Chapter Twenty-Nine – Unsung Heroes
Hours had passed, the passage of time merciless against the overabundance of questions and unexplored curiosities. Sunlight penetrated his tiny lakeside home, oozing in through the windows like golden honey. A small hand lingered from beneath two blankets, dangling precariously over the edge of a couch. Those dainty fingers twitched against her subconscious, and the sound of a man's calm breathing brought her to a hazy state of cognizance. As her head swam with vertigo, she was horrified to find that something was smothering her! The many blankets he'd tucked her into now choked her in a chaotic frenzy, but she lacked the strength to even consider throwing them off. She could only breathe and whimper beneath their frighteningly close fibers, trying to understand what was beneath her feet and where she was. That was something else entirely.
She peered about the room, wide-eyed and frightened. Mumbling amidst her terror, she eyed the overturned lamps and the perfect stripes on the couch and the cluttered tables. It all looked very…disheveled; everything laying in the ominous aftermath of some perfectly reckless force of nature. Using her continually wearing energy, she turned her head to peer across the room. What used to be an eating place now lay in shambles, a mess of chairs and dirty dishes. Then she saw it. The door. That was her way out of here…wherever here was. Her heart sped up a bit and her limbs flooded with energy…but she had to be careful. Eleven wasn't chancing anything this time.
Mindfully, she wiggled her fingers. She swiveled her wrists and ankles, slowly but surely working her way along her extremities, testing their flexibility. Eventually, she made it all the way to her core, everything before that point functioning properly. There was a weakness that seemed to emanate from her entire torso, but El figured she was just hungry. Did I use my powers? She didn't think so…no. That needle came back to her…the red rubber ball. It was like her fingers were still curled around it, twitching against thin air. Something about the redness of the ball scratched at her memory and she immediately remembered the blood bag. She blinked, nose and mouth covered reservedly beneath the heavy blankets. Her eyes trailed to the door once again, her brow creasing worriedly. A tiny hole shot a ray of sunshine into the sleepy shade of the room, beckoning her to venture outdoors.
El's heart suddenly caught in her throat, realizing she could make it out of here, all by herself. If she just took that first step, she was certain she could make the rest. She'd done it before…her foot slid off the pile of pillows, dropping like a stone onto the floral patterned rug. A sharp pain shot through her back and she winced, gritting her teeth and fighting hard to shove the blankets off. With each sluggish movement, there was more pain and more dizziness, but Eleven wasn't stopping. She didn't know where she was or who was here with her…and she didn't want to find out. Some ignorant part of her was confident she could find her way back to Joyce or Mike…
…and then, by the time she'd sat up against the couch, the blankets lying in a defeated heap by her side, that exhaustion consumed her and she suddenly wasn't so certain. What if she got lost again and couldn't find any food? Trying to steady herself, those tiny hands gripping the sides of the couch for support, El started shivering excessively, her limbs quivering with some unforeseen cold. She looked down at herself. What was this shirt?! She reached an arm back and felt the bandages clinging to her, wrapped a tad more securely. These feel new…who did that?! Her lips parted, El's breathing coming out ragged and harsh, some wave of fatigue smacking her like a drought. She whimpered, her throat stinging with an arid dryness. Water. It was suddenly all she wanted.
Dragging herself to her feet, some invisible force brought her to her knees, slamming her side into the coffee table. With a barely subdued shriek, she clutched the top surface like a lion digging it's claws into stone. Her fingers brushed a chilled aluminum can and she gasped, pulling herself up so she could rest her chin against the table and eye the drink. The can sat mostly white with a red label: Schlitz; the beer that made Milwaukee famous. Eleven blinked at these new words…what are Schlitz? And who is Milwaukee? Desperate for water, she reached out and snatched the can from its spot, exposing a ring of condensation underneath. Uncharacteristically forgetting to give it the smell test, she thirstily drank the sour liquid, foaming against her taste buds. Her eyelids fluttered and she cringed, shaking her head and retching disagreeably. It was easily the grossest thing she'd ever tasted…and Eleven wasn't one to turn down food or drink, despite the taste. She ate for sustenance, and when she could afford to…she allowed herself to savor the tastes. But this was horrible! How could people drink that?! Groaning, she inadvertently spits it onto the carpet, gritting her teeth and shivering again.
The sound of the can dropping against the table woke him with a start and he gripped his gun, blinking against the blinding radiance that invaded his windows. He'd watched her for most of the night, sitting in a red living chair in the corner, prepared to shoot anyone who walked in. It was a brilliant vantage point, tucked neatly within the shadows and within eye line of both doorway entrances. But he too had needs; Hop had passed out within minutes of seating himself in that comfy chair, lack of sleep sending him into hibernation mode. Now, he was wide awake – which was a miracle all by itself – and standing, going over her like a hawk with his eyes. She turned, glaring angrily at him, and then recognizing that look of relief painting his face. He sighed deeply, lowering his weapon, "…how do you feel?"
El swayed a bit, her legs still folded beneath her as she replied with that trademark glare. Something about the way she regarded him sent uncertain chills racing over his skin, blood rushing to his face. Hop hadn't even noticed the can of beer until now, leaking sideways onto the carpet, pooling onto the table. The puzzle came together and he flicked his eyes back to her, his mouth hanging agape. "…did you drink that?" His heart pitched painfully as her glower dropped, splitting open and revealing all her insecurities to him. She felt like sobbing, like throwing him across the room and escaping back to Joyce…but she knew she wouldn't be fast enough. The way her legs twitched…she wouldn't get very far. Eleven still had trouble accepting that fact. Hop stared into her folding face, starting towards her just as her frail body shut down, having exerted itself past its limits. The Chief crouched beside her, keeping the crook of her neck from hitting the table as she folded onto her side. The last thing she saw in all her stunted clarity was him, leaning over her with frightened eyes of blue. He watched that well-placed glare neutralize, slowly fading out…along with the rest of her.
That familiar haunting noise played itself out in a ticking rhythm, incessant and echoing about this endless place of darkness. Eleven turned, shivering at how easily she'd found it against the void. Water lapped noisily against her feet, threatening to give her away…but it did not turn. It didn't seem to know she was even there, despite the sounds of water trickling with her every step. As she drew closer to the feasting monster, her pulse quickened and her limbs quivered. Goosebumps ravaged her skin and those chocolate eyes broadened alarmingly. "I want you to find it…understand?" Papa's words plagued her in this place of nothingness, and Eleven stopped to stand behind it, swallowing a nervous lump and trying not to run. She reached a tentative hand out, mere inches from its soggy, warped back. Against all of Papa's coaxing and persuasion, she paused, that trembling hand so close to its clammy skin. Her breath came in shaky waves and El stood, frozen in place with that outstretched arm. Pursing her lips against this hesitation, she pressed her fingers into its back. Within seconds, she'd come to regret this decision.
The monster did an about face, baring its many rows of teeth and parting those petal like lips as it braced for battle. That roar sent electric currents through her body in a chain reaction and something new clicked in her brain. Opening her eyes, practically wrenching herself from the darkness, she could still hear its howl echoing about in her cranium. All she wanted was for it to stop…to send it away somewhere. Her own screech tore from her ribcage, that animalistic fear painting itself on the walls just outside the tank like manic artists. Every light in the basement flickered; the very room quaked beneath that unrestrained power as obscure claws raked themselves along the tiles, crumbling them like soup crackers. Bits of the ceiling plunged to the floor above the pull of Eleven's terror, threatening to crush anyone who lingered beneath.
An associate slammed his hand into a large red button and an alarm sounded, casting over her screeching dissonance. Brenner and his men clamored about for the exit, bolting this way and that, easily forgetting about the child who was still in the tank, belting out the remaining air in her lungs. Their shouts rang low under Eleven's scream, and despite her best attempts at breaking the glass, it held firm beneath her fists. An unprecedented amount of blood smeared her nostrils as her fatigue finally gripped her. It left her grasping the sides of her helmet for support when suddenly the glass window flung itself open! A man peered in, sweaty and juddering around his fears. Eleven hardly recognized him in this state, clinging desperately to the oxygen mask for support. "Matthew! They're leaving us!"
The doctor turned to eye his colleague who was hastily beckoning him to the door. "She's still in here!" he called back over the crunching slates and blaring sirens. His hands were splayed against the glass, and he could tell she was spent. Glaring streaks of scarlet hung below her nostrils, smearing every which way. A harsher screech of a sound met the men's ears, like something was trying to burst through the wall, doggedly stubborn.
Ross shook his head and rushed to his side, "Matt, they've left us behind! We need to evacuate now!"
"We can't leave her!" was Matt's only reply as he wrenched himself away from the window, hurtling up the stairs. "Don't you see?! This is her chance!" Matthew insisted in a hysteric tone.
"What are you talking about!?" Ross demanded, gesturing about frantically. "We have to leave!" Eleven heard none of this, trapped inside the chamber, inside her helmet; inside her own head, threatening to pull her under. If she fell asleep here, she could drown, so she fought to stay awake. Both men knew this to be true, and Matt struggled with the wheel.
"H-Help me!" he demanded, glaring at a confounded Ross. With a chary shake of his head, the gruff man finally raced up those steps, latching onto the wheel and twisting it with all his might. With a hiss, the sensory-deprivation tank opened and Eleven faintly recognized those brilliant rays of light cascading beautifully into the water. They were intermittent, blinking on, then off. She blinked slow and deliberate at the twinkling reds and yellows as the men struggled with the ladder above.
Ross slammed his fingers into the button and sparks shot out of the mechanism. He reared back, covering his face, "The ladder's disabled! We've lost power…"
Matt pursed his lips, the deafening noises coming from the wall momentarily ceasing, as if whatever was on the other side was suddenly too exhausted to continue. The sirens never let up and Matthew breathed evenly for a second. "…then we'll just have to pull her out ourselves." Determinedly, the doctor shed his coat, tossing it beside him on the platform. "Go down to the window, get her attention, and tell her to hold onto the helmet," Matt instructed. "She can't hear you, so use your hands to-"
"-why don't we just break the glass?!" Ross demanded in an incredulous tenor. Since when did this experiment take priority over their own safety?!
"We CAN'T! If this room stays intact, then they'll know we helped her! We need to make it look like she…l-like she disappeared into thin air…" Matt explained, reaching down into the bubbling waters and gripping the top of her helmet. El's eyes instinctively widened at this sudden shift, hastily gripping the sides and whimpering with fright.
"Matthew…it's too late for her," Ross shook his head, those furious blotches returning to his pale skin. He crouched beside the doctor, going on in a persuasive tone, "…it's not too late for us. We can leave now and be safe."
"From day one, I was tasked with ensuring her survival…" Matthew spoke in a low sigh. Ross flinched when the doctor slammed his open palm into the metal floor, "That's what I'm gonna do!" Ross was beginning to act just like the men they were working for, and it disgusted him. "…at least do it for her!"
After a moment of seething contempt, Ross wordlessly shot to his feet, rushing to the front of the tank. Through hazy eyes, Eleven noticed a man banging on the glass, eyeing him confusingly. He motioned about with his hands, two clamped fists raised to either side of his head. Eleven's grip never lessened from the onset of her enervation, and before she could even begin to comprehend his message, she was being yanked out of the bath! Her eyes shot wider as water threatened to fill her helmet, lapping at her chest and shoulders. This wasn't a part of the normal procedure, and she whimpered with fright as she left the water, kicking against the waves and white knuckling the helmet. Matt struggled beneath the weight of the mask, Ross joining him until they'd dragged her out completely. Even then, she wouldn't let go, so Ross had to peel her fingers from around the sides. "Get it off her…" Matt grunted, lifting the enormous mass from her shoulders. Once it cleared her skull, they dropped it back into the tank with a splash and Eleven sulked against a yellow guard rail, nearly drained. She eyed the familiar-looking doctor, panting with fright and stumbling to her feet, preparing to bolt. Ross instinctively gripped her shoulders, holding her in place beside the tank as Matthew resignedly closed the lid.
"N-No!" she yelped, skin still moist from her time in the bath. The soles of her feet slid mercilessly against the metal platform, her toes occasionally slipping between the cracks. Ross did nothing to calm her, too wound up on his own to even be capable of soothing another person…much less someone who feared his very presence. She could see Matthew reaching into his jacket for something, and that familiar glint of a hypodermic needle made her shriek with fright, "NO!"
Ross cursed as Eleven miraculously slipped from his grasp, "SHIT!"
"Grab her!" Matthew demanded, pointing hastily as she ran down the stairs. The wall shuddered beneath the Demogorgon's weight, and Eleven skid to a stop before the soon-to-be gateway, marveling at how the concrete surged towards her in a voracious manner. Suddenly, Ross' hands were gripping her again, forcing her to the floor with a screech. Her shoulder blades scraped against the concrete, that weighted suit doing nothing to aid her in her efforts.
"I got her!" Ross proclaimed, pinning her down with his forearm. His eyes warned her not to try anything, and yet...he was not aware of what she could do. She suddenly fixated her glare on his eyes, and Ross felt an odd, bone-jarring sensation surge throughout his core. Ghostly hands were passing over him, searching for a weak spot that she could use to her advantage. Unaware of the turmoil in which his partner was currently entombed, Matt wearily approached them, decidedly prepping a needle. Rendered motionless before her glare, Ross watched from the corner of his eye as Matthew stabbed that needle into the girl's thigh. Those hazel eyes widened and she yelped, effectively breaking her concentration and lashing out at the doctor with a pruned foot. Shrugging off the futile kicks, he latched onto her leg and pinned it down with the rest of her.
Miraculously enough, Ross could breathe again, his eyelids rapidly fluttering as he shook his head and gasped in mouthfuls of air. "…that better be bear tranquilizer," he groaned, fighting against her futile struggle.
"No…she's not about to cooperate with us, but we need to get her out of here," Matthew repeated, trying to ignore the disdain Ross obviously held for the frightened little girl.
"NO…s-stop!" her yells dipped in volume as her body went limp against their arms, slumping into the floor. As she slipped out of consciousness, both men instantly relaxed, eagerly releasing her at the draw of the needle. Ross gazed at the wall fretfully, his brown eyes lost and somehow changed. Reasonably so, he felt sick to his stomach with questions. He didn't know what had just happened to him…Brenner made it a point to hide the workers' deaths from members of the same unit, especially when Eleven was their undertaker. This gave Brenner quite the mysterious, menacing distinction amongst his men, the popular consensus being that if he was betrayed, the consequences would be fatal. Still, as Ross regarded the unconscious child, he knew Martin would need them too much to want to execute them left and right. Remembering how she'd been staring at him, those dangerous eyes locked with his…an idea posed itself to him; perhaps she wasn't as helpless as they thought. If she could crush a soda can and intercept radio waves…what else could she do?
Matt clasped his shoulder starkly, "Listen…I need you to take her upstairs. If we're lucky, the elevator is still working…" They peered about at the flickering lights, jumping back as the wall undulated suddenly, cracking open behind some unimaginable force. Matt yelled, "Take her! Go!"
"What about you?!" Ross demanded, gripping the child and hoisting her over his shoulder.
Matthew shuddered, his fear painting over him with each bead of sweat. "…I-I'm going to knock the cameras offline…that way…they won't know it was us who helped her escape..."
Ross eyed him incredulously, shaking his head in misunderstanding, "HOW does setting her loose help us?"
"She's our subject, Ross! We're out of a job without her!" Matthew stressed, gesturing frantically to the sleeping girl. "…isn't that what you wanted?"
"They'll just assign us to a different one! You know that!" Ross blinked, a particularly loud crunching noise splintering the atoms of the wall and causing them both to flinch. He continued poking holes in Matt's righteous plan, finding it all disgustingly risky. "If you wanted to be done with her, you shoulda just let her drown in that tank!"
Seething through bared teeth, Matt stood, meeting him at eye-level, "And who would Martin blame for her death?" Matthew shook his head, shouting above the din, "What if she was your sister Ross?!"
"She's not!" Ross returned fire, creasing his brow against this ridiculous argument. "Don't GO there!"
"But what if she WAS?" Matthew demanded, his eyes growing wide with alarm. "…this is her chance! Who are we to deny her freedom?!"
"Matt…" Ross shook his head. If he'd known how preachy and nauseatingly sappy his friend was, he may not have liked him as much. This man was asking him to risk his life and his job for a damn test subject…and for what? "This is gonna get us killed!"
"Please, go now…put her in something dry and just…get her out of here…I don't care where you take her. Just get her off property grounds…" Matthew plead, eyeing the wall derisively. Turning back to Ross, he unexpectedly shoved the gruffer man, "WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR?!" A new sound clashed upon their ears as the Demogorgon drew close, now able to hear their words echoing through the portal. Both men stared in horrified awe, and without any further argument, Ross sprinted away, hefting the girl over his shoulder like a sack of flour. As they both ran, one of them taking the elevator to relative safety, Matthew burst into the control room. To his great relief, he found that disabling the cameras was unnecessary. All of East Hawkins had just lost power…a frighteningly enormous prospect Matt decidedly saved for later introspection. A back-up generator was currently running on fumes to fuel all exits and emergency lights…including the elevators. Matt exhaled, reentering the room with the tank. He froze in his tracks, sucking in his breath at what he saw.
The wall had finally split apart, some kind of translucent web-like filament covering the crack, like tendons between muscle. A pollen-like dust mothballed about the room, drifting like snow on a lazy winter day. Matt took one step closer, peering into the divide and discerning the hazy outline of someone…standing on the other side! This figure was unimaginably tall and lanky; its growl made Matthew's teeth chatter. Mindlessly, the doctor pitched free of the exam room, skating down the hall and feverishly slamming his open palm into the call button. He did a double take, peering down the corridor with much bated apprehension. He'd tell himself, perhaps it had been a trick of the lighting. Then he'd right his thoughts, having faith in his own perceptions. Matt was sure he'd seen it standing there, just behind that slimy film, ungodly thin and towering. But he knew that was a solid wall...there were no rooms in that direction. This dreamlike pandemonium bewildered him as the elevator finally opened, and he rushed inside, furiously tapping another button. An unnerving growl echoed down the hall and shook him to his bones. He'd just righted himself, taking some much-needed inhales when he slowly peered up…into the face of the monster.
The elevator doors opened and Ross peered out. The alarm echoed cacophonous about the building, flashing lights poking him in the eyes. Unsurprisingly enough, each hall lay barren and bodiless. Ross didn't stop to wonder where they'd gone, thankful for the lack of blank stares and dead eyes. He burst into the laundry room, fetching one of the many hospital gowns from a jumbled heap. Absentmindedly changing her into the dry clothing, he hefted her back over his shoulder, muttering something unintelligible to himself and heading towards the dark room. Her weighted suit lay discarded and waterlogged on the floor, waiting to be found by Brenner and his associates. Standing before the open chamber, he found himself unable to throw her inside…Matthew's words suddenly crashing into him like a ton of bricks. Ross glanced down the hall, considering his scarcity of options.
He knew that if he did this and Brenner found out…they'd likely have him killed. This subject was not to leave department grounds or step foot outside…ever; Brenner had deemed it so. He reckoned she wouldn't last long out there anyway, with no one looking out for her. He didn't know her backstory like Brenner did, or like Hopper would come to know. All he knew was her terrifying present…and suddenly he heard a noise in the distance, his ears straining over the alarm. He picked up the shuffling of the elevator doors. "Matt…" Ross breathed, walking with the girl on his shoulder and peering round the corner. As the gruff man looked on, his heart stopped, and he nearly dropped the girl to the floor.
Streaks of blood colored the inside of the elevator a fantastic red, a pair of shoes and shreds of clothing the only remainder of his old friend. Then, a monstrous growl rocked him to his core. Poignant fear surged through him with every beat of his heart, so Matt turned and bolted out of the complex, crossing the compound and stopping to gaze about. The darkness hit him harshly, clouds grouping together and blocking out the stars, anxiously awaiting tomorrow night's storm. As he backed away from the towering building, his heel scraped the side of a flood-drain and he nearly tripped, gripping the child tighter. Stumbling around to eye the tunnel, he stole a quick glance at the girl, his eyes deep with worry.
"…who are we to deny her freedom?" Matt's words came back to him like a dream. He pursed his lips, crouching to lay her within the tight space, cursing to himself all the while. He had to leave. If anyone saw him or even suspected him of this treachery…Ross didn't want to learn what "dispatch" meant for men like Matthew; for men like him. He adjusted her so she was as concealed as possible, and once he was satisfied with how far he'd gotten her into the cave-like entrance, he shot to his feet and raced to the parking lot. Ross fumbled with the keys to his pickup, checking the backseat for his shotgun before speeding out of the compound, leaving the gate open on his way out.
The dryer tumbled to a stop, and Will opened it, confidently reaching inside. "Finally!" Dustin exclaimed, scooching himself off an inactive washer. They all released a collective sigh as Will handed Mike the clean rag, examining his sleep shirt as it lay warm between his fingers. "It's like they were never bloody!" Dustin enthused, smiling at Will as the boy grinned back.
"…can we go now?" Lucas asked, straining to hold the door open against the unforgiving winds.
"Yeah," Will agreed as they headed towards the exit, pushing the glass door open. Once outside, the wind buffeted all of them, merciless and sharp. The trees swayed beneath those crushing currents, bending at impossible angles. Mike peered up into the grey sky, blanketed over with thick, fluffy clouds. If they didn't know any better, they'd think it was still early Winter. Each of them grimaced at this oddity, exchanging confused glances.
"Where did this come from?" Dustin asked, pushing his voice over the wind. When they'd biked here this morning, it'd been a clear day with sparse clouds and gentle winds. Now, Dustin was lucky he had his hat on; it was like the sky was reaching down just to tousle his friends' hair and manhandle the trees. Dustin grinned at them all as Lucas squinted against the air.
"Let's just go before it gets worse!" he demanded, turning to grab his bike. They all followed, stopping in their tracks just as he had once they saw their emptied tires, sagging into the blacktop. Deep gashes lay interred upon each one, like tattoos…spiteful and permanent.
Mike furrowed his brow, his gaze quickly flicking everywhere at once. Will followed suit, those hazel eyes widening with panic. "What happened?" Dustin asked, trying to keep his billowing hair out of his eyes.
Lucas crouched down, puffing his cheeks angrily. Dustin knelt as well only to wrench back when Lucas shoved his bike onto its side in a fit of rage. "Somebody slashed our tires!" he shouted, glaring at each passing car.
"Are you kidding me?!" Dustin exclaimed, reaching for one of the deflated tires as if in mourning. "Oh damnit…" he shook his head, curls swaying gently with each movement. After a pent up sigh, Dustin rubbed the bridge of his nose and groaned, "My dad's gonna kill me…"
"We may as well start walking…" Will suggested, his voice empty and tired. Dustin sighed again hopelessly, inspecting the damage done to their bikes and wondering if they could still be used.
"This is bullshit!" Lucas threw his hands to his sides, waiting for Mike to react in some way besides staring out into the street like a startled deer. He watched each car, those dark eyes wide with something Lucas couldn't immediately recognize. "Mike…are you even seeing this?"
"Yes Lucas, I saw it," he shot back, still eyeing the road. "Someone did this on purpose."
Dustin quickly caught on, "…you think they're still around?"
"They better not be…" Lucas fumed. They all gazed about, the one with the hat squinting against each piercing gust. This great wind was gradually picking up, curling the branches of the weakest trees like rubber bands. The boys began to doubt they'd even be able to ride in this weather, their wind-burned ears already flushed a bright pink. As Lucas followed Mike's gaze down the street, a black Ford rounded the corner. It took most of them a second to distinguish the features of the LTD Crown Victoria and attach some meaning to the vehicle, but Mike recognized it immediately. He instantly sharpened his gaze, focusing on the windshield as their shrinking proximity capitulated him into a mounting frenzy.
"Guys…" Dustin's voice seized their attention.
"W-What?" Will glanced about, helplessly lost amongst his frozen friends. He could tell something was up with that car…it meant something to them. Something bad. It drove ever closer and Mike began to slowly back up, squinting accusingly at the man behind the wheel. "Guys what is it?"
"S-Should we run?!" Dustin asked, his gaze never leaving the approaching car. Lucas was already prepped for a confrontation, his feet shuffling on their own accord. He subconsciously broadened his shoulders like a stentorian, tightening his lips aggressively. Will's brow raised as he noticed his apparently distressed friends trying to collect themselves, trying to decide what to do but only grasping at straws. "Mike?!" Dustin slammed his hand into the Dungeon Master's shoulder, demanding an answer. The car was almost beside them now, decelerating. That driver was already rolling down his window…and their hearts jumped into their throats.
At the last second, Mike turns to face them all and says, "Act normal. Eleven is dead."
"What?" Dustin hissed through a whisper.
"We don't know where she is, got it?" Mike instructed in a low tone. Lucas hesitantly nodded while Dustin blinked those blue eyes against his surging fear. Mike was about to grab onto him and shake his shoulders when Will stepped through the group, addressing the man in the car. Of course Will would be the least afraid, not holding any connection to the vehicles. He'd been far too busy fending off a monster in an alternate dimension to recognize Brenner's associates. But Will knew what Mike was inferring, and he understood that this was probably one of the "Bad Men" they'd talked about.
"Hello," Will stepped up to the window, hiding his fear behind a polite smile.
The man in the grey suit had to raise his voice for them to hear it over the wind, "You kids look like you're in a bit of a fix."
Lucas shuffled, turning to eye the bikes as if they'd just appeared there. "No…we're good," Dustin assured him, shrugging off this accurate observation.
That man craned his neck to get a better look at their tires, "…looks like somebody cut your wheels…"
"…w-we can walk," Will stated in the kindest voice he could manage.
"You sure? The weather's only supposed to get worse after this…" his eyebrows flicked upwards in surprise, trying to maintain eye contact with the boy who came back to life. Mike had yet to get a word in edgewise; Will seemed to be the mediator today…which was a good thing, because the Dungeon Master stood fuming with seething resentment for this man. He didn't recognize him at all…he must've been new. Despite this, Mike's fists were clenched and his jaw locked tight. An unspeakable amount of fire raged within his chest, and he was undoubtedly certain that if he were to speak to this man…nothing but lava and fury would come spewing out. Mike wanted nothing more than to cut his tires and leave him stranded…
…but he pursed his lips, remaining silent as Will nodded confidently, "…yeah. We'll be fine."
"We've been through worse," Dustin chimed in, those blue eyes piercing against those chestnut curls.
"Yeah…" Lucas managed to speak past his adrenaline.
The man in the car shrugged absently, "Your loss." Then, with a haunting smile, he drove off, just as suavely as he'd arrived. They bunched together, watching him go until the bumper of the Crown Victoria rounded a corner, out of sight.
"That bastard…" Dustin muttered, shaking his head.
As the wind cut at their frames, Mike finally broke his bated silence, "They know."
"No they don't!" Dustin tried to sound positive.
"Come on Dustin! Did you not see his suit? That car?!" Lucas blurted out as Will coughed into his arm, wrenching over a bit with effort. The wind was merciless, slamming into him face-first. It was that kind of blistery gust that steals your breath while simultaneously offering endless amounts of crisp, clean oxygen, and Will struggled against it, grimacing into his sleeve. "They know she's alive! They're obviously trying to scare us!" Lucas exclaimed as Dustin shook his head, knowing that to be the truth.
"They're trying to tell us something…" Mike surmised.
"Seems more like a warning to me…" Lucas added, creasing his brow at Mike.
"Guys…when Hopper came by to get Eleven last night…" Mike trailed off with an exasperated sigh, his brow furrowed as some horrifying realization reared its ugly head. It threatened to choke him along with each blast of air.
"What?" Lucas pressed, eyeing him expectantly. Dustin turned to Will, rapidly becoming aware of his difficulty and patting him on the back.
"…he didn't need to come and get her. Will's mom even said she could stay with us…but he took her anyway."
"Mike, what are you getting at?" Dustin watched him incredulously.
"When he came to bring El to Will's house he looked tired. Really stressed out about something…" Mike went on, eyeing the ground furiously.
Lucas creased his brow as Dustin kept his hand firm on Will's back, the boy finally regaining his breath and straightening back up. Dustin watched Mike carefully, and from the brim of his hat suggested, "…Lando…"
"No way!" Will choked out, swallowing dryly. He understood most of Dustin's references (plus he'd seen The Empire Strikes Back at least four or five times). He couldn't fathom Hop – the one who'd personally saved him from the icy clutches of death – betraying their trust so easily. "…he wouldn't sell us out! He's not like that."
"Maybe not…" Mike recounted his words. "…but there was something off about him last night. He didn't look okay…if you guys had seen him you would've thought so too…"
"We need to go…" Dustin sighed, righting his bike on its useless wheels and waiting for them to follow. None of them did, swept up with this ludicrous assumption.
"Dustin, what about the Bad Men?" Mike exclaimed, glaring at him accusingly. "What about Eleven?!"
"You guys can stand here and debate this as much as you want, but there's only one way we're gonna find out," he said. Lucas stood his bike up beside Dustin's, his expression stern and deep with buried concern. "Now does anyone else wanna get to the bottom of this?" Wordlessly, Mike and Will eyed each other, then rushed off to follow the other two boys. They rolled their bikes as gingerly as they could against the sidewalks, being careful not to bend the tire-frames. Mike's thoughts were alight with worry, deepening into a frightening theory that put all of them in danger. Surely Hopper wouldn't do that to them, not to Eleven…
…right?
Lucas broke another long silence, "…you think they sabotaged our bikes?"
"I wouldn't put it past them…" Dustin commented, bitterness coloring his words.
"How would they even know we were at the laundromat?" Will cut in, eyeing them all and walking on Mike's left. They sighed at this, unable to conceive a plausible theory. Even if Hopper had betrayed them, he didn't know about the stained clothes or that they'd gone this far to clean them. Mike furrowed his brow. It was only us and Nancy there…Nancy.
"…Nancy's the only other person who knows about the laundromat," Mike stated.
"I wouldn't put it past her either…" Lucas added in a snarky tone.
"…hey!" Mike turned to glare daggers at his friend as Will and Dustin exchanged jovial grins.
"I'm kidding," he assured Mike with a stressed word. "Nancy wouldn't do that…she actually likes the Weirdo…" Mike rolled his eyes at this, ignoring his teasing friend and trying to focus on his swarming thoughts.
To be continued…
Authors Note: Thank you all so much for reading! I deeply value all the feedback I've gotten. It really does mean a lot. Anyone else who writes on here will understand. Sorry for the long wait. Life got in the way…as per the usual. Hope you're enjoying the story so far! Keep on writing! -Nightlock
