Chapter Seven

*Disclaimer: This chapter contains war depictions, intense sequences and violence that may bother more sensitive readers.*

"O little root of a dream

you hold me here

undermined by blood,

no longer visible to anyone,

property of death.

Curve a face

that there may be speech, of earth,

of ardor, of

things with eyes, even

here, where you read me blind." —Paul Celan

Plink.

Plink.

Plink.

Water droplets fell in cold, cruel splats onto Tramp's skin and drew him out of unconsciousness one at a time. A patchwork of noises worked into his eardrums, distant barrages, rain pounding on the ground, car engines and a chorus of voices. Tramp's eyes opened slowly and he looked around the hellworld he found himself in. He instantly wished he hadn't.

It was her. It was the last day he'd ever laid eyes on her; the girl of laughter, the girl of warm feelings and future thoughts, the girl he missed more than air.

Tramp stood on a deserted field with nothing but mud and barbed wire beneath his feet, the flat gray sky wept without pause as cannonade rumbled in the distance. He ignored the lifeless forms in the corners of his vision and looked down at the one directly below him. The rain continued to fall in cold sheets, freezing drops trickling down the brim of his helmet. As he looked his body became a mere vessel. A vessel of boiling anguish and guilt, as if a witch had poured her toxic, bubbling brew into his body. His features should have been twisted with sorrow and tears should have been down his face but all he could do was stare. He just stood, blinking apathetically at her. One blink. Two. Three. It was an odd sensation, his insides aflame and his exterior hard as stone.

Tramp couldn't bring himself to look at the entire picture of her on the ground. He stared at the space between her ear and her temple, at her pale skin and the baby hairs by her ear as they transitioned into the wet darkness of her curls. It was too much. He envisioned her alive, smiling with confidence, yet the bitter reality set in. Tramp went to turn away in anguish but his body remained frozen in place, his eyes glued open no matter how he tried to shut them.

The feeling of utter destruction in his chest was hot as a branding iron. Like a fool, he there he sat, whispering to himself over and over. "She's gone. She's gone and it's your fault." He watched droplets fall into her hair, and he felt his gun slip from his fingers into the sludge. The squelch it made on impact, prompted the edges of Tramp's vision to darken.

He thought he would be stuck staring at her forever but blessed darkness bled into the memory like an ink stain. It blotted out all his surroundings and dulled his hearing, then simply...began to vanish. His emotions fell away and everything was as it was before. Endless black and the sound of heavy rainfall was his only reality, the rain caressing his skin one at a time.

Plink.

Plink.

Plink.

"—amp."

"Tramp!"

The rain continued to fall as Tramp opened his eyes. He was met with colors; circles of gold, dancing silver and a swath of black. His vision came into focus but along with it came a great, deafening whoosh! he couldn't identify. Where am I? What the hell happened? He thought.

"Please, get up. Tramp!"

Tramp was jolted awake at the sound of his name. He lifted his head from the cold surface of the car window but he regretted it the moment he moved. He clutched his head and groaned, forcing himself upright into the seat. The colors solidified into things he understood: pricks of light from street lamps, the oil black backdrop of night, but it was the strange silver mass he focused on. It was a huge, two story tall geyser of water. The Packard's wrecked snout sat inches from the relentless torrent as it spilled over the street.

"Shit." He mumbled, remembering what had led him here. "The hydrant."

"Oh thank goodness." A female voice sobbed. Tramp looked to his right to see Lady sitting beside him, her hair in wet ribbons down her face and her eyes wide as saucers. "Pidge." Tramp croaked.

"Are you alright?" Lady cried over the hydrant's roar. He swiped the wet hair from his face—overwhelmed by his sluggish mind and the dire nature of their situation—but didn't answer her question.

"Get out." He managed to say.

"What?"

"Get out!" He shouted. "Get out now!" Tramp fiddled with his door handle but it refused to budge from the damage it'd received in the crash. He gave up and kicked it open with a frustrated shout. The moment he left the Packard's sanctuary he was greeted with a deluge cold as ice. He shielded himself from the downpour and made his way around the automobile.

But he stopped short.

Tramp was caught in the beady stare of a pair of headlights down the street and they belonged to the Nash, which conveniently sat clear of the hydrant's fury. Tramp came out of the temporary fog clouding his mind and was able to process things to completion. He glared into the headlights with his fists bunched. He was becoming properly angry. This was Hook Nose's doing, this was his personal vendetta being carried out.

"What's wrong?" Lady called, having managed to climb out of the car herself. She stumbled along the Packard to keep herself steady until she too stood in the headlight's path. "What are—" she began but then she followed his gaze to the Nash and her pale face fell with mournful exhaustion. "No more. Oh, please no more. Why won't they stop this?"

"Damn bastards." Tramp muttered. He debated on whether or not to stay and fight or if they should continue to run. But he knew the answer. The guns they carried were a serious problem that continued to frustrate him to no end. He snarled in irritation as he watched the Nash's doors pop open and three men spilled out like shadows. He turned, grabbed Lady's hand and splashed onto the other side of the street. A fire siren, mixed with the stirrings of people coming out of buildings and opening windows seeped out behind them.

As they pressed on Tramp's wet clothes met the night air and sucked onto his skin. "Damn it. Damn it." He hissed, as his movements became hindered by the cold. This night can't get any worse. I'm gonna give Buster so much hell, the little bastard, he'll owe me for the rest of his life. He recited to himself as if it somehow helped. They ran down the rest of Cherry street, and passed the rundown Jewish tenement building, from there they entered a winding maze of dark, cobblestone streets. What frustrated him was how vaguely he remembered the area since he wasn't a frequent visitor, save the few times he'd joined Buster and the gang at the speaks.

Tramp took a turn down a row of ramshackle shops and the abandoned street market, the boys behind them crashing into trash cans and crates along the streets. He was equal parts surprised and pleased they could run through their enemies territory with such brazen confidence. It was his gain in the long run. From the little he had begrudgingly overhead, this was the most basic gang rule—no trespassing on eachothers turf without harsh repercussions. He just had to find a speak or a complex full of City Mutts.

Precision was not a luxury Tramp could afford, so if any street looked at all familiar he would sprint down it at full speed. A garage he'd been to with Miles, an ancient carriage on the side of the street children used to play, or a tiny drugstore he'd seen several times before—all of them directed their flight. Tramp almost gave Hook Nose and the others the slip several times. They had hidden behind a large depot building or used a Model T as cover but each time they'd been given away by the city around them: a woman flooding the street with light from a window, or a driver shouting at them like a madman.

The third boy, the twin, who always held up the rear, was annoyingly keen and had found them again both times. The chase had continued but the guns came back out as they reached a part of town Tramp recognized. The bullets popped into the buildings with puffs of dust and debris. No one on the street made a move to help as this type of situation was commonplace. Lady stayed quiet beside him except when the bullets came within range, and she'd give a shriek. The only thing Tramp could do was hold her cold hand, keep her safe and find the Mutt stomping grounds before they got caught.

The night must have needed cosmic justice, because abruptly Tramp realized where he was. They were on a street with a singular crooked lamp and a narrow cobblestone walk lined with weather beaten buildings. One building in particular had a splatter of white paint from its roof to its door. A soda shop sign, which hung to its hinges by a thread, bobbed from the doorway under the street light. They were on Egstrom Street and the store before them was a speak, The Drained Junkyard, Buster's favorite, but more importantly a popular Mutt hub. This was exactly what he'd been gunning for. He pounded his fist several times against the door as hard as he could."Mutt trouble!" He hollered.

A bullet zipped by and hit the sign, the sad thing dropping to ground with a clatter. Tramp turned down a narrow alleyway just past the shop and ran into its dark, cramped esophagus. The alley was a downward descending path, broken up by four increments of stairs. They sprinted down the first two flights and Tramp risked a glance up the path, his arm stretched as Lady took the last steps down. The boys, who had become ink silhouettes, paused at the top of the stairs, not following after them for reason. He stopped where he was, his breath leaving him in bursts. Are they finally slowing down?

"Why are they stopping?" Lady asked, pausing to stand with him.

"I don't know." Tramp said, taking half a step backward. "I wonder—"

A loud slam! burst at the top of the alley and silenced them both. A gunshot followed close behind, making Lady flinch. "Damn, Brass'! What the hell do you think you're doing?" Came a shout. A group of figures barreled out from the Junkyard and attacked their pursuers. A full on brawl erupted between the two groups, shouts and the sound of fists against flesh bouncing off the alley walls. Tramp watched with satisfaction as the boys' guns were taken out of the equation, and they were overwhelmed. He couldn't stop a wicked smile from forming across his lips. You deserve every punch you get, assholes. The violence was hard to turn away from, but Lady's hand tightened around his like a vice and he remembered himself again.

"Come on, you don't gotta see this." He said, losing his smile and pulling her away. He took her down the two remaining flights of stairs and entered the next street over, which was free of any onlookers. Tramp made sure she wouldn't be able to see the fight above before finally coming to a stop.

Tramp let go of Lady, placing his hands on his knees, his heavy breaths billowing around him. The moment he stopped moving his wet clothes grew glacial and brittle against his body. It was so cold. "Shit, it's freezing." He panted, his head throbbing in tune with his heartbeat. He began to wonder if he'd hit his head harder then he'd originally thought.

Tramp ignored the pain yet again and turned to Lady, wary of the state she was in. She looked young standing next him; her eyes huge with fright, hair slick to her face and his long, saging jacket hanging from her shoulders. He could only imagine how cold she was in her dress. "I think it's over." Tramp puffed. "I'm real sorry about all this, the last thing I wanted was to get you involved."

Lady opened her mouth but before she could utter a word, footsteps from the stairs stopped her from making a sound. Tramp stood up straight as a board. A man spilled out the alley with his legs in a tangle and fell onto the street beside them with a haggard cry. It was Hook Nose.

"Oh, you've gotta be kidding me." Tramp growled. He barricaded himself in front of Lady and edged away from him as he rose to his feet like a drunken sailor. He stood hunched over and disheveled but he stared at the two of them with wild, bright eyes.

"Just give it up, you crazy shit." Tramp said wearily. "It's over."

"Is not over." Hook Nose slurred. "You're gonna pay for makin' a fool outta me, bastard."

Tramp came out of his tense posture once he assessed how bloody the other man had become. He couldn't swing a proper punch, much less take Tramp on like he'd threatened. His face was swollen, and dark streams fell from his nose and mouth. Just how had he managed to escape the Mutts?

"Hook, come on you can hardly stand. I'm not trying to take on a half dead man." Tramp said, trying to save his anger for another time.

"Ima kill you—" he said, stalking forward, and pointing at them both "—and take tha' stupid girl for myself. The only reason a skirt is worth savin' is for nookie."

Tramp's attempt to stay calm evaporated. He knew the man was half punch drunk, he knew himself to be hurt and exhausted to the bone, he knew he hadn't had his head on straight all night—but all the same Tramp saw red. His anger burned so hot it turned to fury and erupted throughout his body and he was cold no longer.

"I've had just about enough of you." Tramp snarled. "You worthless little punk."

He charged him and they fell to the ground. Tramp could feel how unbalanced he was becoming with each punch against Hook Nose's skin. The thought of Lady being hurt pushed him to an emotional edge that terrified him. He knew it was too much passion for a girl he didn't know. Yet nothing stopped a powerful sensation, a strange something spawning throughout his body till he didn't know what he was doing anymore. Tramp attacked the man below him with a ferocity he thought he'd abandoned in France. This night was drawing repressed memories like dishwater rung from a rag and they weren't done with him yet.

Tramp punched.

Always give em' hell, you hear me? Cheat, steal, do whatever you gotta do to survive. Lord knows you got the goddamn brains, so use em'." He said, his breath pungent and his hand heavy on Tramp's shoulder.

He punched again, feeling the other man's nose crunch under his fist.

"Aren't you a charmer?" She grinned, confident and pretty as sunshine. "If you weren't a soldier you'd make a fine lady's man, Luske. I might even fall for you, who knows?"

Tramp struck the boy over and over as if in some awful trance.

He chuckled and took a swig of his canteen in the firelight. "You ever thought about just leaving? Leaving everything behind and staying over here, find some French girl and live however you pleased. We could, you know."

An indistinguishable choking sound left his throat and he finally punched Hook Nose into a half conscious muddle against the cobblestones. Tramp sat on his knees over the defeated man and the only sound he could process was his own uneven breaths. For a moment he lost his composure. Every trigger he had had been switched on, like dials on a radio cranked to loud static. Each switch opened up painful reservoirs from his past, and they overwhelmed him. He pressed his wrists into his closed eyes as a tremble rocked his body.

"Tramp? Are you alright?" Lady asked. Her dove-like voice eased into his deteriorating state of mind, and it was like a lifeline. Seconds ticked by. Silence sticky as taffy stretched across the street. Tramp was able to find a foothold in the mountain of his mind and claim himself again. He was still walking on a tightrope between sense and madness but at least he could think straight again. Tramp lowered his wrists from his eyes and, to his surprise, found her shaking hand on his shoulder.

"It's alright now. You've done enough." She whispered.

Tramp looked up at her. How could she still be so kind to him? How could she even approach him after what he'd done? Was she not afraid? He inspected her further in the dim light and realized he was wrong. Lady was afraid. She was crying, her body was angled away from him and her fingers shook. Yet she tried to comfort him like a child and, for some reason, it worked. His reservoirs closed and began to seep back where they had come, till he was able to stow them back into the cobwebbed corners of his mind.

Tramp suddenly had never felt more seen. This girl, he'd known for a single day had seen him in the fullness of himself more than anyone before. He hadn't been seen for so long and the irony of it being by a privileged rich girl was not lost on him. He could have laughed if he wasn't so blasted tired.

"Is he…?" Lady asked.

Tramp snorted, feeling like he had the reins again and rose to his feet. "No, he's just not gonna be able to get up for a week."

He inspected the sad form of his adversary and kicked his foot. "Isn't that right, Hooky?" An unintelligible groan escaped his lips but he remained sprawled on the ground like a bloodied scarecrow. Tramp chuckled, but grabbed his side, where Hook Nose had jabbed him in the rib, for his efforts.

"I found him, he's over here!" A voice shouted from the mouth of the alleyway.

"Yeah he's here." Tramp called. Several figures made their way out of the alley and walked over to them. Lady stepped closer to him, and he noticed her lips were almost blue. They were all people he recognized, five rugged, tall men with ripped jackets and patchwork hats. A light brown haired man with an eye patch came forward and said: "Luske, is that you?"

Tramp sighed. "Hey, Leon."

"What the hell happened? Why are you getting mixed up with the Brass'?" Leon asked with a confused expression.

"Long story. What happened to the other two?"

"We sent them packing. They won't be back here for a long time, I can guarantee that. Now does he—" Leon pointed at the unconscious boy at their feet "—need to be taken care of?"

"Naw, I made sure he's out of commission. Just take him out of here so we don't have to see his ugly mug again." Tramp said with a wince, his knuckles torn and raw. I almost killed him. What the hell is wrong with me? I'm losing it, I swear. He thought.

The three others besides Leon nodded and collected Hook Nose's broken form. Tramp tried not to look at the damage he'd dealt the other man as he passed by in their arms."Think you can help me and my lady friend out? Is Peg in tonight?" He asked Leon, rubbing his pounding skull.

"Yeah, she is." Leon said, glancing at Lady with curiosity. "Come on back and we'll take care of it."

"Much obliged. One of you got a coat for her? She's shivering her ass off over here."

The boy next to Leon, Cecil, slid out of his huge denim jacket and handed it over. Tramp walked over to Lady, who stood apart from the group, and slipped the jacket over her quaking shoulders. "These are some friends of mine, they're here to help okay? You don't have to be scared." He placed his steadying arm around her and began to guide her back towards the alley with the others.

While the group trudged up the stairs Tramp began to wonder how Buster and the rest of the boys had fared. He also wondered if Lady was thinking about the friends he'd seen her with at the mansion. Should probably make sure she's alright. He rubbed her shoulder to get her warm, despite his hands burning like fire, and leaned in close. "How are you holding up?" He murmured. "I haven't helped cause any permanent damage have I?"

Lady was quiet at first but then a soft laugh left her lips, a hysterical giggle that plumed up into the cold air. "I honestly don't k-know. I'm just glad it's over, I thought they'd n-never stop chasing us."

"You and me both."

"Is your head alright? You hit the s-steering wheel and it scared me."

"Yeah, it's fine. I've had worse. You hurt anywhere?"

"I don't think so." She paused. "I hope you're friends are alright, if their night was a-anything like ours."

Tramp looked down at her as they walked up the stairs, surprised she could think of such things. They reached street level and Leon guided them towards the Junkyard's back door. The other boys continued to drag Hook Nose, turning down a dark alley corner till they were out of sight, probably to dump him in a car and drop him off in his own territory.

Leon went in ahead of them, loudly calling for Peg. Tramp went to lead her in as well but the girl stopped where she was as though frozen. He paused, worried she was too afraid to enter the speak. How could he blame her after all that had happened. "Hey, don't worry—"

Lady hunched over and suddenly fell into a fit of giggles. "What's so funny?" He asked, wondering if he should be concerned.

"I just—I just remembered something." She said between her giggles. "What time is it?"

Tramp whipped his watch out from his wet sleeve and read it. "12:15?"

Lady laughed some more and then sighed. "Today is my birthday."

"Hell." He said with wide eyes. "What?"

"Yes, it's my eighteenth birthday today." Her voice was sarcastic but he could hear the sadness underneath it.

"Well, that's utterly unacceptable." Tramp replied, making an effort to sound lighthearted. "No one should have to spend the first hour of their birthday like this. Geez, Pigeon."

"What's funny is that this actually hasn't b-been the worst birthday I've had. Can you believe that?"

"You know, I actually can't."

"You'd be surprised." She laughed.

And for the first time that night she sounded...normal. Not terrified or timid, not a Snob Hill protege he had no business being with, but a normal girl who'd had a night from hell. Who in the world was this woman next him? Tramp could only laugh along with her as they walked into their warm sanctuary. He was too exhausted to figure out anything else. Right now he just needed some dry clothes and a place to rest his feet. The rest could wait.

Alright so...I gotta say: This. Chapter. Was. So. Stinking. Hard. Like it honestly has been the most challenging chapter yet! I must have rewritten it five or six times! So glad to have it done so I can move on, and keep the progress going. Also, if you noticed I put a disclaimer on this one and will continue to do so when needed in the future! Poor Tramp and Lady, dealing with all the things I'm putting them through. (Ha! Jk is totally a blast!) I hope it wasn't too much for you (again, I know) but the high action is done for a while! Woo, I don't know about you but I need a break!

Fun Fact: Did you know PTSD wasn't really a concept during WWI? It didn't even have a name! The amount of artillery warfare seen during the war was unlike anything the world had seen before. Doctors and psychologists could only categorize soldiers with physical effects, which they called shell shock and the mental symptoms were largely overlooked. Tragically, people (who had never seen battle mind you) would say it was a "sickness of manhood", that afflicted soldiers were cowards or to just get over it. Basically PTSD wasn't a recognized mental condition and soldiers were pretty much left to fend for themselves. So our Trampo here would have really had no resources or anyone to confide in, besides other soldiers and even then probably not. It's insane what a big difference a hundred years makes! I'm always surprised at the cruelty and backwards thinking older generations had. What a crazy time!

Well that's all I got for ya for today! Thanks for dropping by 3

— Curly