(Author's note: It's been... wow, a few months. I apologize for the gap, I've been ill since the fall, and I'm just getting myself together again now. This is a short chapter; there's more in the wings, but I'm still hashing it out.)
His teammates were still out there.
Sniper leaned against the wall, lips clamped around a freshly lit cigarette one he'd borrowed from someone's locker in 2Fort's respawn room. The smoke was acrid on the way down, but pleasantly warm once it hit his newly-reconstituted lungs. The nicotine seeping into Sniper's bloodstream was a welcome guest, but barely enough to mend his frayed nerves. A shiver swept through him, tugging sinew along the way and making his joints twitch. He scowled, then took another irritated drag. Wasn t he fine? Hadn t respawn revived him in one piece? Even if Teufort s computers stitched him together perfectly, it hadn t wiped the fatigue from his mind. Nausea bubbled up through his body, then settled uneasily. His eyes burned from dehydration and weariness. He couldn t rest here. Not while his teammates were a couple thousand miles away.
After sucking his stolen cigarette down to the filter, he reached for the phone the RED base's connection to the "civilian" world. He flopped open a thick phonebook, grimacing as he tried to focus, to ignore the scenes that kept lighting up his mind like a flashbulb. A startlingly clear view of his torso as it dissolved into red rain. Tex's pitted, leprous nose and foul breath. Crawling through the shadows of the basement's abattoir, choking on urgency and the stench of death as he listened to Scout's hysterical shrieking.
There would be time for thinking about that later. After securing a taxi ride to Teufort, a car from the rental joint there, and a flight from Sky Harbour to Nassau, Sniper was ready to hit the road. It took him less than five minutes to throw together bare necessities and burst out the front door of Teufort s base. He jogged down to the gated entrance of RED base's main road, then waited by a lonely streetlight for his cab.
Sniper could see the taxi coming a long way off. When it pulled over, he realized there was another passenger in the front. This scenario sent a twinge of apprehension through his guts, but he hailed the driver and climbed into the back seat.
"Take me ta the Rent-a-Car in town," Sniper drawled. As he caught the scent of smoke from the front of the cab, he wished badly for another cigarette.
The driver chuckled. "You too, buddy? I guess that's both of ya, then."
Inconspicuously as he could manage, Sniper peered through the darkness at the rear-view mirror. The other passenger's face was shadowed, but as they passed a couple lampposts, Sniper caught a glimpse of a pinstriped sleeve. A blue, pinstriped sleeve, ending in a black leather glove.
Even though he was already expecting this, he still felt his heart skip a beat. (My God, that's why he wasn't helping me. He must have died before I did. Wonder if I should say something... No. Neither of us is expecting any favours. We're both professionals, doing our jobs.) Sniper let himself sag against the backrest and tried to stifle a yawn. He failed, pledging to himself to pull in at the first 24-hour truck stop he could find and grab something quick. (Coffee and biscuits ought to keep me going. Amphetamines would be better. Maybe caffeine pills...)
The ride to town wasn't long, but it gave Sniper more free time than he had wanted. He found himself thinking of his team, back on the island. (They're probably sweeping up the mess right now... Christ, I hope Engineer's not too upset. Or Scout, for that matter. Poor kid's been shaken up since we were taken prisoner.) Remembering their conversation in the kitchen, Sniper suddenly found his eyes were stinging. He lifted his glasses for a moment and rubbed his eyelids, then took a deep, slow breath. (I've got to get back there as soon as possible.)
The second they pulled up to the rental joint, the passenger in front handed over a wad of bills, then hurried away without a word. Sniper was feeling less sharp, and it took him a moment to get his fare together. At that point, the gloved man was long gone.
Walking across the lot, Sniper found the owner stuffing another generous tip into his pockets, and doing his best to look awake. "You with that other guy? I'm surprised you two didn't just rent one car and go together."
Sniper grimaced a bit, then pretended it was a bright light in his eyes. 'That other guy' had just started his car, and soon drove off into the night. "Nah, I don't know him. Reckon it's just a coincidence. Here's..." He paused and counted out the bills, double-checking just to be sure. "Six-hundred in all. Two-fifty for the car, the rest for you bein' up at this hour and renting it t'me."
The owner accepted payment, and handed Sniper a set of keys, yawning explosively. "There you go, Limey. It's the red one, just under that streetlamp. Be careful out there! I always say, driving at night's more dangerous."
On any other day, Sniper would have considered violence as a proper reaction to the guy's mistake on his heritage, but right now he was just itching to get on the road. "Right, I'll keep me eyes open. At least the only other bloke on the road at this hour will be that mystery man..."
_
Hours later, the sun was rising up from the Atlantic ocean, bringing another beautiful day to the tiny islands that studded the Caribbean, glinting in first light. Even trapped in a aisle seat, Sniper could see the eastern horizon lit up in pink fire. Other passengers who had appeared like corpses in the gloom, now came to life in the sunlight's eerie glow. He groaned and craned his neck, leaning over another passenger and glancing out the window as long as he dared. The man in the window seat snuffled and moved a bit, but didn't awaken.
"...red sky at morning," Sniper muttered, and slouched back in his seat. As he budied himself lighting up a cigarette, the phrase nagged at him. Red sky... was that good or bad? He couldn't remember.
To the left of Sniper, the sleeping man tugged his obnoxiously floral shirt closed, and murmured, "Sailors take warning."
"Wot?" The marksman straightened up a bit, looking at his seat-mate. Sniper hadn't seen the man until boarding at Miami. He couldn't place the man's nationality, but the shorts and loud shirt were the marks of a tourist. American would seem the obvious answer, but the passenger's pallor was unusual, even for winter. (Well, he sounds American. He's probably just a suit, works in an office all day. That'd explain the lack of tanning.)
Running a hand through his black comb-over, the tourist looked up at Sniper. His expression was fatigued, another victim of jet lag no doubt, but he gave a bit of a grin. "Ain't you ever heard that before, pal? It goes 'Red sky at night, sailor's delight. Red sky at morning, sailors take warning.' Y'know, 'cause it means the weather's gonna be good or bad. I dunno if you can predict the weather, but I tell ya- any time there's a gorgeous sunrise on Cape Cod, we get a hell of a thunder storm."
Sniper's mouth hung open a bit as he tried to catch up with the tourist's words. Rescuing his cigarette before it could fall, he finally found his voice. "Oh, r- right. Now I get what you're sayin'. ...you'll hafta pardon my sluggishness, mate; it's been 'bout thirty-six hours since I got any real sleep."
"Yeah, I getchya. This travellin' really wears a guy out." The tourist leaned back in his seat and yawned loudly, making only a lazy attempt to cover his mouth. "Say, y'think you could spare a cigarette for a man in need? I musta' run out during that last layover, and I- I ain't ready to go cold turkey, not when I'm on the way to the sunny south."
"Well... bah, why not?" Normally Sniper would have refused, but he found himself strangely agreeable to giving this total stranger a free smoke. The man's New England drawl was friendly and relaxed, despite the dark bags under his eyes. Maybe he was taking the long haul better than Sniper. (Maybe he hasn't been fighting in a bloody jungle for the past two days,) Sniper thought ruefully. He pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a hiss of air between his teeth, struggling to prop up his waning consciousness. As he finished his own cigarette, the plane lurched, then assumed a rougher version of its previous vibrations.
Beside him, the tourist grimaced with the effort of staying in his chair. A stewardess spoke over the tannoy system, advising the passengers to strap in and prepare for some turbulence. "Well, ain't that just typical... you know they won't hand out breakfast until we're out of this rough patch. And to think, I was lookin' forwards to stale toast and eggs that musta' come from a rubber chicken."
"Don't think I'd dare try to eat anything with this turbulence," Sniper grunted, his mouth tensed in a thin, straight line. "I knew I should've brought along mother's little helpers, or... or something to just put me down for the whole flight. These airplanes are rubbish for getting any real sleep."
"What, you get airsick or somethin'?" The tourist laughed uneasily, then started rifling through his pockets.
Sniper wasn't really paying close attention, but a moment later the man pushed something into his hand. "Huh? What's this?" he asked, accepting the offering with a confused expression.
The tourist gave a faint grin. "Dramamine. ...think of it as payback for the cigarette. I hate ta owe anyone favours for long, anyhow."
"Too right. ...thanks, mate," Sniper said quietly, and dry-swallowed the pills. Something about that brief flash of other man's teeth was familiar, but he couldn't put his finger on it. Where had he seen that smile before? (I must be thinking of a movie star, or something. Just a coincidence.)
A plume of cigarette smoke curled up from the depths of his lungs, and he slumped as far back as he could manage in an airplane seat. Despite the rocky movement of the aircraft, Sniper slowly began feeling more relaxed. He was a lone wolf by nature, whose conversations with strangers usually consisted of taciturn grunts. So Sniper was surprised to realize that he was glad for the some company.
Peering out the corner of his eye, Sniper took a surreptitious look at the other passenger. In his muddled state, he couldn't make sense of nagging sense of familiarity he got from the man. (It must be his accent. This bloke sounds like he's from Boston, and it's got me thinking of Scout.) He suddenly realized the tourist was looking back at him, and averted his eyes to the ash receptacle on the seat back ahead.
"There somethin' weird on my face, pal?" The other man regarded him uncertainly, holding his precious cigarette firmly between two fingers, as though he were worried the plane's next jolt might take it from him.
Sniper hesitated, then decided that the truth was inoffensive enough that he didn't have to lie. "I keep thinkin' I've seen you before somewhere, but I can't put my finger on it... You know what it's like, it's just this feelin' of dayjuh-voo." He shrugged, giving a sheepish grin for good measure.
At first the other man appeared amused, but when Sniper mangled the foreign phrase, his face twitched. He managed to straighten his expression out after a second and said, "You pronounce that 'd ja-vu'. It's, uh... French, y'know?"
A thought occurred to Sniper, and he felt a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. (No, I won't bother to say it. Even if I'm right, I'd never get a straight answer out of him.) Instead of pursuing the matter further, he just nodded and said, "Oh, that's how it's pronounced? I'll have to take your word on it, mate- I barely know any French, aside from bad words."
This elicited a snorting chuckle from the tourist. "Everyone starts out with obscenities when they're learnin' a new language. I think that's one of these, uh, universal constants. Y'know, like gravity."
Another bout of turbulence shook the passengers roughly, interrupting any further conversation. By the time it settled, the thin man in the window seat had turned his attention to the sky outside. The silence between them didn't particularly bother Sniper. After he ground his cigarette out in a nearby ash receptacle, he settled back in his chair, finally feeling as though he might be able to doze off for the rest of the flight.