AN: Was going to upload this tomorrow, but as I have an English Literature exam I figured it would be best to do it before hand unless it goes terribly and I'm busy drowning myself (and not in water if you know what I mean).
You might want to grab some chocolate or ice cream for this chapter. And the next one.
Chapter 9 – We'll meet beyond the shore
One Year Ago
Harvey stared at the vending machine dubiously. All the food that had been there once was now gone except for half a Klondike bar. The other half had probably been eaten by the dead rat that had somehow managed to strangle itself in the machinations. But it wasn't the food (or lack thereof) that interested him, no; it was the golden glint that had caught his eye and his attention. Crouching down, he pressed his forehead against the scum covered glass and peered inside. He couldn't be sure, but they might be bullets. He could only guess that someone had decided that this was a good place to hide their ammunition but he had no idea how they'd managed to get it in there.
Glancing up and down the subway, he told Annie firmly to sit (which she did). Reaching a hand into the compartment, he found that the covering door was jammed horizontally, blocking of the main body of the machine from the dispensing part. He hesitated, looking warily around, before thrusting his fist into the cover. He winced at the noise of his fist colliding with the plastic and at the pain in his hand. He gritted his teeth and tried again. He smirked triumphantly when the plastic gave way to bend back and allow Harvey's arm access to the lowest shelf. He was frustrated to find he could barely reach anything. He cursed under his breath. Annie yawned behind him as he pressed against the machine, his cheek against the glass and his whole arm disappearing into it. He hissed in pain when his arm scraped against a stray bit of metal but persevered regardless and was rewarded when his fingers closed around three bullets. He let out a satisfied chuckle, pulling his arm back to feed the ammunition into his revolver.
From the corner of his eye, he saw Annie's head suddenly swing sharply to the left but thought nothing of it until she let out a low warning growl. He stilled for a second, before leaping into action. He moved quickly, slipping his bag over his shoulder, standing, and aiming his gun blindly into the dark. He gritted his teeth in frustration when he found the blackness impenetrable to his eyes but the prickling at the back of his neck told him Annie wasn't growling at nothing.
"Step forward. Now." There was no movement, "Don't make me ask again."
Finally, a body emerged from the darkness, shuffling and nearly stumbling and hands held up in surrender. He was just a kid – a kid who was shaking he was so scared. His eyes were captivating though: they were a vivid blue and held a kind of innocence that Harvey hadn't seen for a long time. They flicked to the gun in his hands and fear suddenly eclipsed their brightness until all that remained was desperate resignation: he didn't expect to survive this encounter. It was his eyes that stopped Harvey from meeting his expectations: he couldn't kill this man now he'd seen that spark.
Harvey didn't know it then, but he was lost from the moment their eyes met across the gloom.
'Even if I knew that tomorrow the world would go to pieces, I would still plant my apple tree.'
Martin Luther King Jr
Mike was hunched over, the bottom of his quilt jacket riding up as he packed a few last things into his back pack and Harvey was glad to say, he could barely see his spine creeping up his back. Three weeks of proper meals had done Mike good and he was nearly back to his old weight and his old self, though his breathing still wasn't great. Of course, Harvey would admit he wasn't merely staring at Mike to assess his health – a man had to have his little pleasures and he knew Mike thoroughly enjoyed being the object of his desire. He was like a cat basking in the sun when he knew Harvey was watching. Sadly, they didn't have time for that and Harvey couldn't say when they next would.
Regretfully, Harvey pushed himself to his feet: he wished they could linger just a few days more but they had meant to leave over a month ago. They couldn't put it off anymore. He shrugged his rucksack up over his shoulders before sidling closer to Mike. He felt Mike's skin twitch when he dragged his fingers across his exposed skin, chasing the Goosebumps that preceded his touch. Mike relaxed, content to let him touch while he finished up.
Finally, he straightened and Harvey took it upon himself to carefully pull his shirt and jacket (which had ridden up) back down and smooth out the material. He pressed closer, trailing his nose down the shell of Mike's ear and pressing a reverent kiss against the sensitive patch of skin just behind his earlobe. Mike shuddered, sinking back against the contact before he remembered himself and pulled away sharply with a disapproving but amused glare. They had danced this game before and knowing where it led, Harvey couldn't help but be disappointed that Mike didn't want to play.
Reluctantly, Harvey allowed him to pull away and secure his bag. They both took a moment to take in the living room that they had shared together and would now be leaving behind. Memories and their associated emotions threatened to bombard Harvey with reasons not to leave but he fended them off, the image of a family burnt in their own basement acting as his unpleasant shield. They couldn't stay. He pretended not to see when Mike rubbed a hand across his eyes. Mike let out a shuddering breath, glancing at Annie where she sat in by the front door.
"I suppose it's time," Mike looked up when Harvey pressed a revolver into his hands while he tucked his own pistol into the back of his trousers and picked up his riffle. Mike's eyes stared at the revolver in his hands, "This's the gun you threatened me with when we first met," he said suddenly.
"Probably," Harvey agreed, zipping up his jacket.
"No, it is," Mike insisted, "… it's a year today you know?" Harvey knew what he meant even if he didn't say the words. He nodded, pressing a last kiss to Mike's lips before leading them to the front door. He locked it behind them out of habit and slipped the front door key into his pocket.
They didn't speak as they left, both weighed down by the feeling of finality that descended upon them. They would not be returning here. Even Annie seemed affected, her head low and ears flattened back against her skull and practically wrapping herself around Mike's legs with his every step. Mike never asked where they were going and Harvey was glad for that – he didn't have an answer to give after all. The utter certainty Mike seemed to have in his every decision brought a lump to his throat: Mike was trusting him with everything and he was determined to prove his faith was not misplaced.
The streets were quiet. Other than the sounds of their own echoing footsteps being reverberated between the buildings on either side of them, there was nothing else to be heard. Even the wind was silent, leaving Annie panting and Mike and Harvey to sweat under the glare of the sun: their jackets were soon bundled up in their bags. He didn't know if it was his own paranoia, but Harvey couldn't help but feel that something wasn't as it should be. He felt bizarrely isolated, like this was the only street in the entire city. Even the birds seemed to have stopped their song. Anxiety pulled at his gut, making him feel vaguely sick. A whisper of a breeze made him shiver and his hairs stand on end; pausing, he held his riffle aloft.
"What is it?" Mike murmured under his breath, finger rubbing tetchily at the trigger guard of his pistol. Harvey didn't have the words to explain why, but every instinct he had ever relied on was screaming at him. They needed to move, to get out of the open but where? He eyed the doors and windows that lined the street: what made any of them safer then where they were at the moment? There could be anything or anyone in there – something that never normally concerned him over much, dealing with encounters when they occurred, but they never normally encountered the burnt remains of children, "Harvey?" there was a note of panic in Mike's voice now. Shit, what did he do? Where did they go? Annie was mewling unhappily now, looking around cautiously.
His heart stopped in his chest and what felt like ice water trickled through his veins: something had moved. He whipped around sharply, aiming his gun vaguely in the direction of a coffee shop where he could swear he'd seen a shadow stir. He held his breath when slowly the shadow emerged again, like a phantom melting through the air until it was framed in the doorway, yellow teeth smiling out at him and a knife glinting in the sun.
"Harvey!" in the second that it took Harvey to look away to the opposite side of the street where another man was emerging (a baseball bat with a wad of dripping cloth at the end of it clasped in his hand: a makeshift and un-lit torch), the shadow had burst out into the street to reveal itself to be little more than a man of flesh and blood. He was dead on the floor, bullets filling his chest before he could get within even ten feet of them "Harvey we have to run!" Mike grabbed him and pulled him away. Confused, Harvey allowed Mike to lead for once in a sprint down the street. Glancing back, he understood why.
At least twenty men followed behind them. Jeers and laughs broke the silence. Oh god, they'd been hunting them. How long had they followed them? From the house? But why not ambush them there? Why now? He could have kicked himself – he was preoccupied with thoughts of 'when' and why' when they were faced with much more pressing issues.
Mike yelped and stumbled when one of their pursuers let loose a volley of bullets. Fortunately, they all went wide of their targets. Feet pounding the ground, Harvey steadied Mike before he could fall and took his place a step ahead of Mike so he could lead their course but keep an eye on the other.
"Drop your bag!" he ordered; they both struggled briefly with the straps over their shoulders before they were finally free of their burden and practically flying across the ground without the bags to hinder them. Harvey hoped desperately that that would be enough – that the men only wanted the bags and that now they had them, they would give up their pursuit. This was not the case. The bags were ignored and the only good they had done was to trip one of their pursuers who went down in a tangle of flailing limbs and who did not get up again. He cursed, pushing himself harder but ever aware of Mike's wheezing laboured breathing beside him.
Suddenly, Mike let out a choked gasp of fear and came to an abrupt halt, nearly falling and pulling Harvey with him when he latched onto his arm, dragging him to a stop. The path ahead of them was not as clear as it had once been. Three more men emerged as if they were part of the architecture come to life, creeping away from the shadows that had hidden them and into the sun where they surely did not belong. Harvey fired at them and watched in satisfaction as two of the shades hit the floor. The third appeared unmoved by the fall of his comrades and advanced forward, gun held up in front of him. He spun to shoot at the group behind them but didn't wait to see if any fell, instead dragging them into an adjacent street.
They were sprinting again, feet hammering the tarmac brutally and propelling them forward at a speed that never felt fast enough. Their pursuers were unperturbed and followed as determinedly as ever. Harvey made out a cry:
"RUN FOREST! RUN!"
The men, stronger, very obviously better fed and clearly (and disturbingly) used to this kind of pursuit, were gaining with every step. If they could just find somewhere to duck into without being seen, they might manage to double back behind them and flee in the opposite direction (maybe even getting their bags). That plan went out the window though almost as soon as it had brushed his thoughts.
Mike fell with a cry and Harvey felt like the bottom of his stomach had fallen out. He stumbled in his haste to stop and only just managed to stay standing himself. He thrust an arm under Mike's arm and made to haul him to his feet, randomly firing down the street. Mike struggled to stand under his own power, his ankle threatening to buckle under him. Then his riffle ran out of ammo. That was when his composure left him. He let out a frustrated cry, casting his weapon to the ground and pulling his pistol from his waist band. Mike was finally on his feet again and Harvey dragged them to the closest building but they had wasted much of their minimal lead. By the time they were at the door (a school), the leader of their hunters was close enough to fist a hand in the back of Mike's shirt and try and drag him back.
Harvey shot him in the face.
"H-Harvey-," Mike gasped, reeling back from the splatter of blood.
"Shut up." Harvey growled sharply, pushing him forwards into the school and dragging him round the nearest corner in attempt to break the men's (no – not men – these were animals) line of sight. He could hear them, their voices echoing in the corridor behind them and their feet pounding on the tiled floor. They were joking and playing, throwing each other into the lockers that lined the walls. They were joking. He felt sick – these people wanted to torture and kill them for the pure fun of it.
"Dibs I get the blonde one first!"
Harvey gritted his teeth at the echoing thumps of their footsteps as they ran. He herded Mike into a staircase, catching a glimpse of their pursuers coming round the corner before he could disappear up the stairs with Mike.
"Oh hell no!"
"You had the last one first! Give someone else a chance before you fuck him up!"
Harvey didn't know what to do, where to go. Most of the men weren't even bothering to run after them now, confident this chase would end in their favour. Only one kept pace with them, occasionally firing at them with a gleeful whoop of joy. Harvey picked their direction randomly, dodging the bullets being fired at them and desperately hoping for another stair case to lead them back downstairs.
Finally, their luck ran out and they were confronted with a long corridor that contained only one heavy metal door at the far end. Shit.
"They're at a dead end! Come quick!" the shout jolted Harvey out of his panic. He made to turn back only to narrowly escape a bullet in the head. The sound of his own teeth grinding together almost drowned out the sound of the shot he returned.
"GET TO THE DOOR!" Mike didn't need telling twice, sprinting down the corridor with Annie following more slowly (Harvey briefly caught the red staining her fur). Harvey tried to give some semblance of cover, backing up slowly and firing into the corridor behind them, but it was futile: the men seemed to lack any sense of self-preservation and Harvey was nearly out of bullets. He heard Mike open the door.
"HARVEY!" at Mike's shout, he gave up all pretences of fighting back and ran. He was mere feet from the door when-
BANG!
A pained scream ripped free from Harvey's throat before he even realised what had happened. His left knee buckled under him as a bullet tore through his flesh. He couldn't think, he couldn't breathe and he certainly couldn't run. The pain consumed his every thought: hot, burning and stabbing – he dimly registered the screaming in his ears as his own. Everything narrowed down to snap shots as adrenaline and endorphins surged through his blood, slowly numbing everything.
Mike's hands were on his shoulders, forcing him up and forwards. He took one step on his injured leg before he careered forwards into the room.
His gun wasn't in his hand anymore. It was in Mike's.
He emptied the clip in to the hall before giving up and throwing the weapon to the side.
Mike was turning into the room now, his back pressed against the door as he swung it shut.
He heard one last shot being fired.
Red sprayed into the air. Mike's head swung to the side.
The door closed.
"Ever has it been that love knows not its own depth until the hour of separation."
―Kahlil Gibran
