Dehctiws
Abby Ebon
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Disclaimer: Don't own anything – not Buffy, not Harry Potter, not Pitch Black or Chronicles of Riddick.
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-Riddick's POV-
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Fry cracks the cargo doors open, flingin' the torch about like a bloody flag. If they haven't noticed us before- they will now. By will alone the others cross open ground, ignoring the exited clicks of the creatures beyond their sight.
Soon we reach the main cabin, darkness awaits; I lift my goggles, my eyes sweep the area, no sign of anything amiss, other then the wreckage, but that doesn't mean a damn thing. Something could be hiding in there, none the less they want a clear cut answer.
"Looks clear." I report, tone bored. Johns trying to prove he's a real man shoulders ahead and crawls in first. Better him then Harry or my self; he stands up, surprised a shadow-creature glides away overhead- fleeing the cabin and escaping into the night.
"Fuck me. You said "clear"." Johns' is glaring at me, heart hammering so heard I can hear it. He's angry, looking for someone to blame for appearing to be frightened in front of the others.
"Said "looks clear"." Though it's no skin off my back if you get eaten, Johns, feel free to argue. Predictably, he does. "Well, what's it look like now?" Johns asks, sarcastic. I recheck, answering what he hadn't expected me to do. "Looks clear." I say again, glancing back at him.
"Just get the goddamn lights on…" Fry hisses before Johns can retort. We scramble aboard, I'm right behind Johns I click my tongue. Poor Johns looks a little worse for the ware for it.
We get to work, powering up cabin lights, yanking three more cells from the battery bay, threading nylon cord through Paris' umbrellas, filling the reservoirs with high-octane liquor…swapping out O2 canisters. Johns takes the time to reload, caressing one of the red morphine shots he and Fry exchange a few words about if she can trust me or not. Can they? I don't know. I know I don't trust them.
Harry yanks out the last power cell, lights go out, Johns' gotta reload in the dark. Imam chains himself to the drag-sled first, torches burning, beside him Johns struggles into the chains, I go to help him, both of us don't need to be shown the irony of me helping my capturer into chains.
"Keep the light going. That's all I we have to do to live through this. Just keep your light burning." Fry tells us all, as if we need a speech to know what she tells us. I have Harry loop a handlight over his neck; I do the same, a beacon of light for the others to follow. I feel better if Harry was with the others- but I'd know the answer to that, 'sides, you can always use an extra pair of eyes.
"Be runnin' about 10 paces ahead. Keep the light on our backs, but put it in our eyes and we'll be useless. Check your cuts. These things know our blood now." Fry, swallows, stone faced- a quick nod. I can puzzle over that as I run with Harry.
"Riddick…was thinkin' we should make some kind of deal. Just in case, you know, this actually…" I shake my head, I want no more deals with these people- not when Johns so close to braking ours.
"Had it with deals." I tell her, she tries again.
"But I just wanted to say…" Gods, I'm sick of this leash. Times come to let them know I'm smarter then they give me credit for.
"Nobody's gonna turn a murderer loose. I fuckin' know better." This worries her, best finish this thought. "Been a long time since anyone's trusted me. That's somethin' right there." I see Harry and Xander are listening, taking my words in, thinking on them.
"We can, can't we? Trust you?" Fry asks, unsure. "Actually…"I look to the shadow-creatures, lovely, wild, untamed. Like me. "That's what I've been askin' myself." I say, completely genuine. Fancy that, I'm getting soft with these people. I walk away; leaving Fry to think on that, if she hasn't made a terrible mistake in placing so many lives in a man who's got bloodied hands.
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-Xander's POV-
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At long last we get this meal-on-the-go started. Riddick and Harry running up ahead, we're keeping good pace; Johns and Imam pulling the drag-sled like a pair of fine horses, headlights sweeping the area from time to time.
The other holy man and Ali keeping pace at first side guard position. Fry and I at the second, each position carries a blazing umbrella torch. Paris stumbles along at rear point, sweeping the cutter back and forth, looking for a threat in every shadow.
Sled holding four power-cells and eight bottles of booze. I look down, no sand-cat tracks, Fry notices. Johns' notice too, says as much. Fry calls out to Riddick- we grind to an abrupt halt. Most are glad for the rest, sucking hard at the breathers, gathering about the lights. "Where are the sand-cat tracks? Why aren't we still following them?" Fry asks, nervous. Harry snorts- their attention snaps to him.
"Saw something I didn't like." Riddick tells her, acting as if Harry didn't see anything.
"Such as?" Fry asks, for the rest of us, such conversations between them are always like tennis ball matches. Amusing for the rest of us, annoying for Fry, 'cause she knows he's leading her on to ask the questions he wants her to ask.
"Hard to tell, sometimes…even for me…but looked like a bunch of those big boys chewing each other's gonads off. Thought we'd swing wide. Okay by you?" He asks, obvious, she doesn't really have a choice. Out of the corner of my eye I see Paris looking edgy.
"Let's move." Fry says for the others benefit- wasn't their idea to stop, Fry. "Just a detour, he'll get us there." Fry adds, as if for my benefit, more like for hers. "Can we switch?" Paris suddenly asks; Fry looks at him blankly. "What, switch what?" It's obvious what the man wants, Fry, think a little bit faster darlin'.
"I think I twisted my ankle running backwards like that. And I'm not sure that…" A lie- and we all know it. "Okay, that's a lie. I just don't want to be alone back here anymore. If you could just give me a few minutes up front here-" Paris trails off, hopeful, Johns interrupts. He's doing that a lot; maybe it's a nervous habit. If so it's an annoying one. "She's the pilot, she should stay close to the cells." That only serves to piss Paris off. "Oh, so I'm disposable?" Gee, that just occurred to you. For gods' sacks, we don't have time for this.
"I'll switch, I'll switch! Christ just get moving, we're burning light!" I shout, running to the back of the meal-on-the-go. I see Harry tense, ready to protest, Riddick grunts and starts us moving. Up ahead I see Paris relaxing a bit, even though the shadow monsters have never stopped their nightmare inducing clicking.
The fireball from his torch is losing light, it's almost out.
"Light, please, need light here." My insides chill. Still running, Johns and Imam trail light on him as he refuels it, for a brief moment Fry strays from the light, I hear a high-pitched clicking, excited, as one of the shadow-creatures dive bomb her.
Imam sees it, and lunges to tackle her. It sweeps up, just in time, scythe blade-like it hits the chains holding him to the drag-shed, causing the chains to clink as it flees. Johns whirls around, blasting at shadows. Light-beams leap around, but the diving shadow-creature is long gone.
"Please…have we been cut? Can someone tell me if…" Imam's voice is trembling, so fearful he doesn't know if he's hurt or not…
"Oh, sweet Jesus…." It's Paris…In the confusion Paris has been left in the dark. I can smell his blood. The clicking stops. I don't have a light.
"Oh, sweet Jesus, will you get me some light over here!"
He's gonna die…
The lights turn- not fast enough, not nearly fast enough- Paris is gone, swooped up by a blur of an adolescent shadow-creature.
The light-beams still search, frantic, in vain.
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-Harry's POV-
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They may not see him- but Riddick and I do. Torn limb from limb they feast, greedy. One arrives late; it snatches up an unlucky hatchling. As if this opens a gate, the others start fighting each other, turned cannibal with the scent of human blood.
Some stop; turn to Fry, singling her out. We don't know why. Fry, behind us, listens, shuddering- obvious to their attention.
"What do you see? Riddick?" Fry asks, not wanting the real answer. Riddick gives her a…kinder one then the truth.
"Hunger." A youngling is torn apart, I flinch. "I see sixty years of hunger…" He answers, I press close. This is the truth, even if the miners were wrong and the eclipse happens more then every sixty years- their last human meal was sixty years ago. Human flesh brakes easiest under their hunting.
Human minds snap easiest in the night.
Good thing, then, that the ones I care for aren't human.
Fry carries Paris' torch, refueled and coughing fireballs at regular intervals. Xander handles rear-point like a pro, and I have a feeling he's done this before. Then his cutter dies. Fry hands over the torch to Xander.
"Bottle count?" Johns asks, suspicious of Riddick.
"Four fills, one half. That mean we're halfway there? I hope?" Fry answers, a good question. They've been following blindly the lights on our backs. They shouldn't worry, unless Xander dies, we have every intention of getting them there in one piece.
"Can we pick up the pace?" Xander growls, I don't blame him; he is the only one among them that has any idea of what is beyond the shadows.
It doesn't help me that every smell of fear or blood just makes it harder for me to fight the Neko's heat. I've learned, Demons, half or not - lust for blood in entirely different way then humans do…
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