Chapter Thirty Seven - The Seventh Heaven Plague
Out of all of the things listed under potential threats to delaying AVALANCHE's first bombing mission of Mako Reactor One, a five-year-old with a cold never crossed my mind. From now on I'm going to write that in atop every list, as it appears to be the most destructive of the threats we're facing right now. Forget Tseng and the Turks.
"Lord almighty, Jessie, you look like hell."
Thanks Barret. I'll keep that in mind when you catch this. Even the cup of tea clutched in my trembling hands doesn't seem as appetizing as it looked five minutes ago when I finally manage to take a seat at the table amongst the lucky few who have already managed to escape the clutches of what is quickly becoming known as the Seventh Heaven Plague.
A series of shivers creep through my body, making me draw my cloak tighter in an effort to ward of the chill making my skin prickle with the slimy discomfort of sweat drenching my nightclothes. Not even a nice shower can wash that feeling away at this stage. Ugh, I just wanna crawl back into my bed and burrow beneath the sheets until whatever inhuman creature that chose to hijack my body with its irritating grip decides to move on and leave me alone.
Biggs offers me a sympathetic glance from across the table and pushes the morning newspaper to the side in favor of that disgusting drink he calls whiskey. It's far too…I catch sight of the clock on the wall in surprise…well into the evening rush for that type of drink. Holy, I've been out of it for most of the day.
"It's got you too eh?" he smiles, somewhat weary in his words and drapes his hand across my forehead amidst the tangled hair I haven't even managed to brush yet. "You've got one hell of a fever, Jess."
Tell me about it. My head feels like a cauldron left in the fire with the sole purpose of boiling my brain to a disgusting mush. Every muscle aches with the chills raking through them with the message to abandon any type of movement in favor of simply existing. I could have sworn someone hit me with a truck while I was sleeping too. There just aren't any tire tracks to prove it.
"Well, ain't nothing more you can do than go back to bed and try to sleep it off. Tifa says it's been going around and seeing that you and her have been taking care of everyone for the past week, it's only fair that we get to take care of you two now."
I'm not entirely certain if I should be worried, or grateful for their offer. Either way, I can only respond with a defeated nod, as anything I even try to say is too hoarse to even understand and yelling is damn near impossible thanks to this sore throat. Being the last one to get the flu sucks.
"Come on, I'll help ya get back to bed." Biggs gently grasps my shoulder despite my weary attempt at a growl of protest and guides me across the floor as though I'm some sort of frail old lady. I certainly feel like one though. He offers me a sympathetic look and retrieves my cup of tea as well. "Wedge is making some sort of soup for dinner. Don't worry though, he's a decent chef. We'll bring some down for ya when it's done."
Fantastic. Tifa once warned me about the boys in the kitchen. Said something about their unusual fascination with chili peppers and whatever else they could get their grubby little paws on. From what I understand, most of their cooking was deemed semi-lethal and shouldn't even be fed to the stray dogs that roam the streets. If I wasn't feeling like death warmed over before, I certainly will be afterwards.
The funny thing about being sick are the dreams you have while trying to sleep off the war between your immune system and the invaders trying to pick apart your every body part. Most of them are easily forgotten, taking the form of random events that most people won't remember upon wakening. And then there are the vivid types of dreams that leave you wide awake, drenched in sweat, trembling and clutching the blanket in terror, uncertain of even where you are or how you got there. I've counted eight so far in this short three hour stretch of time.
It was raining out on that ridge…and quiet. So quiet you could hear a chocobo warbling for miles no matter what direction you faced. And it was hot for the season it should have been. Much too hot. The dark clouds loomed for miles across every sinister rocky alcove, encasing them with an iron fist of foreboding. It felt like I was walking right into an arena, about to witness the showdown of the century.
Only, instead of gladiators and lions, it was a SOLDIER and Shinra. A one man army against thousands. No matter how hard I tried to look away, attempted to flee back the way I came, everything continued to focus on the battle that unfolded out in those wastelands.
Zack…
There was so much blood. So much carnage. Every shrill of the Buster Sword being swung through the air, every gunshot that answered. So much death and destruction. I tried to look away, to not watch the bloodbath. And then fire erupted from everywhere, obscuring my vision and creating a hellish inferno all around. There was no place to run to. No chance of escape.
I pull the blanket closer to my trembling body in an effort to wipe the vivid dream from my mind. It's always the same dream. He's being slaughtered, and I can't do a thing about it. Why does it have to haunt me? Why?
"Are you alright, Jessie?" Biggs is looking at me with worry in his eyes from his spot at the makeshift table I've been working from for the better part of a few weeks now.
"Yes," I manage a hoarse whisper. "It was only a nightmare again."
He takes a seat upon the floor by my bed, a small ceramic bowl filled to the brim with some sort of dark liquid in hand.
"Can't fault ya for that. When I was suffering through it, I had dreams of being chased by man-eating tomatoes. It wasn't fun."
Heh, good old Biggs. Always trying to make a bad situation better. Wish I could dream of man eating tomatoes instead of SOLDIERs being slaughtered by the people I once worked for. It would be a heck of a lot more interesting at least.
My hands continue to tremble as I accept the bowl of what Biggs claims is some sort of hybrid beef-chicken-carrot-mystery veggie stew. Not that I'm hungry right now, but from what I can smell of it, it seems edible. I take a cautious taste of it - there's always antidotes up in the cabinet if it proves to be poisonous or it will put me out of my misery, either is good right now.
Okay, so it's not the worse food I've ever eaten. If anything, it tastes pretty decent for whatever type of soup it is supposed to be. Wedge really isn't that bad of a cook. Still. A little bit of salt might not hurt.
"Told ya he was a decent chef," he smiles as I manage to pick through the vegetables. "You should taste the chili he cooks. Stuff will put hair on your chest that's for sure."
Let's survive the soup first Biggs. I don't think I'm up for chili anytime soon. And if it's anything like Reno's cooking, I never will be.
The spoon clatters against the bowl when I finally do manage to finish the last portion of soup. With any luck, those rumors about chicken soup will be true and I'll feel better a little bit faster. Then again, this really doesn't qualify as chicken soup. Oh well. It's better than nothing.
Half of an hour later, Biggs has returned to the upper level of the bar, leaving me alone once again to attempt to get some sleep. As I draw the blankets up to my chin and settle back into my little corner of the world, I try to think of the happier moments spent with Zack. Like in Gongaga, or at Costa Del Sol. Maybe if I try to remember the positive things about him, I won't see him die over and over again each time I try to sleep.
If only such things were possible.
This time, the rain falls with a passion, each droplet shattering upon the stones and trickling down into the darkness of the cracks and ravines that make this place so haunting. I try not to watch, the chill of water striking my skin telling me all that I need to know. Gunshots in the distance. Fire in the sky. Everything's so dark and angry. I can hear them marching in long rows across the stones, their boots drenched with rain that turns to blood. Stoic, angry men, all facing the one man who dared to wish for freedom. And once again, all I can do is stand here amongst the rocks and watch the inevitable begin.
He's faster than they anticipate. Rain running down his armor and uniform, the blade of the Buster Sword ticked with steel and blood, severing each chain of commanders and infantrymen as they swarm up the stones. He's fighting for him, and for her. I look towards the rocks in the distance, somehow knowing that Cloud is somewhere around here as well. Somewhere safe.
Bullets fly through the air, Zack trying his damnedest to stay standing. I-I can't even remember what he looks like. That's not the Zack I know. It's too blurry to be him. My feet slip on the loose stones, sending me crashing to my knees in the mud. I don't want to see this again. Please no.
Gunfire erupts closer, each bullet shattering the stone.
He's yelling something, but I can't understand what it is. The stones tremble with the amount of soldiers rushing up the banks. A piece of stone shatters dangerously close, making me take an instinctive step in reverse to avoid being hit.
The soul shattering scream of automatic rifles and grenades being activated sends me fleeing further away. There's nothing I can do to prevent this. He's going to die. I want to run towards him, to protect him, but each time I try to move forward, he goes further away. No matter how fast I run, I'll never make it in time.
He's looking toward me now, a look I can barely make out upon his face. I try to take one last step towards him as the bullets surge through the air.
"Zack!"
Something warm touches my shoulder, guiding me away from the carnage of the battlefield, and with it, Zack's last, inaudible words.
"Hey. Wake up, Jessie."
That voice sounds familiar. I instinctively move away from the touch, trying to bury deeper into the covers. I don't want to deal with it right now.
"I brought you some water."
The blankets, despite my best protests, are drawn away, leaving me once again back in the dull light of the basement as far from the wastelands as humanly possible at the moment. I manage a grumble of reply and weakly take a swing at the person responsible for stealing my blanket. That was mine damn it.
"Whoa. Calm down. I'm not going to hurt you."
I manage to bring the blurry figure into focus, a chill raking across my spine.
"Tifa thought you might like some ice water to help with the fever."
I think I might be just a tad delusional. That, or crazier than I initially thought. He gently helps me sit up, handing me the blanket he'd swiped from me earlier. This isn't possible. It can't be. How is he the healthiest being here today?
"You're not sick?"
He returns my questioning gaze with those mako blue eyes, an impish twinkle deep within and hands me the glass of ice water.
"Nope. Guess being vaccinated like a bunch of cattle has some advantages."
I rest my head against his shoulder, trying to will the headache to go away as he merely smiles.
Lucky SOLDIERs and infantrymen. The Turks are not privileged to such a joyous occasion as being poked with needles and injected with various germ combating fluids. We're usually out doing some sort of mission and miss out. Not that I can complain. Being able to take a few sick days here and there does come in handy when you're part of the only department that gets an allotted amount of sick days each year.
It still sucks though when you actually manage to get sick. At least here, I don't have to worry about filing paperwork explaining my illness to Tseng. I somehow don't think he would have enjoyed a report about the flu and an infantryman thought to be dead while recovering at a terrorist organization based beneath a bar in the slums.
"Why are you down here?" I manage to ask, exhaustion weighing heavy upon my body. Of all of the people I imagined taking care of me, Cloud was not even a possibility. More importantly, if Barret finds out he's hanging around here like a sort of stray tom cat…things will not turn out well for anyone.
He smiles that dreadfully charming smile of his and leans his back against the wall, blond hair flaring everywhere. "Tifa said you might be lonely down here with no one to talk to."
Since when does Tifa care about something like that? No. There has to be some other reason why she would send someone like him down here to talk to me. No one just randomly sends an infantryman into AVALANCHE headquarters without Barret knowing. And I know that he does not know about Cloud. I move away from him and glance towards the basement exit. What time is it?
"I brought you something to eat too." He reaches for a small bowl balanced precariously upon the edge of a tray nearby. "It's not quite chickeny enough to be chicken soup, but Tifa said it should make you feel better."
I smile and accept the bowl from him. It's like sitting in the same room with an overprotective Zack-like being. Too chickeny. There is no such thing. I take a sip of the broth. It's not bad from what I can taste of it. Tifa must be feeling better if she's cooking again.
"How is it?"
"It's good."
His eyes seem to light up at the prospect of this soup being considered good. Just like an excitable little puppy might react in such a situation. A smile crosses his face as the sound of a second person entering the area reaches my ears and the instinct to prepare for an attack creeps through my aching muscles. Where's Rekka when I need it?
"How are you feeling, Jessie?" Never mind. Attack might not be a good thing right now anyway.
I glance toward Tifa as she steps around the cluttered floor to take a seat at the table.
"I've been better," I reply, looking back to the soup. Catching the flu isn't what I would call fine and dandy. She smiles and rearranges the glass on the tray.
"It's been going around. Denzel had it last week, so it was only a matter of time before Marlene caught it and gave it to all of us."
Children. You have to love them.
"How's the soup? Better than Wedge's?"
"No contest." She laughs at the answer and carefully retrieves the half empty bowl. I wish I could have finished it, but I'm just not that hungry.
"I thought you might say that. He tries, but doesn't exactly understand the concept behind mixing ingredients that work well together yet. I'm glad this batch turned out."
"Wedge made that?" I dare to inquire, not sure if I want the answer or not. Either he's a master chef masquerading as a wannabe chef, or he's got luck to rival anyone. Tifa shakes her head and gestures to Cloud.
"No, he did. He said he wanted to make you something special for dinner."
I look toward the infantryman in surprise, catching an impish smirk. Zack couldn't cook worth a hill of beans. None of Shinra-oriented creatures could. Hell, even the Turks can't cook, a fact I am none too ashamed to admit I fit right in with. And yet this infantryman manages to make one of the best bowls of soup I've ever had. Either the world is ending as I think this, or I'm a lot sicker than I feel.
"You didn't have to do that." In all honesty, he really didn't need to waste the time and energy. I continue to watch him, trying to figure him out. One minute he's all depressed and thinking about Zack. The next, he's standing in the kitchen stirring a pot of soup. What goes on in that mind of his?
"Yes, he did," Tifa quips, pointing to the blushing infantryman. "He's been pacing like an anxious puppy all week. He got even worse when he found out you weren't feeling well, so I allowed him to cook and bring dinner to you."
Cloud. Quiet Cloud, actually worried about me? This is just weird. He's the one who should be resting in bed. Who knows if his Mako Poisoning might have made him susceptible to catching this no matter how many injections he's had.
I'm feeling kinda tired, which he seems to pick up on right away. Observant little puppy, just like Zack. Too much like Zack. He helps me lay down comfortably and draws the blanket to my chin. I can't help but smile at the gesture. I'm not a little kid. I could have handled that on my own.
"You get some rest."
I will Cloud. Hopefully, I'll have better dreams this time. No more of Zack being murdered in front of me. Hopefully.
Tifa's footsteps drone through the concrete area as she points Cloud back to the upper level so I can get some sleep without having to worry about having an overprotective infantryman watching over me all night.
He's getting better Zack. He's going to be okay. Keep after him until I feel better.
"We have a big mission ahead of us once everyone is feeling better again."
Tifa never misses an opportunity to remind me of what we're working on. Yeah. The bomb is almost ready to be taken to the reactor. I didn't forget.
"Yeah," I huddle back into the blankets. "A big mission."
But how am I going to convince Barret to let Cloud join us?