for a few good years together, happy years full of laughter and joy, before that darker reality set in and he saw her change before his very eyes. He had thought they had more time.
It wasn't enough. Six months of this was not enough and he held her tighter to displace the indignant anger he felt at having that ripped away from him so soon.
He wouldn't let this Rinoa go without a fight. He would fight to keep her kindness and compassion alive for as long as he could. Even if it was a losing battle.
"We'll be okay," he said, but maybe it was a lie. For the first time, it felt like one. "I'll be here no matter what."
They sat in silence, neither willing to break their hold on the other, but it was Squall that finally broke the silence.
"We can't tell anyone about this," he said. "Not yet, anyway. Not until I understand what the problem is."
"You really think this should be a secret?" she asked in a small voice.
"I think we need more information."
"You think they'll be afraid of me."
"...yeah."
There was no point in lying.
Rinoa sat up and stared at him. Her expression wasn't angry, just sad.
"If it comes down to it, and the worst happens," she said. "I want you to fight with them. If I'm a lost cause... turn against me. Stop me."
He searched her eyes and shook his head.
"No."
"I want you to promise me, Squall," she said fiercely. "If it comes to that, take me down."
"No," he said. "I won't."
"Squall - "
"No," he said more firmly. He took her face between his palms and kissed her softly on the lips. "I told you once, if that ever happened, I'd be there right beside you. Nothing's changed, Rin. Never will."
Her bottom lip trembled and fat tears rolled down her cheeks as she looked down at the ground.
"Let's not get ahead of ourselves, okay?" he said as he threaded his fingers through her hair. "But don't ever think I'd switch sides. I'll be with you wherever you go, and that's a promise."
The fist tightened around Seifer's throat and his survival instinct kicked in. Maybe he was going to die, but he wasn't going to die without a fight. He grabbed hold of the barrel of the rifle and swung with as much force as he could muster. The stock collided with the side of the creeper's face and it released him even as another body slammed him. He sucked in a mouthful of air and ducked as a pair of arms attempted to grab hold of him. A second bit into the sleeve of his jacket and tore away a mouthful of stuffing.
They were all over him now and he shut his eyes against the end he knew was coming, even as he continued to swing the rifle and struggled to keep them off. It was a losing battle. There were dozens of them and only one of him. He didn't stand a chance.
A desperate swell of self-preservation burned through his veins and made him feel dizzy. His mouth filled with the metallic taste of blood and he smelled the distinct odor of sulfur in the air around him. Every part of his body burned and bristled with a sensation like a thousand pin-pricks and the savage inside him rose up and howled to be let out.
A shock-wave of fire exploded out of him and he was sent to his knees as it seemed to suck out all of his vital organs all at once. It was both a catharsis and a threat to his remaining sanity. It hollowed him out and left him without the ability to think or move or defend himself.
On all fours, he cowered and clenched his jaw as a second ring of fire tore out of him. It sent him sprawling face first onto the icy sidewalk, his hands curled into fists and wracked with pain. He had to get up. He had to run. This was his chance, but his body did not want to cooperate. He couldn't find his breath and his heart beat so fast an hard, he was sure it was going to explode.
He was not in control.
"I can help you."
She'd picked a fine time to run her mouth. It was all he could do to push himself up off the sidewalk, he could barely breathe because his heart beat so fast it made his throat tight, but the sound of her voice gave him the extra kick in the ass he needed to get up and get a hold of himself.
"Fuck you," he growled. "Never going to ask for help."
Her hateful laugh forced him to his feet. His vision swam and he was nauseated and it felt like his insides had been scraped raw, but he was vertical and completely alone.
"That's what you think, boy. You will change your mind. Eventually."
Seifer ignored that and took a quick look around. The world tilted a little, but as his vision cleared, so did the knot in his chest.
All around him, the corpses of creepers burned. The smell turned his stomach and he turned in a circle to survey the street for more. And there were, but they were still focused on the burning newsstand.
He swore and flung the door of the truck open and climbed in, still unable to completely shake off the out-of-control sensation inside him. His hands trembled as he turned the key and started the engine. The original plan to stock up and leave in the morning had been shot to hell, but he was thankfully, impossibly alive and he would have to make do with what he'd collected from the apartment.
At the sound of the truck engine, the creepers collectively turned toward him and Seifer stepped on the gas. The truck fishtailed for a second then straightened out as he steered it onto the street. It wasn't until he'd rounded the corner that he breathed a sigh of relief. He wasn't out of the proverbial woods, but he was one step closer to getting to Esthar.
It was only a ten minute drive to the marina, but as he drove, unnatural shadows moved on the periphery and he knew they were tracking him. He'd gotten out of his previous situation and was headed straight for another. He would have to move fast if he wanted to outrun them. Though he was simultaneously resentful and grateful that his fire magic had bailed him out, he had no confidence that it would bail him out a second time. He hadn't called or consciously conjured it. It had come on its own, and though it had been helpful, the aftermath was too incapacitating to rely on anyway.
At the marina, he parked as close to the docks as possible, and in the rear-view saw distorted shadows behind him. Though they were already too close, Seifer took a second to survey the line of boats moored along the wooden dock. The closest to him was a small sailboat with an outboard motor and he immediately decided against it. He knew nothing about sailing and he doubted the small motor would have enough fuel to carry him across an ocean. The next was little more than a fishing boat and offered no shelter from the elements. The third, another sailboat.
The fourth one down was a small cabin cruiser and just what he was looking for. Properly fueled, it would carry him to Esthar within a day, and he would have a place to rest in the berth below. The question was, was it properly fueled? He would have to take his chances. Better than staying here, and worst case, he would run out of fuel and drift until he hit the Horizon Bridge.
He shouldered his pack and his rifle and flung the door open. Though his legs were still wobbly, he broke into a sprint the instant his feet hit the ground. His boots pounded against the wooden deck and drew the attention of what sounded like a thousand creepers behind him. He didn't look over his shoulder because he didn't want to see what waited for him. It would only slow him down.
It felt like an eternity before he reached the cabin cruiser. He unwound the rope that tied it to a nearby piling and gave the bow a hard shove away from the dock. It didn't move as fast as he hoped it would, but there wasn't time to worry about it. He jumped on and dropped his equipment on the deck and headed into the wheelhouse. A complicated panel full of buttons and switches and monitors confronted him and he nearly panicked as he tried to figure out what to do now.
"Where the fuck is the ignition?" he growled as he scanned the panel with impatience. "Goddamn it!"
He banged on it with a fist and pushed buttons at random in hopes of getting the engine started. Nothing he did worked, and his panic grew as he heard the sound of creepers cursing him from the dock. Furious and on the verge of a real, honest-to-goodness break down, Seifer didn't know what to do. If the creepers got on the boat and he couldn't get it started, his options were exactly none.
Seifer howled and slammed his fist into the panel and suddenly, the engine roared to life. He let out a pathetic whine of relief and yanked the throttle all the way down. The boat lurched forward with a roar and Seifer grabbed hold of the wheel. It was pitch black beyond the marina, but he held it steady as he guided the boat out of the slip.
A thud on the deck behind him made him turn in time to see a muzzle flash and a figure hit the ground hard.
Shit.
He was not alone.
Laguna talked about Ward for the next two hours,. He told Quistis stories about things they'd done together and bounced between laughter and tears as the man mourned the loss of his dear friend. Quistis was exhausted and there were so many things they needed to discuss besides this, but she couldn't change the subject without feeling horrible about herself. Laguna needed to talk and cry, so Quistis let him.
Between them, they'd finished half the bottle. Quistis was no stranger to alcohol, but it was enough to give her a good buzz and by the looks of it, the President was close to smashed.
She still hadn't heard back from Squall, and that was worrisome. She had tried calling him back once, but he hadn't picked up. Nor had she heard anything back from Dr. Allen or Dr. Odine about Zell. For a while, she zoned out, her chin propped on her hand as Laguna told some story about the time he'd decided to use Ward's harpoon to spear fish.
Around sunrise, Kiros appeared in the doorway, his face as inscrutable as ever. The only evidence of his sorrow was a slight redness around his eyes as though he'd been crying.
"I've been looking everywhere for you, Laguna," Kiros said. "We need to talk."
"Sit down, have a -hic drink," Laguna said. "I was just telling Quistis about all our crazy times together."
"Looks like you've had enough for the both of us," Kiros said. "I thought you said you were abstaining from the evils of liquor for the rest of your life?"
"Sometimes, the situation requires a stiff drink," Laguna said. He raised his almost empty glass and toasted Ward for the eighth time.
Kiros sat in a armchair near to Laguna as Quistis poured him a measure of the whiskey. He didn't protest when she pushed it across the coffee table. He took a slow sip and stared at the amber liquid inside.
"The situation has deteriorated overnight," Kiros said. "Estimated cases now stands at over 100,000 and there are reports of attacks throughout the city."
"Already?" Quistis wondered. "Yesterday, nobody was sick."
"And today they are," Laguna said mournfully.
"I just issued an official state of emergency, warning everyone to stay in their homes and stay calm," Kiros said. "It won't do much good. From this point forward, this is officially a disaster."
"What do we do?" Quistis asked. She knew of no strategy or tactic that could stem the tide of an epidemic of this scale.
"We can't control it," Kiros said. "The only solution is to lock it down."
"Lock it down?" she asked. "As in, barricade ourselves in?"
"In a manner of speaking," Kiros said. "Those of us that are here will make do with the resources we have available for the time being."
"Kiros, we have children arriving as early as this afternoon," she said. "Something has to be done about them. We can't just leave them to fend for themselves."
Kiros gave her a level stare and sipped his whiskey contemplatively. His fingers drummed lightly against the glass as he watched her and Quistis' concern grew into anger. Wasn't he concerned at all that their new wards would be on their own, out there with those things? Quistis was responsible for those kids, one way or another. Abandoning them was not an option.
"And what if those children are infected?" he asked.
"Some of them might be," she said with a frown. "I'm not denying that."
"And who is going to risk their lives to go get them?" Kiros asked. "The infected are already out there. In less than twenty-four hours, we've gone from having no sign of infection to a full scale code red. Twelve hours from now, I anticipate it will be well on its way to becoming Deling City all over again."
"All the more reason to make sure they're safe," she insisted. "There's no reason not to save the ones we can save. I can't live with anything less and I would think you felt the same."
"I understand where you're coming from, Quistis," Kiros said. "But it isn't logical. You risk your own life by bringing them here."
"We could set this place up as a -hic survivor's camp," Laguna chimed in. "A shelter."
Quistis nodded at Laguna and raised her glass to him. Maybe it wasn't logical in terms of everything that was going on, but Quistis would not let those kids die just because saving them was a risk. If they could be saved, then it was worth it to try.
"A shelter," she agreed. "We can house three hundred in the dorms, and maybe another three hundred if we set up barracks in the ballroom and maybe triage in the auditorium."
"I doubt that space will be needed," Kiros said quietly. "I've been in touch with Caraway. Deling City is a complete loss. No survivors within city limits. I'm betting the smart ones got out early. The rest... the ones that stuck around and waited for help... Well, Caraway pulled the plug early this morning."
"He bombed it?" Quistis asked.
"Yes," Kiros said. "...there's not much left."
That sobered Quistis a great deal. Deling City had a population of just over three million. Esthar was home to just over seven million. She did the math in her head.
If roughly half of those who became ill turned, that meant... 3.5 million cannibalistic lunatics wandering the streets out there. That almost made Caraway's plan seem reasonable. There was no way to fight that many and live.
"So what do we do?" she asked.
"The logical thing to do," Kiros said slowly, "is make you commander of this operation."
"What?" Quistis asked, dumbfounded. "You're putting me in charge of...what? Rescuing survivors or just taking care of the ones we have? Managing the whole city? What?"
"I know you can do it, Quisty," Laguna said with a big, drunken grin.
He patted her arm and Quistis flinched away from him and stood abruptly. She suddenly knew exactly how Squall felt. She did not want to be the one directly responsible for all of this. Yes, she was confident in her ability to run a Garden, and even command it in a time of war, but this was different. This wasn't just a war. This was a disaster, and the odds against them were astronomically high. There was no getting out of this without suffering massive casualties. There was no tactical approach that would save the city from ruin.
She knocked back the rest of her drink and pressed her hand to her forehead in frustration as she moved to the window to gaze out at the city. The view was deceptively peaceful, the sky painted in shades of gold and pink of sunrise. Out there, people were sick. Dying. Turning into mindless, vicious monsters.
"Of the three of us, you are the most experienced in crisis situations," Kiros said behind her. "We all know Laguna's entire career has been based mostly on happy accidents and charm."
"So, that's it?" Quistis demanded as she turned on him. "You're just handing control of this over to me?"
"In a word? Yes," Kiros said. "I will do everything in my power to assist you. It's best if we leave Laguna to... morale."
Quistis didn't even know where to start. She was so tired and frustrated, she wanted to walk away. She wanted to tell Kiros she was not prepared to shoulder command. He was the more experienced leader. It made more sense for him to be the one to step up and fill Laguna's shoes. This was a responsibility she did not want.
Instead Quistis poured herself another drink, even though she'd passed her usual limit two glasses ago. Her hand shook as she lifted the glass to her lips and she stared at Kiros wordlessly. She wanted to tell him to take it back, to change his mind but he only stared back at her and placidly sipped his own glass.
All those doubts of her mid-teens came crashing down on her. Not good enough. Work harder. Be stronger, faster, the best. The only way anyone will ever see your value is if you are perfect in every way. Never had she felt more lost or incapable of duty than she did now.
"I have something to show you," Kiros said. He stood finished his drink and set the glass aside. "Follow me."
Quistis followed Kiros out of the office. Laguna, too drunk to walk a straight line, remained in his chair and Quistis wondered for the first time how Laguna managed to run an entire country without it devolving into a state of utter chaos. That was an uncharitable thought that made Quistis feel unnecessarily mean. The man was drunk and in mourning. He was much more capable than he seemed on the surface and she knew that.. It was only her frustration and natural pessimism and self-doubt talking, not her actual feelings about Laguna's ability to govern effectively.
Kiros said nothing as Quistis trailed behind him. On the first floor near the cafeteria, he opened a door marked maintenance. Inside was not a closet full of cleaning supplies but a set of stairs that led down. Without a word, Kiros descended and Quistis quietly followed.
"Electricity will not be a problem," Kiros said when they reached a landing that led to a long,narrow hallway. "Everything runs on solar power, as does most of the city. If we remain here, we will have lights, hot water and refrigeration. Once our stores of food run out and the city water plant shuts down... well, that's a concern we need to plan for sooner rather than later."
The hallway had only a few doors. One led to the solar generator, another to the boiler, a third to the laundry, and several to a massive room that housed a lab full of strange machines, microscopes and research equipment. Quistis had not known this was here and wondered why she hadn't been told.
"Why is there a lab in the basement?" she asked.
"Odine," Kiros said. "He agreed to help with Garden research if we provided him a lab on site where he didn't have to interact with the general population."
Quistis stared into the lab, less curious about what was inside than she was about why they were there. She saw nothing of real interest down here. It was good to know the locations of these things, but it wasn't pertinent information. Their time would be better spent on a plan that made sense.
At the end of the hall, Kiros opened a door that led to a dark, cavernous room with dirty tile floors and cracked concrete walls. Feathery spiderwebs hung from the ceiling and in the corners, dusty brown and long abandoned by their makers. It smelled damp, like mildew and wet earth and the air was cool and slightly humid.
On the far side of the room was another doorway absent a door. It could have been another room or a doorway, but it was too dark too tell. She took a hesitant step inside and looked around. A faded sign and a map hung on the wall with a short list of destinations and their distances from their location. She turned to Kiros and frowned.
"What is this?"
"This tunnel connects to various locations around the city," he said. "The Palace, the train station, the shopping district and Dr. Odine's city offices can be accessed from here. Adel built them as a way to move around the city without anyone knowing. All those stories about her sudden appearances are more rooted in the practical than the magical."
Quistis saw the potential application here. This was a good way to move about the city without facing hordes of insane, blood thirsty infected.
"Most of the tunnels are wide enough to drive a transport truck through," Kiros said, "though there used to be a platform system similar to the one used above ground."
"Used to be?"
"It's currently non-functional," Kiros said. "All of this has been neglected since Adel's reign. Some of the access points are inaccessible, either because the entrance collapsed or something was built over it, but many are still open."
"We can use this," Quistis said. "For collecting goods or safely retrieving survivors, if need be."
"Yes," Kiros said. "We will need to seal off every access point from the inside for our own protection. I don't have confidence that the infected will stay out, and we don't want them wandering in our back door."
"I agree," Quistis said. Her frustration melted into something more useful and she turned to the map again. "I need a list of every possible entry point. Then, I'll need anyone available to pitch in and barricade the doors."
"That can be arranged," Kiros said with a curt nod.
She dragged her finger over the dust on the map and calculated distances in her head.
"Garden will be our base," she said. "It's closest to the shopping district and the hospitals, so if we need supplies, we won't have to backtrack. The Palace would become our secondary, in case Garden is compromised, since it can also reasonably accommodate a large number of people."
"I think that's wise," Kiros agreed. "I'll prepare to move myself, Laguna and any remaining staff to Garden. Laguna and I will bunk in the instructor's quarters, if that is all right."
"Laguna's welcome to my suite," Quistis said absently. "I don't necessarily need that much space. I'm not going to use it for much more than sleep anyway."
"You are in command now, Quistis." Kiros said. "You will find such a space a necessary refuge from the difficulties of leadership. Don't concern yourself with Laguna's comfort. Hyne knows, he's slept in worse places than a dorm room."
"Just the same, he is still the President."
"President of what?" Kiros wondered. "A dead country? A people that won't exist in two weeks time? You and I both know Laguna is a good man, and very intelligent in his own way, but he doesn't handle grief well. He runs away from it, and if he's the one making the decisions right now, we will all suffer for it."
Quistis turned her eyes on the tall, pragmatic man and frowned.
"I assure you, between losing Ward and watching his country fall to pieces, Laguna will be less than useful for some time. It will be even worse if he loses his son," Kiros said. He lifted a hand and toyed with a low-hanging spiderweb with a thoughtful expression on his face. "There is more to Laguna Loire than what you see on the surface, Quistis. He may act like a grinning, bumbling fool who always finds the sliver lining, but deep down, he is easily wounded, even if it never shows."
There was some truth to that. From Ellone's past-dream encounters, Quistis had seen it first hand. She remembered the way he'd reacted when Julia was mentioned. He'd acted as if it was no big deal, even if it was apparent that it was, and Ellone had told her once that Laguna never got over Raine. Nor had he ever forgiven the people of Winhill for not telling him the full truth about what had happened to her or their son.
"I asked you to do this because I know, unlike Laguna, you can make sound decisions in the face of tragedy. You will do what is right, no matter how hard it is," Kiros said. "Your friend is sick and I already know, without you saying a word, that if it comes to it, you will handle it one way or the other because that is the practical and humane thing to do. That is what a good leader does. They put their personal feelings aside in order to make decisions for the greater good."
Quistis cut her eyes at him, a sudden swell of anger flooding her veins. She opened her mouth to snap back at him, but he held up a hand to silence her.
"That upsets you, but you know I'm right," he said. "And I want you to know, I will stand behind your decisions and be there to advise you when you need a second opinion. If we have any hope of surviving through this to the end, it's you, Quistis."
"If I'm your only hope, we're screwed," she said bitterly. "I don't know how to fix this any more than you do, and I've failed at nearly everything I set out to accomplish. I became a SeeD at 15 and that was a big deal, but it was the last of my great achievements."
"You are incorrect," Kiros said. "I would consider Ultimecia's defeat a great accomplishment."
"I wasn't the one in charge," Quistis said. "I was support. I followed orders."
Kiros stepped forward and placed his hands on her shoulders. His penetrating stare unsettled her but she looked back at him with a hard, unwavering stare of her own.
"There is a strong leader in you," Kiros said. "I knew that the first time we met. We chose you for a reason, and if you won't be the one to step up and take charge here, no one will."
"Why not you?" she asked.
"I am overly analytical," he said. "Logic has its benefits, but it is often instinct that keeps us alive in desperate times. I rely on facts, not instinct, in making decisions. That's fine if you're managing a budget or planning a summit meeting, but it won't save us in the end."
"What makes you think I'm any different?" she asked.
"You've already proved it," Kiros said. "You are rational, logical and smart, but you also have good instincts. You just need to learn to trust them."
Quistis blinked at him and in her exhaustion, wanted to cry. There was a huge difference between this and running a Garden. Running a Garden was all about processes and order and a system of operations. It was organized and clear cut. She enjoyed ensuring all the gears turned in sync and the day to day shuffle ran on schedule. Squall was good at those things, too, but they bored him. He was the one with all the instinct. So many times, when it seemed they were stuck or out-numbered or something awful happened and there were only seconds to decide on a course of action, Squall had it covered. She had only seen him hesitate a handful of times, and those times had involved Rinoa. The rest of the time, he went with his gut and it was always right.
Quistis was the one who endlessly debated with herself about the proper course of action. The strategist in her liked to plan out the possible scenarios and consider which direction had the most positive outcome. When faced with an extreme situation, where life and death hung in the balance, Quistis hesitated. And when it was a matter of life and death, hesitation was a death sentence.
Kiros leaned in and gave her a chaste, almost fatherly peck on the forehead. "We trust you, so trust yourself. You can do this."
"What choice do I have?" she wondered.
"If you don't want to wind up the only survivor of this mess, then... none."
"Only survivor?" she asked.
"If I were a betting man, I'd wager you'll be one of maybe two people in this world still left alive six months from now."
That was a mighty big compliment. One Quistis knew was likely to be true, if she didn't have this responsibility on her shoulders. She'd excelled at survival and evasion. On her own, the odds of surviving were much greater.
But what were the odds now?
Notes: I hope everyone is still enjoying this. Things get pretty dark from this point on. Hehehehe... Also, it officially goes into the M category after this chapter.
Thanks for the reviews, follows and faves! You guys are the best!
