WARNING: Character Death, Suicide, Mercy Killing, Animal Death, Pet Death
Nike waited outside, pacing back and forth. Weariness mingling with anxiety and dread. It had keyed her up and made her jittery. Emma saw it when Nike came to get her. No words were needed. The younger girl walked mutedly into the small operating theatre.
"Come on," Stitches said, gesturing at Nike's blood soaked side, "let me take a look at that."
They walked past the bathroom and into an examination room. It was marginally cleaner than the bathroom. Stitches waved Nike over to the bed and she climbed on. The sheets cold against her bare skin with nothing more than her sports bra giving her any semblance of modesty.
Stitches returned, taking a swig at a bottle of alcohol. He handed it to her. She frowned. "It's going to hurt. This might take the edge of it."
Lifting the bottle to her lips, Stitches warned, "Not so muc—"
Nike took a big gulp and swallowed. It tasted as bitter as the past 20 hours had been. Stitches grumbled under his breath as he drained the rest and instructed gruffly, "Lie back."
She squeezed her eyes shut as Stitches cleaned the wound, picking out stray bits of fabric that got stuck. "You're lucky the bullet just grazed you. You'll be in trouble if it actually hit you."
The pain intensified as antiseptic was liberally applied. She groaned and tensed, half turning away from him. "Just relax, it will hurt less and it will be over quickly."
"You try it and see if you can relax," she growled.
"I don't get shot for one thing," he pointed out.
Nike bit her lip and kept her mouth shut because Stitches was sliding the needle through her skin and flesh to close the wound. She weathered each stitch with grunts and hisses. Body shivering on its own accord as she wished for it to be over. Her mind buzzed, her side was numb and tingly, but not from any drugs or analgesic.
"Done," Stitches declared, jarring her from her detached state. "Now go get all those street rats out of here. It's fucking midday and I've not taken a piss yet."
He left the room, leaving her alone. Nike sat up, pressing a hand against the bandages that wind around her ribs. The stitches was a line of fire running across her flank. She couldn't quite straighten without having the pain spewed forth like lava over her skin. Hunched over, she made her way out. Her mind burning with the need to check on Burger.
Burger was where she left him, on the ground, dried blood crusted in his fur. His eyes were closed, probably resting from all the excitement. Stitches promised to look at him. She frowned, realising he wasn't even bandaged up.
Nike stiffened. Eyes wide, breath caught in her throat. She looked, she observed, she stared. Burger was still, completely still.
A rush of cold sweat broke out over her skin, sending chills down her spine. "Burger," her voice came out all cracked and torn.
There wasn't a twitch of his ear, a friendly thump of his tail, let alone a perk of his head up in her direction.
"Burger."
Her pace quickened, but her limbs were heavy like she was fighting through quicksand to reach him.
"Burger!"
Her footsteps echoed down the narrow corridor. She could hear muffled sobs coming from inside the operating theatre.
"BURGER!"
Panic seized her heart and squeezed. Dread chilled her lungs. Her breath refused to come.
She knew. She knew before she reached him. She knew before she touched his fur. She knew.
Burger's gone. His body was cooling, his chest still. There wouldn't be any more happy barks, licks to her face, warm body pressed against her back.
Nike sank to her knees, staring at Burger's half opened eyes, a glassy glaze over them. Her jaw tightened as she fought against the lump in her throat.
"I'm sorry."
A drying trail of vomit and blood pooled at the corner of Burger's mouth. She pulled his stiffening body towards her.
"I'm sorry."
Nike didn't know how long she knelt there.
I've let my best friend down. I didn't give him the only thing he ever asked for. I let him die in pain. I was selfish.
Her fingers refused to part with Burger's body. She checked over and over again, praying for a huff of breath, a thump of his heart. But there was nothing. Her body was stiff when Stitches got her. Her knees almost refused to bear her weight when she finally got to her feet.
Stitches had a strange look on his face. Guilt mixed with pity played across his features before hardening. "Get the rats out of here."
She braced herself against the wall, taking a moment to gather the pieces of herself. There was now a gaping hole in the middle that would never be filled. Remorse weighed heavy. It was the anchor around her neck, the log across her shoulders. When she finally straightened, it was with all the strength she had left.
"Hey, I need you all to clear out now," Stitches said. "I need you to make a choice."
The hint of irritability was the spark that ignited her latent anger. Nike jerked her head to face him. "I'll handle this," she growled. "Get off my back."
Stitches stumbled backwards, fear etched across his face. His eyes darted towards Burger then back at her. "It too."
She bared her teeth, pain was made physical in that moment. "Him. Burger."
"Whatever," he spluttered and beat a hasty retreat. "Furnace is underground."
Furnace. Fire to turn bodies to ashes. Flames to send them off.
Nike glared at his retreating back. She grunted, surprised she had lost control and flared unintentionally. It took deliberate will to let her biotics go. Once the anger passed, she sagged like a puppet with its strings cut. She turned to the operating theatre, jaw tight, shoulders stiff. What she couldn't give Burger, she would give Ross. She wasn't going to make the same mistake twice in a single day.
Emma's head jerked up when she entered. Nike rocked backwards at the fury she found in there. All innocence was purged out of Emma in the most violent manner possible. Her eyes were puffy from crying, her broken nose had swell to double its usual size, delicate pale skin bruised and marred.
Nike would take her anger. She earned it. If only she had used her words better, convinced the three fuckers to leave instead of killing them. If only she was smarter and got them out of there straight after.
If only, if only, if only.
The possibilities were endless. In the end they reached this point, coming here to save two lives and failing to do either. Anger and hatred was what she deserved.
"Ross," Nike called out.
He grunted and reached out towards Emma, his hand patting her head gently. "It's time, Emma," he said, his voice no louder than a whisper, tightly controlled. "Look out for the others. I know you can do this."
"But Ross, I can't," Emma's voice cracked, it was a fracture that had split her in half.
Nike couldn't bear to watch this any longer. She strode over and put a hand on Emma's shoulder. "He is hurting. Don't make him suffer longer than he already is," she said, her voice flat and matter-of-fact.
"You are a monster! You caused this! It's all your fault!" Emma screamed, hand rising to strike Nike.
Her hands shot out and clamped down on Emma's. Her grip tight as she forced it down to Emma's side. "You should go, you don't want to watch this."
Ross took a shaky breathe. "Emma, please…"
Tears burst anew, streaming down her dirt streaked face. Emma took a couple of deep breaths and visibly forced herself to relax. Nike let go of her. Ross sighed, relieved. Emma glared at Nike and she got the hint and stepped away.
It was a moment suspended in time. Nike was surprised when she saw it, she wondered how much had she missed in all her visits to the Strays' little apartment. Emma wrapped her arms around Ross's face, her fingers stroking his hair gently before she kissed him. It was soft and tentative at first, afraid it would cause him pain, but it got hungrier and more desperate. Emma was storing all the kisses she was ever going to get. Ross was giving it all he could give before the end.
They are in love.
Nike blinked, surprised but her heart twisted. On the streets, one took comfort where they could find it. Some found it in booze, Red Sand or the comforts of a Night Walker. Some demanded it from others, taking where no consent was given. Scars and Tenner had been hounding her since she got her first blood. The rare few found it in a person, a single person.
Emma had her one person. And Nike was supposed to take that person away from her. She averted her eyes, feeling she was defiling their farewell with her presence. Tension built behind her eyes as she blinked furiously.
How much can one cry?
Nike kept her eyes on the ground, her fingers digging into the table she was leaning against. All she could see were Emma's feet. All she could hear were their whispered words. All she could smell were blood, sweat and piss. She pressed a pair of fingers against her temple, trying to hold back the headache that was pressing behind her eyes.
"Nike."
She looked up, surprised to find herself alone with Ross.
"She's not staying to see this," his voice shook. "She shouldn't have to."
Nike nodded, approaching the table. "How…" The question got stuck in her throat. How could she ask the person she was about to murder how he wanted to die? Did it matter? Wasn't it just cruel?
"Can you play some music?" he asked. "It's so quiet here. I think I'd like to hear one last song. You know?"
She hastily searched her music library on her omni-tool. If that was what Ross wanted, he'd get. Her finger swiped through the long list of songs she had, her eyes darted between the omni-tool and Ross. The ticking clock was loud in her ears. Eventually she stabbed a song at random. Guitar strings strummed as a clear voice sang.
It's starting here, it's starting now
I've never known quite where to start
Ross closed his eyes and hummed along. Nike draw her pistol and placed it on a side table. She pulled at the screens and they encircled the table. There was no need to make a mess.
What better time to let your hair down?
Don't be scared of the dark
"I'm scared," he confessed, his voice small and frail.
"I know."
"I don't want to die."
"I know," Nike's voice broke.
Ross opened his eyes, his pupils were dilated. He was putting on a strong face, Nike could tell. She had seen it on many a Red member on their first raid.
I'll tell you now
I could lay like this forever
He grimaced and groaned. The pain was creeping back. Eyes squeezed shut, he said, "Look out for them."
"I will."
"Especially Emma."
Nike took a deep breath and nodded before remembering he had his eyes closed. "I will."
It was a promise she hope she wouldn't break.
"Let's do this."
"Ok."
'Cause tomorrow isn't ever
Coming 'round
The pistol was lead in her hand. Her pulse thundered in her ears, her heart hardened for the duty she must carry out. Deep breaths pulled in through her nose, out through her mouth. Finger brushing against the trigger, gently threading through, resting against it.
If it's the end
Then let's see it out together
Ross had his eyes squeezed shut, his jaw tight as he braced himself. The trigger felt stiff and unyielding. But this was her duty, she had to break one promise to keep the other. Nike never wanted to be in this position ever again.
"I'm sorry Ross."
We'll fall asleep and never hit the ground
She pulled the trigger.
Emma was gone. She wasn't surprised. Who would want to see the murderer of her boyfriend? Stitches, however, was waiting for her. His eyes subdued. "Done?"
"I don't miss at point blank range."
Stitches took a breath as if ready to fire back a retort before thinking better of it. He nodded. The walk to the furnace below felt nothing like a funeral procession she had seen in movies. It wasn't raining, it wasn't outdoors, it wasn't lined with mourners and it didn't have a priest speaking words of comfort and god.
All Ross and Burger got were a pair of human working silently. Grunts of exertion as they hauled heavy stiffening bodies down a narrow staircase into the basement. The dark and cold walls bore down, leaning in like sentinels keeping watch. The furnace was huge. Its flames flickered casting dancing shadows against the walls. The orange glow all consuming and hungry.
Nike stiffened at the threshold, Burger's body was heavy in her arms. Ghosts of an old pain flared across her chest, the thud of a body hitting ground echoed in her ears. Screams and cries of phantoms tugged at her attention. It was all familiar, too familiar.
Krycek's voice rang out in her head. "You don't remember."
"Hey!" Stitches yelled, snapping her out of it.
Nike shook her head to clear her mind.
"Don't just stand there, help me," he grunted, struggling with Ross' body.
Finding nowhere good to put Burger down, she bent and lay him down on the ground before going to help the doctor. Ross was heavy in death as he wasn't in life. He tried to be a steady rock but he wasn't cut out for street life. He was probably a runaway, going from one bad situation to another, till he met her. And she killed him.
The plastic wrapped around his body like a shroud. Nike took a deep breath and hefted.
"Stand back," Stitches instructed once they loaded Ross onto the tray.
He hit a button and the shuttle rolled back. With a swift push, Ross was rolled into the maw. And that was that. It was all people ever were, dust and ashes. The fire ate it all, the struggles and fears, the hopes and dreams. It was gone in an instant. The moment she pulled the trigger, the moment the bullet impacted his head, the moment his brains and skull splattered across the screen she set up. Now it was completed when the fire consumed every single bit of him.
Stitches looked at her. "It's going to take a few hours."
She nodded, eyes focused on the fire. A thin line of fear creeping across her face.
"Do you want to keep what's left?"
Nike frowned. She wasn't interested in the bits of ashes. What was it to her? Gone was gone. There was no use keeping the ashes. But Emma, maybe she wanted to hold onto something to remind her of Ross.
She nodded.
Nike walked into Stitches' clinic with two other humans and a dog. She walked out alone, a failure. Nothing worked out. It was an unfamiliar feeling, it left her feeling angry at everything. She always had a solution. There was nothing her biotics couldn't solve. But she found it now — death.
Her body sore, her soul weary but she wasn't done. She still had work to do. Step by trudging step, she headed back to Meg's. Dread dogged her the entire way there.
Nike hesitated at Meg's door. She knew they wouldn't be at the cinema any longer. Meg would have taken them home. She wouldn't have turned them out into the streets no matter what they said. Food was probably used as a lure. She had been lured back to Meg's place plenty of times this way.
Taking a deep breath, shuffling the two Milo tins in her hands, she rapped her knuckles against the door. There was some shuffling and the door swung open. Meg looked at her. Anger, relief and panic raced across her face. The older woman seemed to have aged years over 24 hours.
"Where have you been? What happened?" she whispered, her hands gripping Nike's shoulders, shaking her lightly.
Nike's face crumpled as the past 24 hours pressed down her like an anchor. "I…"
Meg pulled Nike into her ample bosom. Nike's side protested at the motion, but she pressed her face into Meg's embrace. Shuddering sobs erupted between her clenched teeth. Wordless, grief-filled and gut wrenching, she cried hard. Her grip tightened on the tins. Meg rubbed her back, soothing and gentle in a way she never had before. But the relief was short-lived.
"The kids are awake," she whispered. "I don't know what happened but they are eager to go home. They won't stay with me."
Nike bit her lip and clamped her mouth shut to stop her breath from hitching. She rubbed the tears from her face as she heard Tiny asking, "Is it Nike? Is she back?"
Meg turned, giving Nike a glimpse of the two pairs of eyes behind her. Tiny's were apprehensive, but it quickly gave way to joy as he recognised her. Alex's were wary but they too softened upon seeing her. Faced with the kids, she wasn't quite sure how to tell them. But it wasn't a truth she could keep. Reality would readily prove her wrong.
"What's that?" Tiny asked, pointing at the tins she was holding.
Before Nike could even formulate an answer, Alex pushed passed Meg. Her brown eyes taking in Nike's appearance. "You're hurt," she said. It wasn't a question, just a statement of fact. "And you've been crying. What happened?"
"I don't care what happened. I'm hungry and I want to go home," Tiny declared, promptly walking down the street.
Alex glared at the boy and hurried after him. Nike stared at the pair then back at Meg. The old woman smiled before sobering up when she met Nike's eyes. Her hand on Nike's shoulder, her grip tight and warm against Nike's skin. "Take care of yourself," she said. "I'll expect to see you at Friday's showing of The Notebook."
Nike took a deep breath, her nose completely blocked and snotty. Red-rimmed eyes looking everywhere but at Meg's.
"Promise me you will be there. I don't know what happened. And I know better than to ask. Just know I'll be waiting for you."
Nike nodded tightly and quickly followed the pair.
Tiny led the way while Alex kept casting backward glances at her. Nike's arm ached from how tightly she was gripping the tins. She hadn't realised death could weigh so heavily.
"Woah, what happened here?" Tiny asked, pointing at a large black patch on the ground. He squatted down and sniffed at it.
Alex frowned, glaring at her before darting back to the dried blood. She didn't need to speak for Nike to read the question in her eyes. Nike averted her eyes. "Come on," she said, "let's go."
Tiny straightened and looked sombre. "That's blood," he said in a small voice.
Alex took his hand and tugged him along. "I know. Come on."
The steps that led to their home felt dangerous, like a trap waited at the end. Pushing her instincts aside, Nike forced her legs to move. Tiny pushed the thin slat door aside and entered. "Emma! Ross! We're back!"
Silence greeted him. Cold ran down Nike's spine. She pushed pass Alex. The air was still. Dust motes danced in the afternoon sun. Everything seemed suspended in time. It looked like Ross was going to come out of the back room anytime, asking her what she brought this time. Emma was going to give her a shy smile as she started sorting out the new supplies.
Nike's instincts screamed. She handled the tins to Alex. "Stay behind me," she growled, pushing Tiny in Alex's direction as well.
Alex nodded tightly, keeping a firm grip on his arm. He whispered, "What's happening?"
"Shut up."
Nike ignored the pair and pulled her pistol free. A firm hand thrusted in their direction, she headed into the rooms. The smell of iron unmistakable. It grew stronger the nearer she approached the rooms. Fear made her heart slammed against her ribs. Her biotics buzzed weakly under her skin.
Did the gang return to finish the job? Did I fucking screw up again?
The first room was empty, Tiny's and Alex's belongings strewn across the room. Nothing was amiss. The second was neat and tidy, practically empty in its sparseness. Ross' room. The last one belonged to Emma. She should be here. Nike expected to find her here.
Where is Emma?
Dread dragged at her heart as it worked double time. Her pistol creaked slightly under her grip. Finger heavy against the trigger. As Nike rounded the final corner, she stiffened at the sight.
Red decorated the wall, blood streaked across the room. It was a madman's masterpiece painted with brains and bones. A body slumped against the wall as the centrepiece. Blood no longer wet but congealing in a large pool next to a blown apart head. A pistol laid limp on a thigh.
"Emma."
Nike was wrung dried. There was no more tears left in her. The past 24 hours had pushed her to the brink and then some. She had no more left to give.
"No!" Tiny screamed.
That brought her back to reality. She wasn't alone. This was no time to mourn or self flagellate. She turned and blocked the threshold with her body, making sure to holster her pistol first. "No, you don't need to see this."
Alex's screams joined Tiny's. The questions that she had been holding back spewed forth. "What happened? Where's Ross? Where's Burger? Why did you run off?"
Nike forcibly grabbed both of them at their wrists and hauled them into their room, weathering their blows to her back. When she let go, Alex glared at her, angry and fierce, tears standing in her eyes. Tiny was wailing without care.
"What happened?"
Nike stood before them, guilt rapidly replaced by anger. It was the only thing that could sustain her. If she gave in to guilt, she would never drag herself out from the pit of despair.
"They're dead," she spat.
Stunned silence greeted her. Lips curling she growled, "They're all fucking dead. Ross, Burger, Emma. Dead."
Every name that she uttered was a barb against her heart. She held onto them. The pain was hers to embrace.
"No!" Tiny screamed. "You're lying!"
He dashed towards the door but Nike was faster, one arm looped around his waist, she tossed him back onto the mattress. "This is life on the streets. You live or you die. Best you learn now."
Nike paced like a tiger caged. Anger crackling like electricity under her skin, fuelling her jerky motions. Her mind racing ahead towards plotting revenge.
Alex hugged Tiny tight with her short arms. She was not much older than he was, but her eyes held an edge. Despite the tears blurring her vision, she asked, "What happens now? Are you going to leave again? Are we supposed to fend for yourselves?"
Nike stiffened. She hadn't considered that. The question doused the burning fires of fury. She frowned. Leaving them here was out of the question. With Emma's rapidly stiffening body here, it would be untenable in a day or so. Meg's would be ideal but it would be imposing too much on her to take in two kids out of the blue.
Teeth ground together. There was only one answer.
"You're joining the Reds."
Lyrics taken from When the Water Meets the Mountains by Lewis Watson